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// 404 //
Sangwoo hates red.
It means error, failure, death, in the world of programming and video games.
Lately, however, it’s gained a whole different meaning.
Attraction.
That in itself is nothing new. Red has always been associated with physical attraction and love. For him, there’s no acknowledgement of those connotations as he knows that the two are just chemical reactions wrapped in the fancy packaging of romanticism to better sell them to people, especially the latter.
Recently, however, he’s beginning to grasp the former. Specifically when applied to a certain person in his life.
Jaeyoung.
The quick thought that Jaeyoung looks attractive in red randomly pops into his mind like a glitch before it’s erased by the surge of irritation and frustration his senior’s presence usually brings. And that’s all he ever feels.
But then that glitch happens again in that moment at the bar, when the world seems to have paused and the only thing he registers is the bright red of the dart sunk into the menu the Quickst mentor had reared back to smack him with and the red of the jacket clinging to Jaeyoung’s broad shoulders.
The scene is stuck on repeat in his head like a for loop days after and doesn’t stop no matter how much he tries to end it. He seems to have unfortunately recorded every detail in crystal clarity: the confidence, the swagger, the flash of dark eyes to his, the pointed warning ringing clear through the faux friendly tone.
The wild grin on Jaeyoung’s face as they sprinted down dark streets, Sangwoo’s heart straining against his ribs and positively light-headed with the lack of proper oxygen intake.
Red is all he saw.
And Jaeyoung.
Red.
Attraction.
// 404 //
Sangwoo lets Jaeyoung into his place.
What the hell is he doing?? No one is allowed into his place. No one. But yet here he is, breaking his own rules and boundaries for the guy who irritates him so much. He’s losing it.
It’s purely out of polite gratitude and nothing more that he invites Jaeyoung in, not because those puppy eyes and pleading tone tugged on his heart strings, making him feel a tiny bit guilty. Nor was it because he wanted Jaeyoung’s comforting presence, still feeling high-strung and tense from the earlier incident. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.
He sets up the computer and steps aside, casting distrustful side-eyes at an innocent-faced Jaeyoung claiming trustworthiness and promising good behavior. Sangwoo snorts in disbelief but leaves to shower anyway.
On some level, he does trust Jaeyoung and huh, when did that happen?
// 404 //
He stops wearing his cap.
No, it’s not a big deal, totally not a huge deviation from his strictly regimented routine and dress code. He just decided to make a small change, okay?
And he absolutely didn’t do it because you look so much better without it, spoken with blunt honesty and searing sincerity. Nor because of the wide, awed eyes that had stared up at him with something unbearably soft that he didn’t want to examine too closely.
The flushed heat on his neck had been from the hot water of his shower, not from the compliment that had curled something pleased within his gut and left him craving to hear that approval again. Definitely not.
So the cap stays home and his bangs come down. Jaeyoung notices immediately and though he doesn’t verbally comment, the pleased look in his eyes swells something bright in Sungwoo’s chest that lasts all day.
Maybe he should go see a doctor about that.
// 404 //
It’s too much.
The concern, the closeness, the touches.
Jaeyoung.
Sangwoo’s head is soupy and he feels sick. Maybe he’s dying like the internet so readily suggests and he knows logically that’s ridiculous but it explains the tightness in his chest and his inability to function properly and the uncontrollable surge of emotions that happens every time his mind circles back to the theater.
All he can think of is the rush of adrenaline that shot through him at the thought of being caught, the large hand snagging his and pulling him between the clothing racks, the crystal chandelier lighting up into icy blues and pinks with a clattering chime.
The teasing touches and grins that should annoy him but actually doesn’t, the soft cast of red light on the sharp angles of Jaeyoung’s face, the heated look in inky eyes that made him want to stay there forever, caught in that liminal space of theater costumes and pretty lights.
The addictive body heat that drew him in, the deafening thumping of his heart in the silence, that handsome face growing closer and closer, and then that voice, silky and low, murmuring in his ear and sparking a shudder down his body.
He’d shoved Jaeyoung away and raced out of the theater, blind with panic and acting purely on instinct.
!! Error !!
!! Error !!
!! Error !!
He’d sunk down onto the floor of the out of order bathroom stall, uncaring of the potential germs and greedily sucking in much needed oxygen. Had dragged himself home after a while to curl up in a ball under his covers and desperately blank his mind. Had fallen into a troubled sleep, plagued with hazy dreams of red lips and warm touches and a deep voice, his body arching eagerly into it all.
He decides to skip class when he wakes the next morning, a decision that sets his teeth on edge, but he’s too disjointed and jittery to accomplish anything at school so at home he stays, sprawled out on the floor and dead to the world.
He doesn’t know how to deal with all the emotions bubbling in his chest when Jaeyoung finally shows up at his door. So he lashes out, spits vitriol, and does what he knows best and pushes others away in order to protect himself.
He resolutely ignores the genuine hurt in Jaeyoung’s eyes and glares back, determined not to waver. He doesn’t need anyone or their concern. He’s fine on his own.
That does nothing to close the gaping hollow in his chest as he stares at Jaeyoung’s retreating back, feeling too much like he lost something, permanently. The silence he’s left in echoes with damning finality.
