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Woojin knew his final year of high school was going to be difficult, but the 10-page syllabus staring back at him wasn’t exactly what he had anticipated. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead in distress as he contemplates whether it’s too late in the year to become a high school dropout. In reality, if he put in the least effort possible, this would be a breeze. Unfortunately, he was instead brought into this world as a perfectionist who would likely rather die than get anything less than a 95% on an assignment.
He’s about to scan his eyes over the page without actually reading for what is probably the 30th time when a hesitant hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his self-loathing trance.
“Uh, Woojin?” He snaps his head up, coming face to face with a mildly concerned Jihoon. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbles in reply, “great, even. Why?” The why carries multiple connotations that remain unsaid, but the tension in the air carries them well enough. Maybe he’s being overly paranoid, but there’s something uncomfortable about the way Jihoon seems to be ignoring their usual dynamic in favour of something more serious.
“I, uh,” Jihoon glances away briefly, carefully dropping his hand from its place hovering above Woojin’s shoulder, “actually wanted to pitch an idea to you.”
Woojin narrows his eyes, not entirely trusting despite Jihoon’s unexpectedly bashful appearance, before nodding slowly. Jihoon takes this as a cue to continue, “The workload this year is starting to get … ridiculous. Do you want to, like, work together? Write up our notes together? We take almost all the same classes, it’ll be essentially halving the amount of work.” Jihoon is still staring down at him expectantly as he pauses to consider the situation. He’s never actually hated Jihoon. Far from it, considering they’ve been friends since Woojin transferred schools as an awkward, yet somehow still obnoxious, 14-year-old. There’s still a lingering unease tugging at Woojin’s chest, something that feels fundamentally wrong about collaborating with the same person you’ve been struggling to overthrow as the #1 ranked student for the entirety of your high school career.
But internal school ranks don’t matter this year, do they? It’s them against the rest of the country.
And so Woojin finds himself nodding once again, quietly observing Jihoon’s expression as it turns from one of apprehension to poorly concealed relief. “Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” Jihoon questions. “Or, night, I guess? I usually work best at night but if that’s not your thing that’s fine, I---”
“Yes,” Woojin cuts him off before he can pass out from a lack of breath, “It’s fine. You can stay over.” The lack of response alerts him to how forward the statement was, so he adds, “I have a spare room, it’s cool for you to stay the night if you need to.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah,” Woojin averts his eyes, spending probably slightly too long watching the clock on the wall, “I … should probably head home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” Jihoon echoes, “I can drive us home. It’ll be easier for me to get home.”
Woojin nods curtly in return, already gathering his things to leave as quickly as possible. There’s a lingering awkwardness in the atmosphere as Jihoon waves him goodbye.
An exchange with Jihoon without any slights from either party is quite possibly the most surreal experience Woojin has had in his 17 years on this Earth.
When Friday comes, there’s something foreign about the act of walking out of school alongside Jihoon. It’s not as if they’d never hung out before. There’s just something odd about it, as if it shouldn’t just be the two of them.
They pass by Hyungseob, who, ever expressive, waits until Jihoon looks away to wink and shoot finger guns at Woojin suggestively. Euiwoong, attached to his side, shakes his head and sends an apologetic smile in Woojin’s direction. Woojin just smiles awkwardly, hanging his head in embarrassment from Hyungseob’s implication.
He wants to clarify, ‘We’re studying and I’m going to hate myself, and probably Jihoon as well, the entire time,' but he knows that would only make things worse.
The drive to Woojin’s house is uneventful by their standards; Woojin giving substandard directions to Jihoon who, in return, complains loudly about Woojin’s incompetence as he brakes slightly too hard to make a last-minute turn for what feels like at least the 25th time.
“It’s not my fault I’m directionally challenged,” Woojin replies matter-of-factly, “I don’t even know how to drive, why would I know the way?”
“I don’t know, maybe because you literally live there?” Jihoon snorts. “And it’s not my fault you don’t know how to drive.”
“Maybe if you stopped speeding I’d have time to give you directions,” he mumbles, reaching his arm obnoxiously in front of Jihoon’s face to point to the right, indicating the last turn before they arrive in front of his home. Jihoon keeps silent, and Woojin starts to feel concerned that he’s said something wrong until he lurches forward, seatbelt jamming and holding his torso in place as his neck feels like it’s being ripped from his shoulders. “You piece of shit,” Woojin turns his now sore neck to face the driver in question, “You’ve given me whiplash, Jesus Christ.”
