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Chapter Text

For a second, he thinks he mistook his hyung’s words, the bright club lights, blasting music and more than he should have drank alcohol messing up with his hearing. Just to be sure he was the only one, Hongbin looks to his side, seeing a just as shocked as him Jaehwan, the green cocktail in his hand forgotten as the oldest boy in the small group gapes at the other boy. “Excuse me?” he asks, taking the words out of Hongbin’s mouth.

The other boy, Wonshik, smiles cockily, sipping his own drink, yellow n’ blue lights hitting his face and giving the handsome face a somewhat wicked appearance “I said, let’s make a bet”

Hongbin sighs, running his hand through his hair, seeing that no, he wasn’t mistaken and yes, his oldest friend had said such stupidity at twenty-three years old. Leaning against the club’s couch, he crosses his arms on front of his body, rolling his eyes at the suggestion, quite offended that Wonshik even dared to make it; they were on their penultimate year of university, after all. To assume he was so immature…

“You’re drunk” he stated simply, annoyed “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be saying idiotic stuff like this”

“Sassy maknae” Wonshik grumbles, throwing Hongbin a dirty glare that still wouldn’t have been frightening even if his face was at its natural color and not flushed from one bottle and a half of soju “I’m being serious here”

“Seriously stupid” Jaehwan speaks, smiling cutely. Devilish in his ways, this one.

Wonshik pouts a little, not satisfied with being called off by both the maknae and the hyung “Not you too, Ken-hyung! Listen to me, okay, and you’ll see why I’m so brilliant, yeah?”

Jaehwan snorts playfully, putting his elbows on his knees and inclining his head forward in a mocking stance. Hongbin stays in the same position, not one to encourage his best friend’s ridiculous drunken ideas. He thinks about getting up and going to the bar to actually pick some girl – the reason why he came to a club on a Saturday, in the first place – and spare his ears, but Wonshik earnest and animated expression stops him. He mentally curses his soft heart, and listens to the supposed ‘brilliant idea’. Jaehwan also appears to have the same idea, masking his annoyance better than himself, large features indulgent.

“We’re a bunch of fucking girlfriendless dudes with boring lives” bluntly, the tipsiest of the three says, smirking at the common faces of outrage directed at him “What, you can’t take the truth? We study, work part-time, study again and drink. A hook up once in a while, but lately not even this, since you, hyung, can’t decide which gender you like the most and Hongbin is so damn selective –”

At the accusation, the youngest protests “As if you’re easy to deal with, pabo”

He’s swiftly ignored “– and so, I thought we could spice things up a little. There’s no better idea than a bet”

“Ravi-yah, I don’t have all night” Jaehwan whines “Just go straight to the point”

“Have you guys heard of the ‘B1 Trio’?”

Hongbin actually has. In fact, he doubts there is someone on their university who has never heard of the infamous trio. Suddenly, Wonshik’s idea turns interesting, and he catches himself inclining slightly on his seat, wanting to hear more about what could possibly involve those three in whatever his friend is thinking; to make his seemingly boring life more fun, according to him.

Weird, he didn’t know Wonshik maintained contact with the other three. In fact…

“You’re talking about the Arts Building trio, right? The dancer, the composer and the director”

“Yep” Ravi smirks, popping the ‘p’ loudly.

Ken frowns, rubbing his neck “What ‘bout them?” as an Arts student himself, he knows more than the other two regarding the mentioned group; they’re not the type of people one messes with without facing consequences, such as a heartbreak or a broken bone.

The smirk grows to a full beam, and Wonshik’s face is too cute like this, considering that his intentions don’t seem to be the best; it doesn’t match. Hongbin is fully aware that whatever leaves his mouth will be absurd “I dare you guys to seduce one of them”

See? Absurd.

Hongbin wasn’t drinking anything in the moment, but he chokes on his own spit after the delusional idiot he calls a friend proclaims his dare, he having the courage – or foolishness – to continue to smile, oblivious of just how insane he had sounded.

The B1 Trio is known on the whole school. The three students from the Arts Department – the building which is located called B1, hence the name – are glued to each other, and no one ever was successful in entering their little group; and how many have tried. They are also the stars from their courses, every single professor eating on their hands, like every student. The trio is the most talented, mysterious and untouchable group of all university, being composed by Han Sanghyuk, Cha Hakyeon and Jung Taekwoon.