// 404 //
Sangwoo misses Jaeyoung.
A fact he finally admits to himself a couple of days after their… parting. Everything has finally returned to the way he’s longed for since Jaeyoung had stepped into his life, but it seems like he took all the color and life with him when he left.
That’s a little too melodramatic for Sangwoo’s liking but he can’t ignore the truth any longer, not when he finds himself waiting for the other’s constant invasion of his personal space, the inevitable knocks on the wood partition he places between them in class, the suggested silly antics that Sangwoo finds himself eventually enjoying.
He’d often caught glimpses of Jaeyoung, always surrounded by friends, and hesitated for a moment before letting the chances slip by. It was fine. He had been fine.
That is a lie. Jaeyoung's absence eats at him and he’s distracted to the point it’s becoming detrimental to his studies. This isn’t good.
An informative talk with Jihye reveals to him that he’d possibly been too hasty in attempting to solve his problem. Jaeyoung had been an unexpected bug in his code and instead of trying to fix it, he’d thrown away the whole program. Yes, he didn’t consider all the alternatives like a good programmer should and had instead chosen the easiest option.
He needs to rectify his mistake and retrieve the data set and the source of his problems.
He needs to get Jaeyoung back.
// 404 //
Sangwoo doesn’t expect Jaeyoung’s rejection to hurt this much, the pleading hyung’s rebuffed with cruel ease. He doesn’t know what to do, floundering and wildly out of his depth in the face of an unexpectedly cold Jaeyoung. He doesn’t know how to handle this version of the person he’s just started to know.
He tries all he can, desperately throwing out all offers he believes are reasonable enough and hoping something sticks to the wall. None does and when Jaeyoung turns his back to Sangwoo for a second time, he feels like crying. He stands there, alone in the alley behind the restaurant and breathes through the sobs trying to claw their way up his throat.
He eventually slinks back to his table and a patiently waiting Jihye, and spends the rest of their time there robotically shoving the over-priced, mediocre food into his mouth, tasting none of it.
When they leave, he finally shakes himself out of the shellshock of his failure and steels himself into trying again. He can’t give up.
He absentmindedly waves goodbye to Jihye and sets off to plan.
He will get Jaeyoung back.
He can’t give up.
He won’t.
// 404 //
Jaeyoung agrees. He’ll work with Sangwoo again.
Sangwoo feels like he could float off into the cool night air, the weight that had been crushing his chest since the rejection immediately disappearing. The world corrects into rightness once more and Sangwoo feels even more satisfied than he usually does when he successfully completes a project.
A small smile tugs at his lips unbidden, but for once he doesn't resist it, feeling bolstered when Jaeyoung grins shyly in response. They stare at each other in surprisingly comfortable silence before Sangwoo rouses and directs them to get down to business.
That’s enough frivolity for today. They have work to do.
Still, the smile lingers.
// 404 //
Don’t touch me without warning. It makes me uncomfortable.
That’s what Sangwoo tells Jaeyoung because he doesn’t know how to identify the sensation he gets in his stomach when those hands inevitably find themselves onto his person. (He refuses to accept the label of “butterflies” that the internet offers. That’s utterly ridiculous).
Anyway, his statement is both true and false. Which is a bit of conundrum for him because it can’t be both. Statements can’t be both true and false at the same time. They had to be either, or.
Jaeyoung, meanwhile, easily takes his words in stride and acts accordingly, drastically dialing back his skinship, and no, Sangwoo is not upset at the boundaries he set. He’s not.
Which is exactly why he folds like wet paper when Jaeyoung asks to pat his head one late afternoon and he hastily hesitantly adds a condition to his statement, almost tripping over his words. If Sangwoo gives his permission, then Jaeyoung is allowed. Else, absolutely no touching.
The gentle hand smoothing his hair and cupping the back of his head with possessive warmth immediately has him wanting to amend his conditions to nevermind, please touch me whenever you wish, and he has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from making such a desperate and utterly ridiculous proclamation.
He’s really losing it.
// 404 //
Sunlight streams through the window and bathes Jaeyoung with a pale gold, where he lays sleeping on the caramel leather couch tucked into the back of his office. Sungwoo crouches close by, softly calling his sunbaenim’s name and studying his relaxed features. Jaeyoung is so different when sleeping, his infectious energy and undeniable gravity replaced with something softer and calmer.
When he doesn’t awake, Sangwoo drifts closer and closer until he’s a few inches away, just as close as they once were back in the theater and as intimate. He keeps calling, just to make sure Jaeyoung’s actually sleeping so that he could— well, he doesn’t know what he doing. He never does when it comes to Jaeyoung.
He reaches out to carefully shift the fringe of soft black hair and before he can fully process his thoughts, leans down to press his lips to the ones before him.
It’s a soft thing, the kiss. A gentle press of lips, that lingers for a moment, before Sangwoo’s brain catches up with him and he rears back in shock.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why did he do that.
He stumbles to his feet and staggers out of the room.
Ah shit.
Shit.
(He wants to go back and kiss Jaeyoung again and again and never stop).