Jihoon just lets the car roll forward a little more before braking abruptly again.
They manage to reach Woojin’s bedroom without either of them murdering the other or making the atmosphere horribly awkward, which in Woojin’s mind is a cause for celebration. With the two of them on Woojin’s bed, huddled close to Jihoon’s laptop (since Woojin is poor, and can’t afford to fix his own broken, probably decade-old laptop), they get to work. They get through much of the syllabus, albeit with some minor issues.
(“Should we turn on music?” Jihoon asks, already opening a new browser tab in anticipation.
Woojin gives a sideways glance at the boy next to him. “No, it’s too distracting. I can’t work with music playing.”
Jihoon groans in protest, but closes the tab anyway. “You’re no fun,” he mumbles, “I just didn’t want to have to listen to you speak any longer.” Woojin gives an amused exhale out of his nose in response.
“That’s a lie.”
“Jihoon,” Woojin scolds, reaching across to steal the laptop from the boy’s lap, “we can’t just ignore capitalisation for the ‘aesthetic’, this is for school.”
He fumbles to keep the laptop in his control until Woojin finally snatches it away, holding it in the air as Jihoon’s short arms attempt futilely to grab it. “But the aesthetic, Woojin, the aesthetic!”)
Woojin is concentrated on sorting a collection of dot points about the different sections of the United Nations into an order that makes logical sense when he hears the boy next to him softly clear his throat. He keeps typing until he can’t ignore the feeling of Jihoon’s eyes on him any longer. He tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “What,” he starts. “Do you think it should be a different order?”
Jihoon shakes his head, “Not the notes. Are you invited to Daniel’s party?”
Woojin’s mouth hangs open slightly as he looks away, struggling to determine whether he was invited and just didn’t bother opening the Facebook event, or if Daniel maybe suddenly hates him and he isn’t actually invited. “Uh,” he drags out, before concluding, “I’m not sure.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jihoon shrugs, settling back against the pillows they’re using as backrests. Woojin swears their bodies keep getting closer every time Jihoon shifts, but he’s not about to say anything. Whether it’s due to the insignificance of it or out of fear, he’s not entirely sure. “I’m taking you with me regardless.”
If Jihoon notices his hesitance before nodding, he doesn’t say anything either.
Instead they settle back into studying, returning their concentration to their notes until Woojin can feel his eyes struggling to focus on the words displayed across the laptop’s screen. It’s late. He can tell that Jihoon isn’t faring well either from the way he’s sunk back into the pillows, his small frame almost becoming lost in them as he squints lazily at the screen. He saves the document again, as if he hasn’t been compulsively saving it every 30 seconds for the past 5 hours, and turns his neck to look at the boy beside him. “Jihoon,” he speaks softly, “are you tired?”
Jihoon nods slowly, closing his eyes. The moment is almost ethereal, moonlight finding its way into Woojin’s window to illuminate the scene of soft blankets and legs lazily resting against each other.
“Okay, Mr. ‘I-stay-up-so-late-studying-I’m-such-a-night-owl’.” Woojin deadpans, effectively ruining the moment in one sentence. Jihoon opens his eyes to send a disapproving glare.
“Just show me where my room is, asshole.”
“Wow, your room? I didn’t know you lived here now.”
The next morning, as Woojin stands in his front doorway to see Jihoon off, there’s still some semblance of awkwardness. “Next week?” he hears in front of him, but he doesn’t entirely understand.
“What?” He replies, staring blankly back at Jihoon.
“The same thing, next week? We only got through like 3 sections.”
Oh.
For some reason, he hadn’t fully realised that this, by nature, would probably be a regular occurrence. Somehow, he finds himself not being opposed to the thought as he replies, “Sure.”
There’s a silence that falls between them again, so he starts to move further back inside. “Drive safe,” he calls out, “don’t die.”
“You won’t be distracting me, so I won’t.”
Woojin almost stops breathing, until he realises Jihoon is referring to his horrible attempts at navigating the day prior.
The school week passes uneventfully. Although, Woojin doesn’t miss the way Daehwi raises his brows at him, a sly smile on his face, every time he so much as looks in Jihoon’s general direction. He shoots him a warning glare in return, but they both know he wouldn’t dare do anything further.
Firstly, it’s Daehwi. The kid is the actual human embodiment of everything good and pure in this world (even if Woojin deeply questions that judgement sometimes).