Han Sanghyuk is nothing but a baby, still on his second year, but his reputation as a great director follows him since his high school years. It’s not a rare sight to see him arrogantly walking around the campus with a whole equip of sunbaes – seniority irrelevant – and hoobaes behind him, carrying dozens of materials for his projects or simply hanging around with a camera – sometimes his own cell phone –, filming the passing of hours almost lazily. The boy is very easy on the eyes too, with bleached platinum hair, cute nose and sharp jawline, an attractive middle term between teenager and adult.

Cha Hakyeon has been a legend for as long as he started to dance, most of his life then, or that’s what most people say. On his last year, the contemporary dancer is target of women and men alike, gender barrier nonexistent when it came to him. Differently from the other two, he’s quite talkative and friendly – Hongbin remembers talking to him twice, once to ask for directions and the other to lightly chit-chat while waiting for his order on a bubble tea place – and yet, evasive and overly polite. His tanned skin and green highlights against the soft-looking brown hair guarantee him an exotic look.

Jung Taekwoon is the personification of mystery on this Earth. Few are those who have heard his voice outside of the moments where he’s singing, musical directors looking out for him all the time since one appearance from him on a play is the same as declaring it a success. Even though he could live as a musical actor or a ballad singer, he’s on the last year of the composer course, preferring to stay behind the piano and studio. His presence is just as rare as his voice, Hongbin himself only having seen him, on his translucent white, dyed blonde glory a couple dozen of times in the four years he’s been studying Veterinary, and this, from a considerable distance.

To seduce one of them is impossible. Not even a probability, a vague chance; impossible.

Jaehwan thinks the same, judging the way his already big eyes widen comic-like; something snaps on him, and the older boy is laughing out loud, noisier than the blasting music – an American track Hongbin doesn’t bother to know the name – at immediate premises; a couple of girls turn their attention to the noise, giggling after they see how handsome he is. He’s not cocky – not exactly –; it’s only usually like this.

“Very funny Ravi-yah” Jaehwan says in between small puffs of laughter, cheeks reddening cutely.

Wonshik smiles fondly at his hyung, but replies “I’m not joking, Hyung, I’m serious”

“You can’t be”

“I am”

“Noooope”

“Hyung…”

“I refuse”

“Ken-hyung’s right” Hongbin butts in, receiving a groan as answer “You’ve always been stupid, but I never thought you could reach the ultimate level”

The Arts student nods. Wonshik grabs his forgotten drink to gulp it down “You’re no fun, just think about it! The mighty trio at our feet! You know we can do it; we never failed in conquering whoever we wanted, when we really did! Come on! There’s no other thing in this damn college that would be so challenging and fun!”

He urges to roll his eyes “Even if I agreed, what I would receive?” life is made out of interests, the youngest concludes.

“Aha, now you’ll agree” joyfully, Wonshik intertwines his hands; a merchant ready to display his products “I have a ticket for the V.I.P area, plus one for the Showcase for Park Hyo Shin’s upcoming concert and, for Jaehwan-hyung, I offer three months of free paint. This, if you win” victoriously he finishes his sentence, for a matter of fact taking pleasure in seeing two jaws dropping.

“W-Where… W-Wh-When did you… Park Hyo Shin’s…” Hongbin babbles incoherently, flabbergasted.

“My sister wanted to go, but she gave up to go on a school trip”

“Paint for three months… Free, like, completely free?”

“For you, yes. For me though…”

Jaehwan looks expectantly at Hongbin, chewing his bottom lip in anxiousness. The younger boy runs his hand on his black hair, tousling it to the point it is half up and half down.

He’s not drunk enough to accept enthusiastically, but… Park Hyo Shin, his idol since God knows how long, whose tickets for the approaching concert were sold out before he could gather money to buy one – his part-time salary going for his rent and food and textbooks – is more than needed to convince him to do this craziness, or at least, plant the seed of doubt on inside his heart. Damn Wonshik and his sister.

“Hypothetically speaking…” he starts, nodding at Jaehwan as a ‘let-me-take-care-of-this-hyung’ signal “If we agreed with this, how long would we have? And in case you lose? Or me? Or hyung? Or course, hypothetically”

A pause “I didn’t think that far off” the stupid Literature student admitted.

