Chapter Text
“please. please, please, please let me go,” sunghoon begged, “i’ll do anything. i’ll get better grades, i’ll practice more, i’ll wash your car, i’ll do all of the chores around the house, i’ll--”
“sunghoon,” sunghoon’s mother sighed, “i said no. honey, back me up on this.” she turned to his dad, who was intensely focusing on a bowl of lucky charms. he paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth and shot sunghoon a look that screamed help me.
“uh,” he said, “do what your mother says.”
“thanks, kwangho,” his mom said sarcastically, tossing her kitchen towel over her shoulder, “you can’t go. i’m not letting you leave for a month, i mean-- that’s crazy, right? it’s crazy. you’re going to end up running out of gas, or crashing the car, or getting kidnapped by an old lady in the back of a gas station in the middle of nowhere and chopped up for soup.” his mom went on mostly to herself, because sunghoon had slumped over face down on the kitchen counter and started to sulk.
“buddy?” his dad poked him with his spoon. “what is it you wanna do?”
“roadtrip,” he mumbled despondently, face pressed against the marble countertop.
“where to?”
“one of jay’s dad's vacation houses. it’s, like, a three day drive, and we were going to stay there for a few weeks ‘cause it’s pretty much summer, and then we were gonna come back.”
“who’s ‘we’?” his dad asked, focusing on his cereal again.
“jay an’ jake an’ me. i hope.”
“are any adults going to be there?”
“jay’s dad is gonna be at the house while we’re there.”
“i love that man,” sunghoon’s mom sighed. sunghoon’s dad looked up from his lucky charms for the first time in roughly ten minutes. “tell him he’s welcome over for dinner any time, will you?”
“...i’ll do that. can you please, please, please, just think about it?”
“maybe. i’ll make you a deal: if you can get mr. park to make time in his schedule to come over for a nice dinner, then i’ll consider it.”
“i’ll see what i can do,” sunghoon said. he ran out of the kitchen, upstairs to his room, and immediately called jay. he picked up on the first ring.
“hey.” he sounded like he’d just woken up, even though it was only 5:30.
“did i wake you up?”
“no,” jay obviously lied. “why are you calling me? you only ever call when you need help.”
“uh. can your dad come over for dinner sometime?”
“are you indirectly asking my dad on a date, hoon?”
“no! no. ick, dude.”
“you’re sure?”
“yes! yes, i’m sure.”
“why d’you want him to go over for dinner, then?”
“my mom wants him to come over,” sunghoon sighed, then held the phone away from his ear while jay screamed with laughter on the other end. “she says i can’t go unless i get him to come over for her.”
“you’re shitting me. your mom has a crush on my dad.”
sunghoon flopped onto his bed and buried his face in the pillows. “she does not.”
“she definitely does.”
“can you please just ask?” sunghoon whined.
“why don’t you ask yourself?”
“no! no, no, no.”
“dude, you have to get over your irrational fear of my dad.”
“it’s not irrational. it’s perfectly reasonable: he looks homicidal whenever i come over.”
“it’s only cause he likes you so much,” jay held the phone away from his mouth, “dad! sunghoon wants to talk to you so bad right now!”
“no! no, i don’t!”
“hello?” mr. park took the phone.
“uhm. hey, mr park. sir,” sunghoon managed.
“how’s your mother doing?” mr. park asked. in the background of the call, jay said “oh my god. no. NO.”
“she’s doing okay. that’s actually why i’m calling. uh. i was wondering if you might be able to come over for dinner with my parents sometime this week?”
“let’s see. this week i’m free on… wednesday night. would that work?”
“yeah. thank you.”
“my pleasure.” jay took the phone again. “dude.”
“...”
“i was wrong. my dad definitely has a crush on your mom.”
“can we please stop talking about this?”
“never.”
“i’ll hang up,” sunghoon threatened weakly.
“see, you say that, and then you end up keeping me on the line for hours.”
“i do not.”
“you take up, like, ninety-nine percent of my call logs, hoon.” sunghoon kicked his feet.
“i’ve gotta get that one percent back. who else are you talking to on the side, jay?” he frowned.
“your mom.”
“i’m hanging up,” sunghoon said, not hanging up.
“...that’s what i thought.”
there was a lengthy pause. “anyway, how was afternoon practice?”
sunghoon smiled. “you remembered.”
“yeah, yeah. tell me.”
“lemme think. i fell and split my knee open, so night practice is going to be pretty awful,” sunghoon absentmindedly tugged at the bandage wrapped around his knee, poking at it to check if it had somehow healed in the hour since practice. he was disappointed to find that it hadn’t.
“you should wear knee-pads like the little kids do,” jay suggested, “and a helmet. and elbow pads.”
“i’ll be fine. ‘s not like it’s fatal.”
“yeah, yeah. i’m coming to your practice later whether you like it or not.”
“i’m not going to be able to focus,” sunghoon frowned, “you and jake always make faces at me from the stands.”