Secondly, he wasn’t any more subtle when he had realised that Daehwi had the hugest crush he’d ever seen on the new student, who only seemed to have eyes for the school’s old, probably moulding, carpet.
(Bae Jinyoung, he now knows, since Daehwi never shuts up about his beloved boyfriend.)
There’s a sense of familiarity as he finds himself settled cross-legged next to Jihoon again, staring at the too-bright laptop screen.
(He’s tried telling Jihoon that the brightness is too high, that it’ll give them headaches, but he only received a blunt “Whose laptop is this again?” in reply.)
A feeling of déjà vu washes over Woojin as he feels Jihoon’s intense gaze on him. He glances to the side, expecting to make eye contact, but instead is met with Jihoon looking at the side of his head with a concentrated curiosity. “What,” Woojin finds himself saying once again, returning his gaze to the screen. “Is there something in my hair?” He can hear the movement of Jihoon shaking his head against the pillow.
“Your piercings,” he clarifies, raising his knees to his chest and resting his head against his arms. “They suit you.”
“Thanks?” Woojin almost wishes he could remove the questioning tone that pervades his speech, but he’s still unable to shake his underlying suspicion whenever Jihoon says anything somewhat kind to him.
“I,” Jihoon turns, staring back at the screen absentmindedly, “kind of want to get a piercing, but I’m not sure what.” Woojin hums in understanding.
“It’s hard to decide what to get.”
“Do you have any more piercings you want to get?” Jihoon asks, genuine curiosity evident in his tone. Woojin ponders for a moment, until he remembers something ridiculous he saw online recently.
“I saw these piercings. They were like, snakebite piercings,” he laughs softly, pointing both fingers at the spots below his lips in clarification, in case Jihoon wasn’t sure what he meant, “but they were like … skeleton hands? They were absolutely terrible but I also kind of want them on my face. Ironically.”
Jihoon laughs in disbelief until Woojin adds, “You could call it the bone zone.”
Jihoon stills, mouth hanging open. Woojin furrows his brow in confusion as he watches Jihoon, his ears getting redder and hands fidgeting more with the sleeves of his oversized sweater with every second he spends staring at him. After a few attempts at saying something with no sound making its way out, Woojin finally manages, “What?”
“I—did you seriously not just hear what came out of your mouth?” Jihoon’s own choice of words makes him visibly cringe a little.
“No? I mean, yes, but— I,” his eyes flit across Jihoon’s ever-reddening face for some kind of clue regarding what on Earth just happened. “What’s wrong?”
Jihoon starts to run a hand through his hair, stopping to rest his forehead in his hand as if Woojin has caused him a genuine mental breakdown. “Park Woojin, you just referred to your own mouth as the bone zone and you see absolutely nothing wrong with it?”
It still takes him a few moments to process this. As realisation settles in, so does an uncomfortable heat on the back of his neck, crawling its way up to prickle at the tips of his ears. “Oh,” he starts, before breaking into embarrassed laughter, leaning over to hide his face in his lap until he can compose himself enough to look back over at Jihoon. Woojin needs to sort out his brain to mouth filter, for his own sake. Jihoon's sake too, he guesses, judging by how visibly flustered he's becoming. The boy in question still looks like he’s halfway between combusting from embarrassment and wanting to strangle Woojin.
Jihoon audibly inhales through his nose, straightening his posture before taking the laptop from its place in front of Woojin’s legs. “Let’s just,” he shakes his head, as if to clear his mind of the situation, “pretend that didn’t happen.”
“Right. So, the European Union.”
Woojin usually prides himself in his ability to ignore his phone when it comes to studying. But when both his and Jihoon’s phones vibrate at the same time, he finds himself glancing at the boy beside him in a silent question of consent. Jihoon simply reaches for his phone, holding it between them so they both can see.
Snapchat
maguhwi
“I thought it was going to be something important, clearly not.” Woojin mumbles, but doesn’t stop Jihoon from opening it regardless.
Of course, Woojin thinks to himself, as the image of Daehwi and Jinyoung in each other’s arms, posed in front of Daehwi’s full-body mirror appears on screen. “We get it, you’re cute and in love,” Woojin mutters.
Jihoon seems unperturbed, instead lifting his phone to reply. He pauses, seeming to consider something, and shuffles closer to Woojin. He’s about to protest, knowing that he looks terrible, but the words get lost somewhere in his throat when Jihoon presses even closer, face hovering centimetres away from his own. He swallows thickly. It’s innocent enough, but Woojin is having some difficulty breathing and honestly, he’s pretty sure Jihoon isn’t breathing either, and he swears it feels like they’re too still, like Jihoon should be leaning in even further, but there’s literally a camera on them---
So, instead, he shows a restrained smile, Jihoon sending the snap off to Daehwi.