“How about the last three months? The semester will end by then” Jaehwan offers, fake coughing after saying “Hypothetically”

“Sounds good… Hypothetically” Wonshik catches the whole ‘hypothetical’ situation, the corners of his mouth barely curling to form a grin “If I lose and you two succeed, I will give what I promised. If you guys lose–”

“–I won’t bother you about cleaning duties and I will make your part” Hongbin interrupts before he can make a ludicrous offer, since the most of their fights involve the older’s inability to clean his mess. “For Jaehwan-hyung, I’ll hypothetically give that expensive as hell set of brushes he got his eyes on for the entire semester” how he will make enough money to buy it if he loses it’s a non-important detail for now.

“I’ll buy Wonshik-ah that weird pillow that massages the head and for Hongbin-ah… I’ll give you a cat, hypothetically”

A ticket for Park Hyo Shin’s concert AND a cat? The doubt in his mind withers and fades into nothing. He’s gonna win this bet before his friends can see what’s happening.

“We start Monday”

He can’t quite manage a defeated sigh; his wins by the end of this will be worth everything.

They pick one napkin on the table, Jaehwan conjuring out of nowhere one pen – not surprising; Arts, yeah? – to write down the three names. He folds the pieces carefully under watchful pairs of eyes, letting go of them so each one can choose who they’re going to seduce. Wonshik goes first, proclaiming he had the idea so he had the right; Hongbin follows him quietly, wishing to pick Hakyeon’s name – he’s by far the easiest choice, gentle and more open; he’ll have trouble if he has to deal with Sanghyuk’s cockiness or Taekwoon’s… entire being, starting from finding the place he hides – out of the three. Jaehwan goes last to show the others he has no intention to cheat.

“In three we open it” Jaehwan suggest, gaining concordance nods “1, 2… 3!”

They open the pieces of napkin.

“Han Sanghyuk!” the oldest shouts, face grimacing at the name, teethes instantly digging into his bottom lip in one concerned expression.

Hongbin just stares at the name displayed…

“YES! Cha Hakyeon!” Wonshik punches the air in victory, standing from his place.

… with dread.

Jung Taekwoon.

Chapter Text

Monday comes far faster than normal, and Hongbin sees himself in a bind; how in hell he’ll find Jung Taekwoon and even if he does, how he’ll approach the unapproachable boy?

Well, wasn’t there someone that once said that the best ideas come in moments of desperation? No? Uh.

The worst part is that he can’t ask for Jaehwan or Wonshik’s help; the first a natural social butterfly thanks to a constant enthusiasm and cuteness, the second an unaware charming persona when not trying too hard. They are now the enemy, and the he won’t give them the advantage of knowing the clueless state he’s currently on, preferring to plot with the little information available.

First things come first, so he should start by going to the B1 building, to look out for Taekwoon and try to see some kind of pattern in his behavior, see what could work when the time to get close to the Ice Prince – he thinks he heard some girls calling the composer like this; it’s fitting – arrives. Also, it can be useful to notice Taekwoon’s two friends and how they act around him so he will act accordingly.

If he succeeds in subtly warning Hakyeon and Sanghyuk about Wonshik and Jaehwan…

First things first. When he manages to actually engage in some contact with his prey – he feels silly in thinking about the older boy like this, but again, it’s fitting given the circumstances – he’ll start to consider blowing up his friends attempts to do the same. Maybe say that Wonshik snores and is afraid of all bugs in this world; say that Jaehwan is stupid and can act like an ahjumma when things don’t go the way he wants it to go. They’re not lies, and they never established rules about… delaying fellow companions.

It’s seven in the morning and Hongbin only starts to have classes at nine, what gives him more than enough time to go to the B1 building – a ten minute walk from his building, the B5, for Biology and Chemistry courses – and explore. His friends, fortunately, are all in class right now, and he considers this a starting advantage.

Given the hour and the season, it’s pleasantly cloudy and windy, not overwhelmingly so; the only annoying factor of it it’s his hair, which keeps falling on front of his eyes, blocking slightly his vision.

And so, because of this, he can’t see a hat flying on his direction until it hits him square on the face, the world vanishing into black and red strips of whatever is the material used to do hats like this one. Obviously taken by surprise, Hongbin drops to the ground, hissing at the sharp pain on his bum right after.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” he hears a feminine voice, followed by a brush of cold fingers on his cheeks, as the offending accessory is removed from his face. He’s greeted by large brown eyes and fair skin, all combined to form one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen in his life. She’s kneeling by his side, hat on her hands and matching with the red dress she wears and her black purse. She seems worried, but ready to laugh. “Are you alright?”