“whoa, whoa, whoa, that’s only jake. i maintain perfect composure.”
“you pretty much lick the glass.”
”perfect composure. like i said,” jay laughed.
“sunghoon!” sunghoon’s mom screamed from downstairs, “dinner is ready! if you don’t eat it now, you’re not eating later!”
“i’ll go out for something after practice!” sunghoon called back, then turned to address the phone again, “do you want to go out for something after practice, if you’re coming?”
“are you asking me out on a date right now?”
“why are you so-- when was the last time you got laid?”
“not important.”
“what about that girl you were going out with, like, a week ago?”
“no comment.”
“oh.”
“anyway.”
“anyway,” sunghoon agreed, “at least you get laid.”
“dude, you’ve never been laid? not even a little?”
“what constitutes getting laid ‘a little?’”
“i don’t know. anyway,” jay coughed, “anyway.”
“i should go get ready for practice.”
“yeah, probably.”
“bye.”
“bye.”
sunghoon didn’t hang up, and neither did jay. sunghoon stared at the red button, hoping that maybe he could end the call telepathically without actually having to press it.
“dude, hang up.” jay said.
“... i don’t want to.”
“gross. i’m hanging up, then, yeah?”
“yeah.” jay hung up. sunghoon reluctantly crawled out of bed and opened his closet, staring at a rainbow of sweatsuit sets, performance costumes, and practice uniforms. he also might’ve dug around in his closet for a pair of knee pads from when he was in seventh grade and obsessed with tony hawk. he slid them on under his sweatpants (he didn’t want his coach to think he was scared) and stepped back to look at himself in the mirror. he looked about the same as he always did.
by rote, he ran his hand through his hair a few times before calling it good and running back downstairs.
“you’re going to be late, hon,” sunghoon’s mom chided.
“i’m running!”
“you’re not going to catch the 5:45,” sunghoon’s dad checked his watch. “do you want a ride?”
“it’s about confidence, dad,” sunghoon mumbled, pulling on his shoes and holding his lanyard in his mouth.
“you’ve got the confidence for time travel?”
sunghoon shrugged.
“have a good practice, hon.”
“thanks-okay-bye!” sunghoon sprinted down the front path and onto the main road. running to catch the bus on time was routinely his abrupt warm-up before practice actually started.
the 5:45 was fast approaching the stop, which was still about a hundred yards away. sunghoon’s duffle bag bounced off of his hip as he ran faster, trying not to drop anything. the bus driver made eye contact with him as she pulled into the currently empty stop, but didn’t wait. she maintained eye contact even as she pulled away. sunghoon slowed to a jog and gave her the most betrayed look he could muster, panting from the exertion.
she just drove away.
sunghoon sighed and trudged the rest of the way to the bus stop, where he dropped onto the bench. he could either get a ride from someone (not his parents, they’d just yell at him about better time management, which was granted, but not appreciated) or wait another half hour for the next bus and risk being yelled at about better time management by his coach, which would be about ten million times worse than being yelled at by his parents.
the choice was pretty easy. he got his phone out and immediately dialled jake.
“hello?” he also sounded like he’d just woken up.
“hi. uhm, are you on your way to practice right now?”
“you missed the bus again, didn’t you? actually, don’t answer that. i’m coming to get you.”
“...thank you,” sunghoon toed the ground, “sorry.”
“i kinda already knew before you called. had a feeling, y’know?”
“you know me so well.”
“i’ll see you in a bit.”
“bye.”
jake hung up first, saving sunghoon from having to. he waited at the bus stop for a few idle minutes before jake’s mom’s car pulled up.
“get in. we’re gonna be late.”
“unless you speed,” sunghoon suggested, tossing his bag in back.
“i am not taking it over 65 on the highway. and you can just toss all that in back,” jake gestured to the pile of stuff on the passenger seat.
“yeah, yeah. should’ve called jay.” sunghoon rolled his eyes and tossed at least five empty 7/11 big gulp cups into the backseat. “we would’ve been there in five minutes with minimal casualties.”
“jay is probably wanted for vehicular manslaughter in, like, all fifty states. he’s a madman. i don’t understand how he got his license.”
“i don’t understand how anyone gets their license,” sunghoon sighed.
“you’ll do fine,” jake said, “just be careful.”
“jay told me to just have fun and don’t think about it too much. i think his advice is easier.”
“first of all, never take jay’s advice. second of all, you definitely need to think about it a lot. now, let’s go.” sunghoon buckled in immediately (jake doesn’t even touch the gas pedal until everyone is safely buckled in and holding onto something) and held onto the armrest. “do you know what you’re doing at practice today?”
“not really. probably just my routine a couple times, then running or something off the ice; the toddlers come on at seven today.”
“they’re always fun to watch. they’ve got their big chunky knee pads cause they can’t stay up. it kinda hurts to watch, sometimes.” sunghoon immediately felt insecure about his own knee pads. they had gold star and smiley face stickers on them, for god’s sake.