The intense rhythm of his heart still doesn’t settle, even when Jihoon shifts to put a normal amount of space between them. Nor does it settle when he opens the most recent Snapchat from Daehwi on his own phone.
cute (((-; don’t get too distracted from ur “””studying”””
As he tries very hard to suppress the heat spreading across his face, Woojin swears to himself that he could murder every single one of his friends.
He sits and fiddles with his phone for a while, staring blankly at the screen without actually reading anything, until he realises he should probably say something. “It’s, uh, late,” he starts, mentally cursing himself for his inability to form a less basic statement. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“Yeah, probably should.” Jihoon stretches his arms before standing and sending a small smile. “Night.”
“Night,” Woojin replies as Jihoon leaves and closes the door behind him.
He finds himself staring at the door for way too long, his mind devoid of any thoughts.
Waking up the next morning, Woojin feels oddly empty.
He’d always thought that liking someone would be something constant, an emotion with such an intensity that even the worst of situations couldn’t subdue it.
Yet here he is, lying in bed replaying the events of last night in his mind, and he feels nothing.
But he knows that this isn’t right. He knows that last night his heart was racing and his hands were shaking and his mind was filled to the brim exclusively with thoughts of Jihoon.
He’d thought he was coming to terms with the idea of him liking Jihoon maybe a bit more than a friend, but now the fluttering feeling is gone and he’s questioning whether it was even there in the first place. Maybe I was just anxious, he thinks. Maybe I’ve been mistaking nervousness for something else.
“Next Friday is the party,” Jihoon says as he struggles with one of his shoes, refusing to untie the laces despite how much easier it would make the task.
“Oh,” Woojin replies.
“You’re coming,” Jihoon states, as if he’s the sole decider of Woojin’s actions.
There’s a reply along the lines of ‘Why would I go if you’ll be there? Gross,’ on his lips, but he doesn’t really feel like joking around so instead he says, “I don’t drink.”
Jihoon shrugs. “It’s fine, I’ve never gotten drunk before either.”
“No, like, I don’t drink.”
“Woojin, it’s fine. No one’s going to exile you for not drinking at a party. Just come.”
He hums noncommittally in response.
“I’ll pick you up,” Jihoon smiles as he steps out the front door, “I’m not going without you.”
He knows that protesting would be a futile effort, so he just nods before waving Jihoon off.
It’s weird.
Some days he wakes up breathless with thoughts of Jihoon, heart pounding anxiously in his chest with the knowledge that he has to face him at school. The knowledge that he has to face another day of hiding the way his hands start to tremble a little when Jihoon jokingly shoves him into a wall, or threatens to put him in the trash (“---where you belong,” Jihoon says).
But the days in-between, the days where his feelings are somewhere in-between, disturb him.
It’s even harder to hide the way he looks at Jihoon with indifference, his mind devoid of any of its usual buzzing excitement (or maybe just anxiety, he corrects).
He knows Daehwi notices, because the younger pulls him aside before they arrive at their usual eating spot for lunch. His concern is evident on his face as he asks, “Did something happen between you two?”
“No,” Woojin replies bluntly, which is the truth, but he can’t bring himself to burden Daehwi with the fact that there’s just this pervasive nothingness in the place where his feelings for Jihoon should be.
Instead he brushes it off. He has to avert his gaze to ignore the guilt he feels at the way the boy’s brows knit in confusion. “Okay, but you know you can always come to me if something’s going on though, right?” Daehwi’s voice is soft as he tugs gently at the arm of Woojin’s sweater, likely trying to make sure he’s actually listening and not blocking out everything he’s saying.
Daehwi knows him too well.
He nods to appease the younger before starting to move towards their usual table, wishing earnestly that Daehwi would let it go. He knows he means well, Daehwi is a sweet kid, but Woojin’s emotions are an incomprehensible mess even to himself.
Later that week, Woojin finds himself wondering how he ended up in his current situation. He’s sitting outside in what is likely the world’s most uncomfortable chair, the harsh winter air biting at his skin as he absentmindedly picks at some chips left on the table. That is, until a (now moderately drunk) Jihoon grips his arm a little too hard.
“Woojin, stop being a downer and come to the fire pit,” he whines, “I’m cold.”