Who is she? How in hell has he never seen her in the campus before? “Most of me, yes. My butt though…” he says with a grumble, regretting his words the moment they’re out of his mouth. Smooth Hongbin, really smooth.

She blinks once – with long dark eyelashes – before bursting into little cute giggles. Involuntarily, a smile creeps its way through his lips.

“I’m sorry, but the wind…” she tries to explain, stopping to giggle some more, pale cheeks flushing adorably “… It carried my hat away. I screamed at you, but you didn’t seem to listen, I’m so sorry”

Indeed, he didn’t listened “It’s okay, I should have been more attentive”

“That you should” she smiles at him, and God, she’s even prettier smiling. He gets up by himself – to save some of his wounded dignity – and offers her his hand, so she can do the same. Once both are standing face to face, she continues “I’ve never seen you here… Are you a freshman? By the way, I’m Heo Youngji” she bows.

Hongbin quickly does the same “Lee Hongbin. I–… I’m a fourth year… For Veterinary”

“Hongbin-sunbae, then?” she tilts her head to one side, like a puppy “I’m a third year in the Drama course” after saying this, her eyes widen, and she bows again, almost 90° “Oh, I’m sorry for using informal speech, I…”

“Youngji-yah, calm down” Hongbin blushes at her manners – too accustomed with being the maknae on his group and class – and fights the urge to mess with his hair. Girls don’t like stuttering guys “I have no problem with you using informal speech, no need to get all flustered”

Youngji raises her head, and smiles sheepishly “O-Okay I… I should go, hm, I’m certain you have things to do and…”

No, no. She can’t be leaving already, they’ve just met. As Wonshik had said the other day, Hongbin is too damn selective when it comes to liking someone. He likes tall girls with long, straight hair and pretty smiles and until now, Youngji fulfilled all of his first requirements. For boys – he wouldn’t accept the bet if he didn’t swing for both genders, like Wonshik. Jaehwan is another thing; he likes who he likes –, he prefers them cute, smaller than him and lithe. Taekwoon, the little Hongbin has seen from afar, does not fit any of these, tall, cold and well-built.

Oh yes, Taekwoon!

“Wait” he says before she can leave; Youngji looks up expectantly “As you can see, I’m not from this area, and I’m looking out for someone on the composers’ class. Please, help your sunbae out here”

“Sure! Their class is next to mine! But I don’t think they have lessons until eight, so most are just dispersed on the entire building; Junhyun-sunbae stays with Yoseob-sunbae on the cafeteria, and there are rumors that the Ice Prince hides behind the fourth floor staircase” she agrees, starting to walk and motioning for the boy to follow her. She starts to babble, clearly uncomfortable with silence.

Call him lucky if you want, Hongbin just has this incredible ability of landing himself inside great situations. Maybe it’s his face, maybe some unknown aura he emanates, but people just talk when they’re near hm. If it’s an attempt to make him talk back, if they just want to say things about themselves so they can have a chance at having something in common with him, Hongbin doesn’t care.

Even if clueless, he has a lead “Ice Prince?” he feigns ignorance. As much as he wants to discover things about her, he needs to deal with the bet first.

“Yes, Jung Taekwoon-sunbae” Youngji actually flushes slightly when mentioning his name, and the veterinary student likes the older boy even less “He’s this building star, together with his friends. I must say, I never, ever heard him talk before, but teacher sometimes call him to show an example of acting while singing and… Ah” she sighs “He’s from another world”

“Sounds cocky to me”

“To most people, I bet he looks cocky. But, I don’t know, he doesn’t have an cocky air around him, like Director Han or even Hakyeon-oppa do”

“If you say so” he hums, absorbing the information. Maybe Taekwoon likes cocky types? He can be cocky. Have reasons to be cocky.

They enter the B1 building, which, differently from the other 8 in the University, is painted bottom to top in all colors known by human kind and not grayish blue, a work that joined all arts students. The structure is painted white every five years, so new works can be added, an ever-changing place, six floors filled beautifully and showing just how its’ students are singular from each other. Manga characters mix with surrealist images, realistic faces framed by psychedelic swirls of purple and blue. B1 is where events and expositions happen, from amateurs to professionals.