“yeah,” sunghoon laughed and hoped it didn’t sound too nervous.
“hoon?”
“huh?”
“do you have knee pads on?”
“...no.”
“yes, you do.”
“uhm. i totally do not.”
“it’s fine; it’s kinda cute.”
“oh. uhm. thank you.” sunghoon pretended the stickers on jake’s glove box were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
“anyway, is jay coming, too?”
“yeah. we’re gonna get something to eat after, if you wanna come.”
“i can’t; i have a work thing.”
“oh. have fun!”
“thanks.” jake took the on ramp onto the freeway and accelerated to a steady 60. sunghoon flicked on the radio and started lacing his skates. his new blade covers were dull green, and he loved them. they were pretty.
jake was silent the rest of the way to the rink.
“do you want anything from starbucks? i think i’m gonna go study there for a minute while you warm up.”
“i’m good. thanks for the ride.” sunghoon dipped his head and hurried inside. jay’s car was, as always, haphazardly parked in the most convenient spot that wasn’t handicapped parking. jake was already pulling away by the time sunghoon changed his mind and decided that a mocha would be nice.
“you’re late,” jay swooped in on him as soon as he stepped inside, “but you made it.”
“missed the bus,” sunghoon admitted. jay sniffed in disapproval.
“get out there, champ. oh, by the way, the Hockey Player Dilf is here again.”
“he’s not a dilf,” sunghoon spluttered, “he’s, like, a year older than us.”
“jake’s words, not mine.”
sunghoon groaned.
“PARK! I CAN HEAR YOU OUT THERE,” his coach bellowed, “GET IN HERE!” sunghoon dropped his duffle into jay’s waiting arms and half-waddled, half-ran onto the main rink, nearly tripping on his skates a few times.
“hi, coach t.”
“you’re late.”
“yeah. i’m really sorry; i didn’t miss the bus, it’s really more like-- the bus missed me.” coach t raised his eyebrows incredulously. “it won’t happen again.”
“good. run through three times. try working out any issues on your own, at first.” sunghoon inwardly groaned but set off to the middle of the rink, spinning to a stop with an extra dramatic flourish as if he were performing. “tacky! choose something else to open your performance!” coach t screamed. sunghoon tried the classic arm-spread.
“i’m falling asleep over here.”
sunghoon frowned and pointed one toe.
“boring! she looks like every other bitch!” coach shouted.
“you have tiktok?” jay asked from the corner. coach nodded grimly.
sunghoon slumped his shoulders. “that one’s great. really says ‘it’s over before it began.’” coach laughed.
“can i start now?”
“hold that for a few more seconds… okay, yes. go ahead.”
sunghoon ran through his performance twice before falling again, and on a turn no less. not even a true jump. the knee pads helped, but his hip still smarted where it’d hit the ice and he knew he’d have a bruise tomorrow.
“park! c’mere.” sunghoon glided to a stop in front of his coach.
“y’know, just run a few laps around the building. take a break: you’re thinking.” coach patted his shoulder and sunghoon unlaced his skates, balancing on one foot, then took off at a slow jog in his socks. he could feel jay watching him, feeling embarrassed even though jay’d seen him fall at least a hundred times prior. he relaxed once he was around the dividing wall between the two rinks; out of view.
“hey,” someone said, and then sunghoon turned to face Hockey Player Dilf (HPD). the boy probably had a name, but sunghoon had never worked up the courage to talk to him before, and jay and jake had no interest in him other than using him against sunghoon. “can you toss me that puck?” sunghoon followed HPD’s finger to where he was pointing; a massive wire container of hockey pucks.
“yeah,” sunghoon said, in a squeaky little voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to him, “here.” he tossed it over the plastic divider and stood there for a few extra seconds before starting to run again. that was only his second encounter with HPD; the first was when they were the only ones in the locker room showers, and it was possibly the most traumatic thing sunghoon had ever experienced. they hadn’t talked and had made it way too obvious that they were trying to ignore each other. sunghoon hadn’t even bothered to dry off; darting out as soon as he’d pulled his clothes on.
he didn’t want to think about that. that would just get him further in his head and then he’d mess up the routine again. his left knee and hip ached, but the initial pain of his fall was fading as he got used to it.
“PICK UP THE PACE, PARK,” coach t shouted, voice carrying all the way across the rink building.
sunghoon didn’t reply, but ran all the way back, all too aware of HPD’s eyes on him the entire way until he was out of view.
it was going to be a long, distracting night.
-
practice ended early, partly because sunghoon’s knee was really starting to bother him after five more falls, but mostly because coach t was starting to wheeze like he did when he was getting tired. he was built not unlike a bear, if a bear could walk on two legs, coach figure skating, and have severe asthma.