Right. Park Jihoon would be the reason behind his appearance at a party he probably would have forgotten to attend otherwise.
Jihoon doesn’t give him any time to respond, pulling on his sleeve as Woojin scrambles to at least bring the chips with him as he stands up.
He recognises most of the group gathered on the floor around the fire pit, with a few unfamiliar faces, but no one really seems too concerned with introductions at this point in the night so Woojin just shuts up and sits close to Jihoon’s side. He still feels somewhat out of place as the rest of the group rambles, even as Jisung says something that elicits a genuine laugh from him. The conversation seems endless, in part due to Jaehwan telling an uninteresting story for much too long until Minhyun finally steps in and points out that no one’s really listening any more. Woojin spends the time Jaehwan takes feeling oddly like a concerned mother as he watches Jihoon drink what he assumes is too much for someone his size.
He's not entirely sure how they’ve gotten there, but the group has segued into the topic of relationships. One of the faces Woojin can’t quite put a name to rants for a while about an ex-girlfriend, the rest of the group listening sympathetically. Past relationships, both failed and amiably split, are brought up in one big drunken cathartic mess until Jihoon blurts out, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.”
Woojin stills for a second before regaining his usual composure. “Seriously?” He laughs, turning to look at the boy next to him. “You’re 18 years old, Jihoon.”
He was expecting a biting remark back, but instead is met with Jihoon pouting and leaning slightly into the person to his left. The poorly equipped party hat on their head tells him it’s probably Daniel himself. “I know,” he mumbles, “I just want someone to like me.”
Woojin can feel his smile dropping, but doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Jihoon isn’t looking at him anyway. Apparently drunk-Jihoon doesn’t do banter. Who knew. He picks up his packet of chips again, eating despite his lack of hunger to occupy his hands.
He’s trying very hard to keep his eyes on the fire in front of him, but the task proves difficult when he can tell Jihoon keeps moving further away from him. He sneaks a glance to his left, trying to appear nonchalant even as he notices the hand on Jihoon’s thigh. Most of the group have moved on already, he notices, probably leaving to go dance or socialise elsewhere. In light of this, it shouldn’t be surprising when Daniel stands, pulling Jihoon up with him, but Woojin still finds himself staring at their backs as they round a corner. It’s only when Seongwu, Daniel’s boyfriend, moves to go with them that Woojin fully realises what’s happening.
Well fuck me, he thinks, or rather, don’t, considering I'm about to spend the rest of his night sitting in front of this fire while I struggle to keep the idea of Jihoon making out with two much more good-looking people out of my mind.
He’s not entirely sure how much time passes as he stares at the fire before he realises he should probably just call someone else to pick him up at this point.
‘Hello? Woojin?’ The relaxed tone of the voice on the other end makes Woojin let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.
“Youngmin hyung,” he mumbles into the phone.
‘What’s up? Do you need something?’
“Listen, I’m really sorry but would you be able to pick me up from Daniel’s?”
He can’t quite tell if he’s terrible at keeping emotion out of his voice or Youngmin is just too much of a genuinely kind person, but the ‘Of course! I’ll be there in 5,’ he gets in reply relieves him regardless.
Woojin figures he should at least let someone know he’s going home. He’s not entirely familiar with Daniel’s house, so he finds himself wandering aimlessly in search of any familiar face. An open door is close enough, so he peeks inside despite the fear that he might find something he doesn’t quite want to. He pulls his hand back as if it had just burned him when the door makes an audible creaking sound. But the group inside take no notice of him, preoccupied with holding up a figure he assumes is vomiting into the toilet. The sight of their too-large sweater triggers recognition in his mind, and suddenly the hallway has no oxygen left, he can’t breathe, he needs to go---
He turns to leave hurriedly, suppressing the all-too-recognisable feeling of concern prickling at the back of his mind. He shouldn’t be keeping Youngmin waiting, anyway.
The first thing Youngmin says to him when he enters the car is, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m just not feeling the best. Probably shouldn’t have gone in the first place.”
“Is it Jihoon?”
“What?” Woojin asks incredulously as Youngmin starts to drive.
“I do talk to Daehwi, you know,” Youngmin states matter-of-factly. “Woojin, please talk to me. Did something happen?”
“N-no, I---” Woojin begins, before sighing deeply and sinking back into the car seat. “I just don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” Youngmin questions, voice soft.