Hongbin identifies easily Jaehwan’s work, a cacophony of comic-like characters with bright and weird colors, and that robot thing – Rovixx, or whatever is called – to complement his ‘Ken’ signature “As expected from Ken-hyung”

“You know him? Kenny is really popular here, so is his art!” Youngji, indicates the mentioned boy’s art, before pointing to very realistic caricatures “So are Suzy-unni’s”

They chat away as the girl leads him to the third floor. It’s a quarter to eight, and Youngji says she has class. They bid goodbye, only after Hongbin boldly asks for her number, which she gladly gives. He watches as she enters her class, turning around to the stairs by the end of the corridor, as quietly as he is able to walking towards the fourth floor, looking out for Taekwoon.

On the fourth floor, right behind the stairs, there is a place kind of dark, big enough to fit two, three people at once, at most.

It is empty, and Hongbin curses.

Missed chance.

.

.

Cha Hakyeon is having a good day, considering it’s Monday and he still can feel a distant headache, consequence of drinking on someone’s – he doesn’t quite remember who, just that this person is not from the B1 – party the day before. The pile of books on his arms should be a nuisance, but the dancer is familiarized with his teachers relying on him to do errands. He indeed is reliable, so why complain?

He’s confident in his abilities as a performer and as a charming person; there’s no-one on this damn university who he can’t get along with – excluding those abusive, perverts who tried to grope him after confessing and those who thought he was just another plaything –  and he’s proud of it. To maintain this kind of image is hard, giving he thinks anyone beyond Taekwoonie and Sanghyukkie are lame, untalented people with a preference in wasting his time. He’s the best and won’t accept less than the best. To be cheerful and amicable with everyone tires his beauty and taints his mood, so today, he’ll preferably stay on his own, hanging only with his two boys.

“Need help?”

He snaps out of his thought and automatically smiles – a positive facial expression guarantees empathy and so, it’s easier to charm whoever presents at him –, taking note at the tall – he hates guys taller than him, his boys the exception – messy black haired boy at his front, smirking charmingly. He’s attractive, and apparently is aware of that fact, wearing a tight white t-shirt under a leather jacket and ripped jeans.

A playboy, uh? “Thanks for offering, but I’m almost at teacher’s room” he (mock) kindly says, and prepares to pass through the handsome boy.

“If you insist” the boy rolls his shoulders, giving him the space to pass. However, the other doesn’t leave, soundlessly following him across the hallway, hands on his jeans’ pockets and faraway look.

For some reason, this bothers Hakyeon; normally open to company, to be silent while with someone is new. He himself talks enough for a whole group, but this boy – who he has never seen before – makes him want to nag and complain, neck chop him and show his true colors – arrogant, narcissistic, self-centered self – just because of the confused signals. What he wants? Why accompany him, if he has nothing to say, to offer? Incomprehensible, and Hakyeon’s been with him for minus than five minutes.

“Er…” he starts, descending the stairs to go to the first floor.

“Kim Wonshik”

“Wonshik-ah, why are you following me?” he asks, making sure to sound cute, blinking innocently.

The boy – Wonshik – grins softly, almost warmly “No reason but the fact I want to bask in your light”

Hakyeon stops abruptly on his pace, Wonshik doing the same, indulgent look in very dark eyes. “W-What?” the dancer gags, before exploding in laughter.

Ridiculous. Gosh, he has heard his share of bad pick-up lines, but this one… It can’t be cheesier, tackier.

With actual tears on his eyes, Hakyeon laughs and laughs, the idiotic boy at some instant picking the books he carries, after they swing dangerously on his grasp, the fit of amusement compromising his balance. His previous opinion, that his boy is a playboy, instantly dies, because really, he can’t be able to lure a slug in, not with these worthy of pity skills.

His diaphragm hurts; he has to stop “Aigoo, that was really cheesy, Wonshik-ah”

“But it managed to put a beautiful smile in a beautiful face”

Oh. Oh.

Hakyeon reconsiders his earlier mental belief; this Kim Wonshik guy is definitely a playboy, the sneaky, smart type. “Well, thank you very much for your kind compliment, but we’ve arrived” he indicates a semi-open silver door, a shining plaque with ‘Teacher’s Room’ written. He picks the books back from the other’s more muscled arms, plastering over his face his cutest, fakest smile “I suggest you to go back to your building and try to study a bit more about flirting, since you seem to be really bad at it. I apologize for my rudeness, but I can’t deal with player types like you” bowing slightly, he turns his back to the flabbergasted man, skipping cheerfully to his destination.