“you can go,” coach breathed, hardly audible, “you did well today.” sunghoon could tell he was lying, but said thank you anyway and then darted off towards the exit. jay and jake were nowhere to be seen, so he took his chances and wandered around the rink, looking for them. voices echoed from the other rink, and he peered around the divider.
jay, jake, and the Hockey Player Dilf seemed to be embroiled in a pitiful game of hockey in which HPD was literally skating circles around the other two. jay and jake seemed to have forgotten everything sunghoon had ever taught them about skating, and HPD was barely trying, scooping the puck away every time it looked like jake was close to gaining control of it. it was kind of sad, really, and HPD looked like he was having the time of his life in a psychopathic kind of way. it was like stealing candy from a baby.
sunghoon stepped all the way around the corner.
“i’m done,” he announced, shuffling up to the divider. HPD looked up and waved. jay and jake clung to each other to keep from falling over.
“wanna play?” HPD asked. jay and jake stared back at him, and sunghoon felt inclined to regain some of their dignity if only by kicking HPD’s ass. he hadn’t played hockey in four years, but was still pretty decent. probably nowhere near as good as HPD, but it was worth a shot.
he stepped onto the ice.
“sure.”
the worst game of hockey sunghoon had ever played ensued after that, and that was saying something. he’d been on the little league in third grade. some psycho kid kept on trying to kick people with his blades, so the games were more about evading him than trying to beat the other team in any capacity. anyway, HPD was, as expected, far better at hockey than sunghoon, and ended up beating him 9-2.
“good game,” HPD lied, and reached for sunghoon’s hand, which he tentatively offered.
“good game,” he lied back, and then glided off of the ice to jay and jake. HPD went back to whatever he was doing earlier, skating around in complex patterns and sliding the puck around seemingly effortlessly.
“you lost,” jake pointed out, sounding genuinely surprised. sunghoon gave him a look.
“he won by sheer hotness.”
“not possible. he’s not even that hot,” jay said conspiratorially. jake nodded. sunghoon didn’t say anything.
“you’re kidding me.”
“hoon,” jay sounded genuinely pained, “you can’t be serious.”
“i mean... he’s got nice arms.”
jay and jake both huffed.
“we’re leaving. i’m not staying here and watching you drool over the Hockey Player Dilf.”
“i have to go anyway,” jake said.
“why?”
“i have a work thing,” jake said, with the same level of enthusiasm one would have if they said ‘i have an appointment to be fed into a woodchipper.’
“boo,” jay whined, “can’t you skip?”
“it counts as overtime.” jake shrugged.
“abandoning us for capitalistic gains,” sunghoon pouted and looked away.
“hoon and i are getting olive garden without you, and i’m gonna beat your record for unlimited breadsticks. gonna go where no olive garden patron has been before and eat twenty,” jay threatened. jay and jake had a running record of who could eat the most breadsticks. the current record was held by jake at 18, and only because they’d stayed for nearly three hours before getting kicked out. sunghoon never dared to participate due to his crippling fear of that many carbs.
“DON’T GET IN THE WAY OF MY BREADSTICK STRIDE.” jake lunged for jay with unfiltered rage.
“I”LL EAT TWENTY-FIVE, FUCK YOU!”
HPD stopped what he was doing and looked over in concern. sunghoon pretended he was somewhere else.
“we’re leaving, hoon, c’mon,” jay looped their arms and pulled him towards the exit while jake glowered behind them.
“bye, jake!” sunghoon called over his shoulder, “have fun at your work thing!”
“yeah, yeah. drive safe,” jake shouted.
“gonna go ninety the whole way,” jay called, solely out of spite.
“only ninety?” sunghoon asked.
true to his word, as soon as sunghoon shut the passenger door jay floored it in reverse out of the parking spot. sunghoon was used to it at this point and started unlacing his skates to change into his slides, letting the inertia of the car toss him around in the passenger seat.
“jesus, dude, get buckled. seatbelts save lives,” jay scolded, “this is why you’re never getting your license.”
“fine, fine.”
“how was practice?” jay asked by rote.
“kinda shitty. i wanna go home and nap.”
“nice,” jay said distractedly, speeding onto the on ramp to the freeway. sunghoon didn’t mind: most of the conversations he had with jay went this way.
“wanna listen to bad indie?”
“stupid question,” jay said admonishingly, connecting his phone to the bluetooth and looking up the extensive playlist they’d created. it was probably definitely not safe for jay to be pushing ninety and looking at the phone, but sunghoon still felt fine. although jay had racked up an admirable collection of speeding tickets, he’d never run a red light, been in an accident, or been honked at (something he held over jake’s head).
they listened to the bad indie in companionable silence for a few minutes before jay reached out, turned it down, and gave sunghoon The Concerned Dad Look. sunghoon had been on the receiving end of t.c.d.l. thousands of times but this one felt extra-concerned.
“so, Hockey Player Dilf.” jay wiggled his eyebrows and sunghoon flushed, looking out of the window and suddenly finding the scenery extremely interesting. “tell me about it.”
“you’re not, like, my mom,” sunghoon mumbled.
