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It’s raining again, as expected. The weather forecast on Channel 7 has always been accurate, after all.
Donghyuk sighs, eyes unblinking as he inspects the sky, slightly regretting not bringing an umbrella when his mom told him to this morning. Just slightly, though. Because-
“You never learn, do you.”
(Because Doyoung always comes up and saves his day.)
Donghyuk turns around, although knowing precisely whom the voice belongs to. He finds Doyoung just a few steps away from the school entrance where Donghyuk is leaning against one of the pillars. A jacket is thrown over his shirt, and he’s gotten out of his dress shoes that he wears while teaching and into his sneakers.
It’s two months since Doyoung began interning at his school but Donghyuk still finds no difference between Doyoung The Neighbor Hyung and Doyoung The Assistant Teacher, other than the fact that he has to call him seonsaengnim instead of hyung now. He nags during teaching the same amount he nags at home, if not more. And as strict as ever.
(He confiscated Donghyuk’s PlayStation at the end of Donghyuk’s last year of middle school until high school entrance exam period was over. Being Donghyuk’s neighbor and his tutor throughout his personal and academic life has gained Doyoung the authority to take away Donghyuk’s items for learning purposes, as permitted by Donghyuk’s parents themselves.)
“In my defense, the forecast said it’ll only be rain showers. I can definitely run home if Park Yoora didn’t lie through her teeth,” Donghyuk says, shrugging as he watches Doyoung rummage in his sling bag in search for his umbrella. He fishes it out, slides it out of the cover and pops off the button.
“She said heavy rain shower. Not only you don’t learn, you also don’t listen,” Doyoung says, chuckling when Donghyuk automatically latches himself to Doyoung and links their arms together. They leave the school grounds like that, under Doyoung’s transparent umbrella, and Donghyuk can’t help but match their footsteps together.
“But I listen to you, hyung,” Donghyuk says, in his sweetest theatrical voice. Doyoung allows Donghyuk to call him hyung outside of school grounds. He gets a flick on his forehead for this, though.
Doyoung snorts. “You’re getting better at talking nonsense.”
Donghyuk shrugs again, dropping his cute act but remains clinging onto the older. “Eh. You love me anyway.”
“Do I, now?”
“Do you not? Isn’t that why you always check up on me so I get home safe and sound and dry? Admit it. You. Love. Me.”
Doyoung answers with a hum, focusing more on avoiding puddles than keeping up with their day-to-day bickering routine. Donghyuk, meanwhile, observes how Doyoung keeps his arm low so the umbrella won’t hover too high over their heads and Donghyuk won’t have a wet shoulder.
There it is again: the sting. Donghyuk has to hold his breath to ease the pain and he counts to ten.
(It’s how Doyoung’s taught him when he was little to make the pain go away. It always worked back then, and he found himself crying less and less the more he applied the method whenever he tripped over his shoelace or fell off his bike.)
(He wonders why it doesn’t work now.)
They continue in silence, just walking side by side, passing block by block. Donghyuk keeps his eyes on the ground, watching how their footsteps produce some sort of a rhythm and Donghyuk likes to think that it’s their chemistry.
Donghyuk laughs through his nose, the sound enough for the rain to mask.
What chemistry?
They grew up together, share an abundance of moments together. They’ve gotten used to each other so much that it’s only normal for them to have such an effect on each other. It’s not chemistry that they create. It’s a pattern.
It’s not special.
Still, Donghyuk fell somewhere along the way even though he’s known the beaten path like the back of his hand. He recognized the uneven grounds, has several times watched his step as they go back and forth the same course, but he slipped and hurt himself anyway. It’s strange.
He thinks maybe it was Doyoung’s gentle, guiding hands that distracted him. Or Doyoung’s stern words telling him that he must keep his eyes on the road (oh, the irony). Or Doyoung’s faith in him, in his dreams. Doyoung’s support for him. Or maybe it was Doyoung himself.
Whatever it was, the damage’s been done.
And it’s only a matter of time that his wound will heal.
“You do, though, hyung?” Donghyuk asks after a while. The pitter patter of the raindrops creating suspense he never thought he’d have to bear.
Doyoung turns his head to him, blinking questioningly and Donghyuk thinks the rain has stopped because he’s seeing the sun.
Donghyuk’s heart swells, uncomfortably, upon the question he’s about to ask. His ears are warm, and Doyoung takes notice. The older cups his palm over it. Donghyuk’s breath catches in his throat.
(He’d do anything to stop the time at this very moment.)
“You do love me?”
“Of course,” Doyoung says, without missing a beat. He strokes Donghyuk’s earlobe with the ball of his thumb. “You may not be the best student, but you’re my favorite little brother I never had.”
Donghyuk smiles to himself. What can he say? It’s as good as he’s going to get. Besides, ‘favorite’ is not so bad of a title when there are Mark and Jeno to compete against. Right?
(Wrong.)
“I’m always your favorite, aren’t I?” Donghyuk jokes.
Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I guess,” he says admittedly.
“Always will be?”
“Maybe, if you start listening to Kang-seonsaengnim, too.”
With a ruffle to his head, Donghyuk breathes in, holds his breath and begins counting again.