“I… don’t know,” he repeats, “I don’t know how I feel about him. About anything?” He hears Youngmin hum in encouragement, so he continues, “I thought I was starting to have feelings for him but it’s weird, it just comes in waves, one minute it’s crashing over me with anxiousness and want but the next it just disappears,” he pauses to collect his thoughts, “and now I’m even less sure because I know I should be feeling jealous that he’s with someone else right now but I’m not really feeling anything at all?” He realises he’s been picking at his fingers as he was speaking and instead slides them down his thighs, as if to brace himself.
“I,” Youngmin trails off softly, looking uncharacteristically perplexed, “I wish I could be the kind of all-knowing being everyone expects but… I’m not sure that I have an answer.”
Woojin sinks further into the seat. Great, I’m really fucked if Im Youngmin himself doesn’t have an answer for me, he thinks.
“I could be wrong,” Youngmin starts again, “but I think you’re confusing your general emotional state with how you feel about him.” Woojin just stares, so he continues, “You’re so used to suppressing everything that you can’t even determine whether you like him or not.” Youngmin ignores the soft ‘I hate him’ that Woojin mumbles in favour of resuming his train of thought, “You can’t control when the empty feeling hits you, but you can recognise that it’s not your regular state of mind. Your regular state of mind is the one where you feel things, where you feel for Jihoon.”
Woojin is honestly feeling pretty attacked right now, but he knows the elder has a point. He always does.
“Thanks, hyung.” He smiles, moving to exit the car, “For the ride and for the reality check.”
“No problem. Go sort out your emotional constipation.”
He wakes up filled with regret. Regret that he let Jihoon drink too much, regret that he didn’t keep him safe, regret that he’s pushed all of his problems onto Youngmin once again, and most of all, regret that he forgot to turn his phone on silent before he fell asleep and has now woken up to his phone vibrating approximately 50 times.
He can physically feel the anxiety settling into his body, a distinct ache settling in his chest and limbs. He grabs the phone anyway, squinting in an attempt to make out the preview of exactly what he’d been fearing.
Messenger
tiny satan: i know it was really irresponsible of me and im so so sorry for leaving u alone i shouldnt …
He sighs, locking his phone to stare vacantly at the ceiling.
But no matter how much he despises confrontation, there’s a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that tells him he can’t just ignore it this time. He finds himself opening the conversation with hesitance.
tiny satan [11:14AM]
omfg im so sorry
please lmk u got home ok
tiny satan [11:32AM]
i hope ur not upset with me dude and if u are im really sorry and please tell me so i can apologise properly
im sorry for everything
tiny satan [11:46AM]
i feel so guilty i didnt mean for u to be left by urself and that was so shitty of me im so sorry
i know it was really irresponsible of me and im so so sorry for leaving u alone i shouldnt have done that none of that should have happened
bigger satan [11:50AM]
no its all good i’m not upset with you
tiny satan [11:50AM]
are u sure? im sorry
bigger satan [11:50AM]
its all good man i don’t care what you do with other people
tiny satan [11:51AM]
no but really i am sorry
i promise next time theres a party that will not happen i was way too drunk
i wont be drinking while im sad anymore its bad
Woojin stops, reading the last message over until the words don’t seem to form a real sentence. Won’t be drinking while he’s sad anymore? A new, more intense guilt rises in his stomach when he tries to reply.
bigger satan [11:52AM]
its ok dude!! i have no problem with you kissing whoever you want
i’m not going to be mad at you for doing some things because you were sad and drunk its fine
tiny satan [11:52AM]
thank u ur too good to me
i still feel so guilty tho please dont think that i dont value ur friendship bc i really do
bigger satan [11:53AM]
its alright, i don’t get angry at this kind of thing
i was just generally feeling kinda bad & probably shouldn’t have gone anyway
not your fault
He pauses to consider something that could quite possibly be the dumbest idea he’s ever thought up, but decides to go through with it anyway because fuck it.
bigger satan [11:54AM]
do you want to meet up tomorrow night?
since we didn’t get to study this week
only if you’re feeling ok though
tiny satan [11:55AM]
yea thats a good idea
ill have to drive back home tho bc school on monday
& all good i vomited i feel good now
Woojin cringes, wondering how he ended up friends with someone this disgusting.
bigger satan [11:55AM]
all good i think i have a family member staying the night anyway so no spare room
see you tmr
It comes as no surprise when Woojin finds himself huddled next to Jihoon, concentrated on the laptop in front of them. There’s a welcome familiarity that comes with their arguments over whether Pages or Microsoft Word is the superior word processor, and their bickering over how academically-correct their notes should be.