“you tell your mom about Hockey Player Dilf?”
“no! of course not.”
“but i wanna know.”
“not telling.”
“yes telling. i promise i won’t tell anyone.”
“you’re gonna tell jake.”
“i mean. jake is different; he’s gonna find out anyway through the jayjakehoon hivemind.”
“if we have a hivemind, then you already know my thoughts on HPD.”
“tell me,” jay said, keeping his eyes on sunghoon rather than the road. he started to veer off into the right lane but corrected himself without taking his eyes off of him. sunghoon squirmed a little; jay’s gaze was surprisingly disarming.
“fine,” sunghoon huffed and jay finally looked back at the road. “i just think he’s hot. kinda really hot,” sunghoon gave a winsome sigh and slumped down further in his seat.
“amending his name to HHPD.”
“like, one time we were in the locker rooms--”
“jesus, don’t finish that senten--”
“and i saw his arm. like his entire arm. it was crazy.”
“you’ve seen my entire arm before,” jay muttered morosely.
“yeah, but his arm is different. he has a little tattoo, jay,” sunghoon whined, slumping even further down in his seat and not taking the hint that jay was jealous.
“you have a thing for tattoos?”
“no,” sunghoon said.
“sure you don’t.”
“i don’t!”
“uh-huh.”
“yeah.” sunghoon looked back out of the window and watched jay’s reflection as he turned off of the freeway. “he seems pretty nice, too, i guess.”
“you’ve talked to him, like, once” jay scoffed, “what if he’s like jang hanseok? just murdering people with his hockey stick?”
“that was actually kinda hot,” sunghoon admitted almost inaudibly. jay stared at him in disbelief and sunghoon hunched his shoulders.
“that was hot?” jay asked, “you have no self-preservation. if someone tried to murder you you’d just let it happen.”
“i would not!”
“would too.”
“would not.” sunghoon frowned.
“you definitely would.” jay pulled into the olive garden lot and haphazardly parked.
“i guess it depends on who it is,” sunghoon conceded, “like, if jake was trying to kill me i’d let him, cause he’d have a good reason.”
jay muttered something under his breath, shaking his head in disappointment with a curiously paternal air about him.
“you’re dumb.”
“am not.”
“are too. now let’s get some breadsticks.”
//
jay ended up getting them a corner booth by slipping the hostess an extra few bucks. they were watching a flock of pigeons fight over some stale bread from the dumpster while they ate: jay got alfredo and sunghoon was picking at a salad. jay was already on his fifth breadstick (he was taking pictures to send to jake as proof: most of them were just selfies of him flipping off the camera with a half-eaten breadstick in his mouth).
sunghoon cleared his throat, clasped his hands on the table, and stared at jay until he noticed. he immediately looked panicked, his seventh breadstick halfway to his mouth. he kind of reminded sunghoon of his dad.
“what did i do?”
“nothing,” sunghoon frowned, “why?”
“you look mad.”
“sorry.” sunghoon unclasped his hands and fiddled with the silverware instead. jay instantly relaxed.
“okay, then what is it?”
“what if i can’t go? on the trip, i mean.”
“then i’m kidnapping you,” jay said, matter-of-factly. sunghoon couldn’t say whether he was joking or not. with jay he could never really tell. “really. if you can’t go there’s no point.”
“you could go with jake,” sunghoon said weakly, already managing to make himself feel left out.
“that would be no fun. we’d just argue over who’s driving the whole time, and my dad fucking loves jake.”
sunghoon went: “?”
“how is that a bad thing?”
“it’s like jake is his son and i’m the best friend. like jake and your dad, too.”
“jake is just monopolizing our parents,” sunghoon pointed out. jay shrugged.
“it’s understandable.”
“you can’t not love him. i love jake. he’s great”
“whoa, there. i wouldn’t use the l-word, but i get it.”
“jake is just,” sunghoon sighed, “...jake.”
“uh. yeah.” jay raised his eyebrows. “is there something i’m missing here?”
“no.”
“hm. hey, speaking of jake, he texted me back… oh. oh, no. oh god.” jay looked at his phone, eyes wide.
“what?”
“uh.”
“what is it?” sunghoon asked, trying to lean over the table to see jay’s screen.
“...he crashed the car,” jay winced, trying to gauge sunghoon’s reaction.
“he… what?”
“he crashed the car.” jay finally turned his screen so that sunghoon could see: jake’s poor suv had smashed into a set of metal mailboxes. sunghoon was quiet for a few seconds.
“is he okay?”
“on the outside. come on, we should go pick him up; his parents are in colorado right now. god, they are not going to be happy when they get back.” jay paid (even though sunghoon had protested, albeit weakly) and led sunghoon out to the car.
jake was sitting on the curb when they got there, head in his hands. his car had obviously been towed thanks to his parent’s AARP membership.
“jake? buddy?” jay approached him first while sunghoon stayed back, unsure of how to handle the situation.
“hi.”
