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Jiho. (17 -present day-)
He hadn’t meant to kiss him.
He’d wanted to, yeah—had been thinking about it since maybe their first or third encounter, but he hadn’t actually, out of all things, planned on kissing Hyunho.
It began innocently enough; they were alone in Hyunho’s bedroom, huddled close on separate chairs at his work desk, but the premise was entirely without suspicion. Jiho had broken his dominant hand; Hyunho was the school nurse’s aid that offered to help him with his schoolwork until it was a functioning mass of joints again. Jiho had friends who would have gladly stepped in for the job so it wasn’t as if he was helpless without him, but well, Hyunho insisted, smiled entirely too big and, dumbstruck by the sheer amount of charm he found in the action alone, Jiho ended up with an address and a number.
Besides, this guy was a senior. On principle alone, he had to adhere to his requests.
It was mathematics this time—his strong point, actually, but calculating it all in his head was an ability he was never able to grasp; he needed to draft it out, get it on paper. He needed to be able to visualize it. But it was just too odd, too disconnected being the brain to a different set of hands. Halfway through, as if to make a direct diversion to his rapidly growing anger, he decided to try and talk his way into having Hyunho do the work for him.
It started with cheap attempts; aegyo? He could do aegyo. He even offered to buy him food. Lunch? Dinner? Do you smoke? I’ll get you a pack. Any kind. Then, sincere turned into impish, outlandish offers that had them both laughing loudly with a new kind of mirth to what had been a rather tedious situation.
In a brief moment of calmness in-between laughter, Jiho glanced over, only to find Hyunho’s face profoundly close to his and—it wasn’t his his hyung's intention, this wasn’t why he was so close, but without thinking, he leaned forward for a kiss as if it had been an invitation.
Hyunho’s mouth was firm and unmoving, but the good news was that he hadn’t punched him out yet. When he pulled back, he didn’t even look disgusted—a bit stunned, maybe even confused, but not disgust. So he tried again, hoping to soften him, open him up and whether it be by instinct alone or his coaxing being successful, Hyunho was kissing him too.
It was slow and soft, and Jiho wasn’t used to either of those things, so he took his time—felt him out, tried hard to remember the way his hands felt against his thighs, cautious and unsure but curious enough to yearn. He wanted to remember the wet heat of his mouth, how he tasted bitter and so distinctly like Hyunho.
It was the pang of guilt that eventually ripped them apart, Jiho almost violently shoving him away and scrambling to his feet in an abrupt moment of clarity.
“Fuck,” he muttered, looking immediately for his backpack to one-handedly shove his things back into. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”
Hyunho looked painfully apologetic. He wanted to stop and assure him, explain to him that what he'd just done was a mistake. A huge, fat mistake. He wanted to pull him over to his bed and climb on top of him and kiss him until that expression gave way to that big, obnoxious smile again, because it wasn't that he didn't want it, but—but his girlfriend. Sohee.
He wanted to kiss her, too. He wanted to go home and knock on her door and kiss her, right there on the doorstep, a silent apology to his infidelity. Though he’d never tell her why, just suffer in his penance alone until his hand was healed and this was over and Hyunho had no further obligation to talk to him. He wanted to forget about it entirely.
But hey, when he was ten, he also wanted a kitten.
(His mother was allergic.
He never got that kitten.)