(“Woojin, you can’t just write that Trotsky and Lenin ‘were totally fucking.’ These are for school.”
“But am I wrong?” He replies.)
The normalcy of it all is of a peculiar kind of comfort to him.
They’re taking a small break, Jihoon cosily settled against the largest of Woojin’s pillows (that he manages to steal every time he’s here, Woojin thinks, but he’s not about to take that away from him), absentmindedly checking his phone. Woojin lies comfortably on his stomach, only opening his eyes slowly when he remembers he’d bought drinks for them both. Maybe as a strange sort of peace offering after the events of Friday, but mostly he just had a craving for the best passionfruit juice on this planet.
“Jihoon, d’you want a golden pash?” He mumbles lazily, voice half muffled by the soft blanket his face is buried into.
The silence that hangs in the air confuses him. He squints his eyes, perplexed by the sudden change in atmosphere. He starts to roll over and repeats, “Do yo---”
What.
Jihoon’s staring at him as he turns around, but quickly averts his eyes to look at anything else in the room. He’s tense, so tense, and Woojin swears he can see the beginning touches of a blush creeping onto his cheeks. His brows knit together as he opens his mouth to say something, but Jihoon does the same and they just end up staring at each other. Woojin can feel his lips awkwardly twitching in a poor attempt to ask Jihoon if he wants the goddamned juice box or not, because with how red-faced he is, Woojin thinks he really must need one. His brain to mouth connection seems to no longer be functional so he settles for just saying, “Passionfruit?”
“Oh,” is all Jihoon says in response.
Woojin’s expression must be as blank as his mind is currently, since Jihoon finally seems to realise he should clarify.
“I, uh, misheard,” he continues, speech stilted, “I thought you wanted to--- I thought you just asked me if I wanted to pash.”
Woojin would really rather not deal with the physical implications of what Jihoon just said, nor the emotional implications of the heat burning at the tips of his ears. Instead he makes a strong effort to keep his voice even as he answers, “Jesus Christ Jihoon, either you need your ears cleaned or you’re even more desperate than I thought.”
Jihoon’s laugh sounds a little too loud and harsh to his ears. He ignores the fact in favour of leaving the room to gather the drinks, and hopefully his composure along with them.
Woojin may or may not throw the drink at Jihoon a bit too hard when he gets back.
It’s already late when a sudden noise picks up outside. At first, he thinks it’s rain, but the harsh pang of solid objects against the roof informs him otherwise.
“Is that hail?” Jihoon asks.
Woojin leans across Jihoon and his laptop to look outside the window, nodding slowly. “Yeah.” He moves back as a particularly loud sound hits, not failing to notice how Jihoon flinches. He knows it’s dumb, Jihoon is older than him for god’s sake, but an all too familiar protectiveness compels him to murmur, “You can’t drive home like that.”
“I don’t really have a choice,” Jihoon mumbles, watching the weather outside turn worse with every passing moment.
“Just…” Woojin can feel every fibre of his being cringing, already willing the ground to swallow him whole for what he’s about to say. “Stay. My bed is big enough for you to stay.”
Jihoon still refuses to meet his gaze as he asks, “Are you sure?”
“It’s fine, it’s already late anyway. You can just borrow one of my uniforms in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Jihoon says softly, gaze still fixed on the window. Whether he’s genuinely entranced by the weather or just avoiding eye contact, Woojin can’t quite tell.
In the still of the night, Woojin finds himself deeply regretting his life choices.
It’s too quiet, quiet to the point where he can hear Jihoon’s gentle breathing next to him. He’s fairly certain this means Jihoon can hear his too, and the thought makes him swallow hard, feeling increasingly self-conscious. His self-consciousness is definitely the sole reason behind the sweat on his palms, not at all due to the proximity between the two of them. Not at all.
Despite the overwhelming pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, he can still recognise that Jihoon is not actually asleep at all, his breathing nowhere near as relaxed as Woojin recalls it was the time he fell asleep on his shoulder on the bus ride home from an excursion to the beach earlier that year. Wow, now’s a great time for his brain to bring up memories of Jihoon’s nose nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder, delicate hands clinging loosely to the arm of Woojin’s shirt, breath ghosting softly over his skin, not entirely dissimilar to the feeling of Jihoon’s exhales against his face right now- oh. He has no idea how long Jihoon’s been facing him, but the realisation causes a tightness in his throat, squirming backwards in an involuntary attempt to escape from this hell they call confrontation.