“hey. we’re taking you home. and i brought you breadsticks. i only got to eight, so your record is safe.” jay procured some breadsticks from his pocket, wrapped up in a napkin. jake looked like he was about to cry.
“thanks.”
sunghoon got into the backseat and curled up. jake got in shotgun and stared out the window, eating breadsticks and generally being depressed. jay turned on the indie solely for noise.
“how was olive garden?” jake asked quietly.
“sunghoon confessed his love for you,” jay said.
“did not!”
“did too.”
“out loud, with your whole chest, for that entire olive garden to witness, you said ‘i love jake.’” sunghoon groaned and kicked the back of jake’s seat in embarrassment. “i don’t hear you denying it.”
“cause i did! it’s... just... embarrassing…” sunghoon trailed off and refused to make eye contact with jake or jay, who looked very pleased with himself.
“it’s okay,” jake said, seeming to have cheered up significantly. sunghoon was glad he was finding his humiliation funny. “i love you too, sunghoon.”
“thank you,” sunghoon mumbled, tucking his chin into the collar of his jacket to hide his blush.
“...you’re welcome,” jake laughed.
“wait,” jay said, hitting the brakes a little bit too hard at a red light, “does this mean we’re taking my car?”
“i guess so.” jake shrugged. sunghoon looked around the car. jay’s mercedes was his baby. “unless you want to rent one…?”
“i’m not renting anything.”
“then i guess we’re taking your car,” jake said. jay heaved another sigh.
“fine.”
“i call shotgun when i’m not driving, then,” jake raised his hand.
“same. hoon, you’d better get comfortable back there with the suitcases.”
“not fair,” he whined.
“hey, on the bright side you can kinda lay down back there.” sunghoon huffed and started to pout. “don’t you dare,” jay warned, “you can’t weaponize your face.”
“i can do what i want,” sunghoon pouted. jay kept his eyes firmly on the road, refusing to be swayed. they turned into jake’s neighborhood and sunghoon was still going strong, sulking in the backseat while jay tried to ignore him.
“thanks for the ride,” jake sighed.
“yeah,” jay nodded.
“bye, jake,” sunghoon said. jay started to reverse out of the driveway, putting one hand on the passenger seat’s headrest and trying his level best to pretend sunghoon wasn’t right in his line of sight.
“c’mon,” sunghoon whined and deepened his pout, “please?” jay glanced at him (a fatal mistake), hit the brakes, and banged his forehead on the wheel, signaling defeat.
“fine. FINE. i’ll sit in back sometimes.” sunghoon grinned and wriggled in his seat in victory.
“thank you,” he crowed.
“i can’t stand you,” jay lied, “i’m taking you home.”
jay could, in fact, stand sunghoon. so much so that they ended up sitting together in the idle car in sunghoon’s driveway. neither jay nor sunghoon made a move to leave.
“do you wanna come in?” sunghoon asked quietly. jay shook his head.
“i don’t want your mom going all… mom on me.”
“you can come through my window.”
“i fell out last time,” jay said in a warning tone.
“you won’t this time,” sunghoon reassured him, opening his car door and getting out. he shut it and leaned down to peer in through the window. “c’mon, i’ll let you in.” he started walking up the drive, not waiting to see if jay was following. a few seconds later he heard some muffled thumps (jay’s head hitting the steering wheel; he was really doing that a lot today, wasn’t he?) and the car door opening. jay shuffled around back.
“hi, hon!” sunghoon’s mom greeted him as soon as he walked in. “how was practice?”
“good…” sunghoon yawned, not entirely fake, “i’m probably just gonna take a shower and go to bed: ‘m really tired.”
“homework?”
“i don’t have any.”
“...alright. have a nice night.” she grabbed his face in both hands and dragged him down to press kisses to both of his cheeks before sending him upstairs.
sunghoon hurried into his room. he peered out of the window down to jay, who was waiting down in the thorny rose bushes underneath.
“what are you waiting for?” he tilted his head.
“i wanted to wait for you so i don’t open your window to you, like, getting changed or anything,” jay huffed, starting to climb up the trellis. it was nailed securely to the siding but still wobbled under his weight as he climbed up. sunghoon could hardly watch, reaching his hand down for jay to grab once he was within reach.
“hoon, quit shaking. you’re not the one twenty feet off the ground.” jay said, finally clasping sunghoon’s hand in his own. the feeling of jay’s hand in his was supposed to be familiar at this point but it felt different, somehow. he frowned and inspected jay. were his eyes always that dark? “are you gonna pull me up, or just stare at me?”
“...sorry.” sunghoon tugged as hard as he could and yanked jay through the window too quickly. they went tumbling backwards onto the floor: jay was on top of him for a split second, a surprisingly pleasant weight pressing him down into the rug. sunghoon wriggled out from under him, face aflush. “i’m gonna get in the shower, if you just wanna hang out in here for a minute.” feeling unusually flustered under jay’s gaze, sunghoon grabbed a big jumper and a towel and hurried away into his bathroom.
