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The only thing worse than losing a 3-on-3 with a week of laundry, lunch, and five packs of White Claws on the line is the ensuing fallout.
Junhyeon’s muscles are well past the point of sore; his sinewy arms too limp to even tie his shoes, his calves barely able to support on him on his trek toward the nearest bench, arm positioned on his lower back like an old man. His hair is matted with sweat. His vision is the slightest bit bleary. He wonders, with all of these symptoms, if he should consider booking an appointment to check if he has an iron deficiency like he’s been suspecting for a while now. Months, really.
Needless to say, Junhyeon feels like shit. He’s still young—a fact that Jiwoong takes any and every opportunity to remind him of (and Jiwoong acts and thinks as if he’s already middle-aged, enrolling in a 401K, getting his retirement plans in order, including Yujin in his will, etc.)—and with youth comes the tendency to put a hundred percent effort into things. Everything. One time, he and Gyuvin were competing at one of those strength measuring machines at the county fair and he punched the poor thing so hard that he hurtled himself into the Dance Dance Revolution machine right next to it.
In retrospect, maybe all that over-enthusiasm that he attributes to youth is really just him being himself.
Speaking of Gyuvin, he spots him over at the vending machines with Daeul, a guy he doesn’t really know anything about besides what Gyuvin tells him—and he’d rather not repeat what Gyuvin has said about him because he’ll physically cringe—and the guy hasn’t even noticed his disappearance. Junhyeon, his best friend, his brother from another mother, is about to collapse on this bench, and the airhead wouldn’t know a thing because he’s too busy trying to rizz up some boy from—
“Are you okay?”
An unrecognizable voice cuts through his internal monologue. He shakes his head like a dog to gather his bearings, careful not to get any sweat on this poor individual who’s just come up to him, and looks up, expecting it to be someone he knows, someone on the team. And really, he’s never been more overjoyed to come face-to-face with a stranger before—he’s beautiful, and Junhyeon can’t really articulate anything more than that, considering he’s kinda seeing two of him, like a mirage.
Maybe this isn’t real?
“Uh,” the guy tilts his head to the side. “I have some water, if you’d like?”
Junhyeon nods. Nods fervently. He probably looks a little stupid doing it, but the guy seems pleased, humored somewhat. He has the most delightful smile as he fishes it out.
“Here,” he passes it to him.
“Thanks,” Junhyeon says, twisting the cap off. “Name?” He asks quickly, as if he’s in a business meeting.
The guy looks caught off-guard too. “Taerae,” he replies.
Junhyeon nods, tossing his head back and downing the entire water bottle in one go. It takes him about seven seconds. When he’s done, he lets out the most earth-shattering, man-lost-in-a-desert gasp of relief, then burps, then wipes his mouth with his arm and looks back at Taerae, who looks more than a little taken aback, but Junhyeon is undeterred, his eyes like a hawk’s.
“I’m Junhyeon,” he replies, toothy. “You uh—you like it here? I mean—you come around here often? I haven’t seen you around…we practice here a lot. We as in the team, my team. The basketball team. I’m a D-1 athlete, by the way. We play on Thursday actually.”
He gulps, his throat flexing, tongue swiping over his teeth.
Taerae opens his mouth to speak, but is quite literally speechless. He turns back around, then smiles at Junhyeon.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he says, turning away and walking back to where he came from.
Junhyeon sighs, keeling over like an empty plastic bag.
—
Junhyeon’s kind of like a walking matchstick. He can set on fire easily and veers toward self-destruction regularly. Gyuvin in particularly referred to it as a lack of self-preservation skills, which could be accurate. In fact, if he didn’t have Gyuvin to accompany him almost all of the time, he probably would be on the local news for something or other.
Like this time, stumbling through the hallways of what is only his second college party. One of the seniors on the team passed him a Solo cup full of what tasted like straight battery acid and he, not yet aware of the whole idea of pacing himself, drank it all up within fifteen minutes as if he was dared (he was not dared; he was advised against doing it, actually).
And so, he’s searching for Gyuvin, again. He’s eluded him for a while; since they arrived, actually. They walked through the door and Gyuvin pretty much abandoned him, so whatever.
Maybe he shouldn’t be looking for him. Fuck Gyuvin, right?
And so fuck Gyuvin it is, he decides, eyes half-lidded and groggily groping at the walls, rounding the corner and hobbling out onto the front porch and taking a cursory glance around, trying to figure out whether he can feasibly walk home or not.
“Woah!”
He bumps into someone on the steps and totters back but manages to catch himself. Hazily, he looks up.
“Oh.”
It’s him. Him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
A standstill, a stalemate. Junhyeon wants to do like Paper Mario, turn two-dimensional and slip down through the gap in the planks of the porch. Taerae looks gorgeous, even better than their first encounter—a savvy little button-up and ripped jeans and no bangs this time. Junhyeon gulps, can’t really get himself to say anything. The last time he attempted saying things, it ended in disaster.
“You look fucked up,” Taerae says, thankfully with sympathy in his tone, a slight frown.
Junhyeon frowns, an exaggerated one. “Yeah,” he says simply.
Taerae levels him with only a slightly disapproving look, a shake of his head. Junhyeon feels small. Then, Taerae tosses his head back.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
“Wait.”
Taerae already began to walk back down the steps toward the street where, presumably, his car was parked, but then stopped and turned, brows raising. Junhyeon held a hand out, then sat down on the steps. Taerae looks at him, curious, then gets the hint and sits next to him.
After a brief silence, Junhyeon speaks.
“I am grateful the universe has brought us together again.”
Taerae stares at him. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”
Junhyeon ignores him. “I’m meant to apologize—I mean, I want to. I kinda fumbled back then, last week. You were—you were flirting with me, right? That wasn’t one of those instances where I’m so tired I’m hallucinating pretty people talking to me?”
Taerae, again, opens his mouth to speak, but seems troubled, not knowing where to start. This time, though, he breathes and arranges his thoughts.
“I—yes, I was flirting. It isn’t exactly normal for a stranger to do that. Unless, you know.”
Junhyeon brightens. “Oh, okay.” He looks forward, at the street and away from Taerae. “That’s awesome.”
“Awesome?”
“Yeah,” he nods, grinning. “I’m pretty shit with like, pretty boys. Like, really bad. So it’s nice that you came back around, I guess.”
Taerae snorts. “Well, not intentionally. It was the universe.”
“Right,” Junhyeon mutters. “The universe.”
He looks up, ogling the stars, then flops onto his back, hitting the hardwood.
“Ow, shit.”
“Okay, let’s get you home,” Taerae stands, offering his hand. From above him, Junhyeon thinks, he really does look like an angel in the night. He takes the hand, but he’s heavier than expected. Taerae tenses, winces, then grabs Junhyeon with both arms and hauls him up—but with the force of it, Taerae himself goes stumbling back into the grass.
“Shit,” Junhyeon curses, rushing forward. “Fuck, a boy likes me for once and I fucking commit manslaughter.”
And then, surprisingly, he hears laughter. Bright, loud laughter, almost childish, voice hitching and swaying and roiling like clouds. Taerae’s clutching his stomach and laughing. Junhyeon, then, cracks a self-conscious smile. He scratches the nape of his neck.
“You’re okay. Good. That’s good.”
This time, Taerae gets up by himself and looks at Junhyeon.
“First date, you’re paying,” he says sternly.
Junhyeon’s smile is wide, stretching infinitely. He’s more than okay with that.