But at this point, he thinks, there’s no use in hiding how his breath hitches when the other’s gaze meets his.
“I,” Woojin begins dumbly, inwardly cursing his apparent inability to form sentences, “I think I need to talk. To you. About you?”
Jihoon shuffles around, seemingly undecided on whether he wants to continue invading Woojin’s personal space or not. In the darkness, Woojin hears more than sees his tense nod in reply. He can, however, make out the shapes of the elder’s fingers as they play with the edge of the blanket he has pulled close to his chin. He can feel heat creeping up his neck as he watches Jihoon fidget under his gaze. A sensation of warmth settles in his chest that he wants to place the word fondness to, but maybe, he thinks, maybe it’s something more.
“I don’t know,” Woojin pauses, trying to find the words he needs to fill the gap between him and a now frozen Jihoon, “how I feel about you?”
There’s an audible anxiety evident the tremble of Jihoon’s voice as he asks, “What?” and Woojin realises he’s fucked up again.
“No--- I,” he inhales, attempting to gather enough breath to remove the wavering of his voice, “I mean, I think I like you a bit more than I should and honestly I’m just… a bit afraid of what that means?”
He holds his breath in trepidation until a sharp vibration next to him causes him to jolt in surprise. He’s about to mumble an apology for not turning off his phone, until he breaks his gaze away from the bright screen to see Jihoon’s now-illuminated face and oh my god, Woojin has never seen someone look so flustered in his entire 17 years on this Earth. His eyes are wide, glazed over, almost, his gaze fluttering and uncertain, and there’s no mistaking the distinct redness that paints his face.
He tentatively reaches a hand towards Jihoon, filled with a sudden curiosity to find out whether his cheeks are as warm as the red that colours them. He pauses briefly, watching Jihoon’s expression carefully for any signs of discomfort, but instead is met with a gaze fluttering briefly towards his lips before returning to his own. He moves to rest his hand gently against the elder’s jaw, thumb barely brushing along his cheekbone. He can feel the warmth radiating from his skin with the slightest touch, and his curiosity grows by the second until he finds himself lost in the desire to know Jihoon’s lips are just as warm.
Jihoon must be possessed by some similar curiosity, he thinks, because there’s no mistaking the way he shifts closer once Woojin starts to do the same. He feels a hand graze down his side before halting to rest at his waist, hovering with an unspoken uncertainty.
He takes that as permission to lean in, capturing Jihoon’s lips gently. He feels like he should stop, should make certain that Jihoon is okay with this, but as soon he even starts to move away there’s a hand gripping his waist harshly and Jihoon moving back into his space to deepen the kiss.
Fuck it, he thinks, and shifts so he’s leaning over Jihoon, pushing him down gently before propping himself up on his elbows.
The way Jihoon grasps at his sweater with desperation as their lips move against each other sends shudders down his spine, but he’s not about to admit that.
There’s something reassuring in the way Jihoon’s fingers dig into his back as he breaks away to leave kisses along his jaw, making his way down the older boy’s neck. He halts only to suck at the skin under Jihoon’s ear, enjoying the way his breath hitches audibly before he starts hitting Woojin’s shoulder.
“Stop,” Jihoon whines. Woojin laughs breathily against his neck before obeying, mumbling a soft apology before moving back to Jihoon’s lips.
He stops eventually to catch his breath, shifting his weight to one side to gently brush the hair away from Jihoon’s forehead. (Normally he would find the sweat gross, but there’s a bit of pride swelling in his chest as he thinks, I did that.) He watches in amusement as Jihoon’s tongue darts out nervously, before he breathes out, “I like you too.”
Woojin can’t help but laugh low, not missing the way Jihoon’s blush deepens when he replies, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Literally shut the fuck up.”
He can feel his endearment slipping into his expression as he smiles down at Jihoon, moving to quickly peck him on the lips before lying back down.
“You’re the worst,” Jihoon continues, even as he nestles close to Woojin, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
With a newfound courage, Woojin replies, “That’s not what you seemed to be thinking when I w—”
“I told you to shut the fuck up.”
Instead of retaliating, he just smiles against Jihoon’s hair, revelling in how good it feels to finally hold him close.
What feels even better is waking up to a sleepy, dishevelled Jihoon. There’s a familiar vagueness that clouds his mind, but when the older boy blinks up at him, squinting from the morning sun, he knows that the adoration he feels for him hasn’t disappeared.
Won’t disappear.