“...’kay. i’ll be here, and i’m not gonna fall asleep like last time,” jay assured. sunghoon just nodded, too scared his voice would come out like it had with HHPD earlier; quiet and unfamiliar.
as soon as he shut the door behind him, he started panicking. what was this? what was he doing?
he felt… weird around jay now, for the first time in a long time. sunghoon felt like he was waiting for something from him. anything. it was something like the feeling he got when he was around HHPD, but… something… something was off. for god’s sake, jay was his best friend. one of his best friends, sunghoon mentally amended himself, remembering jake. he needed to get him out of his head.
he stared at himself in the mirror. he had an awful, incriminating blush covering his cheeks, and his eyes were watering for some reason.
his hair was mussed from the effort of pulling jay up into his room. he had a new cut on his cheek from accidentally scratching his face with a broken nail. he looked a little bit insane, if he was being honest, and wondered if jay noticed, then wondered why he cared if jay noticed. he’d seen him looking worse than this.
he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts like an etch-a-sketch. stepping into the shower, he turned the temperature all the way up.
after his shower, he trudged back into his room (not before giving himself a reassuring pep talk) to find jay asleep, sitting with his back against the bed and softly snoring. he watched for a few quiet seconds before remembering to be upset, reaching out and nudging his leg with his toe.
“wha’?”
“you fell asleep,” sunghoon said, feeling betrayed.
“not my fault. you took too long,” jay shrugged. sunghoon fell onto his bed and curled up, tugging the duvet around his shoulders. “also, your knee looks nasty. get a band-aid or something, i don’t wanna look at it.” sunghoon looked at his knee and poked at it a little. jay winced and swatted his hand away.
“what?”
“it’s gonna get infected. where are your bandaids?”
“um,” sunghoon said, knowing full well that the only ones he had were disney themed from the last time his cousin was over, “we don’t… have any?”
“yes you do; you wear them all the time. you need one for your face, too,” jay leaned closer and scrunched his eyebrows together, reaching out to poke the little cut on his cheek. sunghoon recoiled at the touch as if he’d been burnt. “are you good?”
“yeah,” sunghoon mumbled in the small voice. jay made his i-am-psychoanalyzing-you-right-now face for a few seconds.
“you should go to sleep. you’re thinking too much,” he diagnosed.
“i don’t want to,” sunghoon said immediately.
“why not?”
“cause you’re here. and it would be dumb to make you climb up here just for a few minutes. i need to get my jay time in.”
“jay privileges can wait. get in bed.”
“i’m in bed.” sunghoon pouted, and jay looked away again.
“you know what i mean, and seriously, if you keep on doing that i’m going to hit you.” sunghoon only deepened his pout.
“i don’t wanna go to sleep yet. i‘m not even that tired.” sunghoon immediately hid a yawn behind his hand. jay gave him a suspicious look, seeing right through him.
“fine,” jay said, climbing up onto the bed with him. sunghoon scooted back against his pillows to make room. “tell me about practice.” jay tapped his leg and sunghoon obediently laid down, resting his head on jay’s thigh.
“it was boring. i mean, you were there.”
“yeah, but it’s more fun to hear you talk about it.”
“fine. i fell, like, a trillion times and i feel like one big bruise and everything hurts.” jay’s hand started tugging gently at the ends of his hair and his eyes fell shut, “after i fell for, like, the twelfth time, coach told me to just run. probably cause he felt bad for me. also i think i fucked up my hip, cause it kinda really hurts all the time, but i got to talk to HHPD, so it’s all okay now.”
“HHPD heals all wounds,” jay joked, “now go to sleep, idiot.” sunghoon made a face.
“not tired.”
“yes you are. you’re making the i’m-tired-and-lying-to-you-about-it face.”
“i don’t have a face like that,” sunghoon lied.
“you do too, and you’re making it right now.” sunghoon tried to school his expression back to something normal. jay deadpanned. “c’mon. just go to bed.” he started running his hand through the hair at sunghoon’s nape, and he melted.
“not fair,” he mumbled, “you know that’s not fair.”
“it’s working, though.”
“it’s not,” sunghoon lied, letting himself relax. after a few minutes jay carefully lifted sunghoon’s head and set a pillow under it, getting up to leave. sunghoon immediately woke up. “where are you goin’?” he asked, lifting his head groggily.
“...home? it’s, like, eleven. i’ve got a curfew.”
sunghoon made a noise of protest and let his head fall back onto the pillow. jay huffed. “you’re going to see me tomorrow morning, loser. don’t miss me too much.”
sunghoon squinted up at him, barely keeping his eyes open. “‘m not gonna miss you at all,” he lied, “you think too much of yourself,” he said haughtily.
“yeah, yeah. sure.” jay tiptoed over to the open window (sunghoon had forgotten to close it and now it was about forty degrees in his room). “goodnight,” he added, hanging halfway out.
“night, jay.” sunghoon listened to him climb back downstairs before letting himself fall asleep.
//
“morning, loser,” jay pulled his car into sunghoon’s driveway and rolled down the window, “get in.”
“g’morning,” sunghoon sniffled, opening the door and falling into the passenger seat.
“what, are you sick or something?”
“i think so. i left the window open last night and it was, like, two degrees in my room.”
“you’re stupid,” jay admonished, turning his seat warmer on. sunghoon buried his nose in his hoodie and didn’t say anything. he shut his eyes and slumped over in the seat, and jay didn’t bother him until they got to school. “hoon.”
“huh?”
“we’re here,” jay pointed out. sunghoon nodded and wearily slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, unfolding himself and climbing up out of the car. “have a nice practice.”
“thanks,” sunghoon mumbled, still tucking his nose in his hoodie. he waved goodbye with a floppy sleeve and hurried into the rink for practice. he felt cold everywhere, and the freezing air coming up off the ice wasn’t helping. he did a cursory check of the rink: the high schooler who worked concessions, niki, was napping face-down on the counter, the zamboni guy was taking a coffee break, and HHPD was on the rink where sunghoon was meant to be practicing today. sunghoon dimly wondered if he lived in the locker rooms or something. he was a constant presence.
“hey,” HHPD greeted him as soon as he came into view, “chilly out, isn’t it?” sunghoon just nodded and sniffled some more. HHPD side-eyed him and wordlessly moved over to the other half of the rink with his pucks, giving sunghoon some room.
“thanks.” HHPD just gave him a dude-bro type nod of respect and went back to his practice. sunghoon made a few valid attempts at his routine but always trailed off, finding HHPD more distracting than usual. despite the chilly air, he was wearing a cutoff tshirt, and his arms were pale with the exception of a deep purple, almost black, bruise on his elbow. sunghoon watched him with frightening intensity. suddenly, HHPD stopped what he was doing and glanced at sunghoon, eyes widening when they made eye contact. sunghoon looked away and pretended to be extremely interested in the ice under his skates. he could hear HHPD laughing to himself on the other side of the rink, and blushed an embarrassing shade of pink.
practice was dismal: he couldn’t focus for the rest of the hour. HHPD just stayed over on his half of the rink, occasionally sending a stray puck over into sunghoon’s half but dutifully skating over to retrieve it every time.
sunghoon shuffled off to the locker rooms after getting frustrated enough with himself to quit, quickly changing into his jumper and sweatpants, legs feeling weak from the combination of practice and being sick.
he needed a cappuccino, and he didn’t have the capacity to care about whether it was $1 from the shitty little machine in the concessions booth. he shuffled out, all too aware of HHPD’s eyes on him.
he stood in front of the sleeping concession worker for a few seconds, unsure of whether he should wake him up, and if so, how.
“hey!” HPD yelled, from all the way across the rink building, “you have a customer.”
“hey,” niki said, popping up from the counter and subtly wiping the little puddle of drool off of it, “what can i get you?”
“cappuccino, please.” sunghoon slid four quarters across the counter. niki manually counted them out loud.
“ooookay. i’ll have that right out for you.”
“thank you.” sunghoon politely stepped aside for HHPD, who’d materialized behind him in the time he’d taken to order.
“same thing, riki,” he said, in a quiet voice, and sunghoon panicked. had he gotten the poor concession boy’s name wrong this whole time? was it riki? he squinted at his nametag but still couldn’t make it out: the handwriting was a bit rough. “hey,” HHPD materialized in front of him-- really, he needed to quit doing that-- snapping him out of his onomatological panic and sending him into another.
“hi,” he said back, feeling rather unintelligent. he felt his ears getting hot already.
“you practice every day?” HHPD asked naturally, raising his eyebrow. sunghoon nodded, sent for a loop.
“yeah. coach isn’t here today, so i kinda get a day off.” sunghoon gestured to the concessions stand. niki/riki was banging on the cappuccino machine, muttering at it in rapid-fire japanese that didn’t sound particularly friendly.
“ah. welp, my coach is never here, so every day is a day off for me, by that logic,” HHPD laughed, and sunghoon mentally swooned.
“guess so.” sunghoon said into his collar, having tucked his chin down into it again.
“do you maybe want to practice together--” HHPD didn’t stop looking at sunghoon. it was kind of unsettling, having his eyes on him all the time.
“here you go!” niki/riki slid their two cups across the counter and promptly fell back into his spinny chair, resting his face on the counter again. sunghoon prayed he got some disinfectant for it.
“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, nervously sipping his drink, which was far too hot and scalded the entirety of his tongue. his eyes watered like mad and he hoped it didn’t look like he was crying, because he wasn’t. it just hurt. okay, maybe he was crying a little.
“nothing. have a good ‘day off.’” HHPD did a quick little ‘fighting!’ gesture and hurried back over to the rink, leaving sunghoon with a burnt tongue and a question.