.

.

“… this middle term project will be equivalent to forty percent of your grade, so I expect outstanding works. I want the class…”

A cute boy with platinum hair yaws widely, not covering his mouth and giving all the other students around him the impression of complete boredom.

They are right, him being bored and all.

Sanghyuk wishes this class could end sooner; he hates this greasy teacher who thinks he’s the last cookie in the package, hates these people who keep sneaking looks at him like he’s some alien or shit, and specially, he hates being locked inside a classroom when the day is so perfect for his newest project. The sunbae class is on free period now, which includes his main actors.

What a way to waste his time: a teacher babbling about some assignment he knows he’s going to ace. Really, why this stupid college just don’t give him his more than merited diploma so he can get the fuck away from here and start to work with real, talented people? Has he not proven himself as the best yet? Full marks since his admission, all of his videos a success between both the lowly, unintelligent minds – impressed with the effect, the beauty of each caption – and the dignified director – fascinated by his choice of themes and complex plot. Seriously, the directory is incompetent and plain thoughtless. When he’s truly famous, recognized around the world as a splendid director, he won’t give a single credit to this institution; he’ll say–

“… a twenty minute animation about any topic you want. You can do it alone, in pairs or…”

–Wait.

WHAT?!

“Seonsaeng~” Sanghyuk calls from his place without even asking for permission, and immediate whispers run through the room at the lack of the respectful ‘nim’. The teacher flushes in anger, and is ready to throw the younger off of his lecture, when he continues “What do you mean by animations? Are you saying that you want me to film some doll and make a short-movie out of it?”

“If you can only think of filming dolls, then yes, Sanghyuk, I want, no, I demand you to do it” the teacher crosses his arms, huffing at the disrespectful boy “Be insolent once more and you’re out of this class”

The boy holds his urge to roll his eyes “Yes, Seonsaeng-nim” he mockingly says, receiving a final glare from the older man before setting his mind to work, ignoring whatever the teacher has to say.

He doesn’t film inanimate, useless objects. It’s an insult to his person and his talent, so completely absurd he still can’t believe. Not that he doesn’t respect those who live by doing animations – he’s a fan of animes and admits the talent inside huge studios like Disney – but… He, animating something? How he’s supposed to catch the essence, the pure, raw feeling out of a drawing’s face? There’s no way to represent it through paper or Play-Doh dolls.

This, and Sanghyuk doesn’t know how to draw a stick man without messing it up with too crooked limbs and undistinguishable faces. And he hates Play-Doh.

He’s screwed.

“… o those interested in doing more complex jobs, I already spoke with the supervisor of the Painting, Modeling, Drawing and Sculpting classes, and he gave me a list of students willing to help” the greasy teacher shakes a paper on the air, several pairs of greedy eyes following the motion like hawks.

Risk the latter though.

Sanghyuk smirk. He’ll choose the best student in that list and make this teacher admit his geniality.

.

.

The tree leaves are agitated, the windy morning making them fall to the ground, some landing on a sleepy figure, intertwining in between soft strands of dyed blond hair.

One, particularly playful, lands exactly on the top of a cute nose. A low sneeze follows the action, and cat-like eyes open slowly, closing immediately at the light, not too bright, but uncomfortable to his adapted for darkness pupils.

Jung Taekwoon rubs his face with the back of his hand, yawning. At a near distance, he sees a kitten carefully approaching, its amber orbs fixed in the sweet smelling packed lunch by his side. Even though his face remains expressionless, he visibly softens.

It was a good idea changing places – from behind the fourth floor staircase to the garden between the B1 and B2 buildings – today.

.

.

Chapter Text

By evening, Sanghyuk classes were finally over, and he finds himself holding five papers with pictures and names, each exhibiting an artist from both the Sculpture and Drawing courses, their specialities the most usable of all others, the methods more adaptable with the line of work he planned on following. The ones on his hand are the best of all others, he easily intimidating his fellow colleagues into distressed silence; one smothering look and a few words said through tight lips and no one dared to protest as he calmly chose from the pile of files on the teacher’s desk and even from the students’ hands, taking his time to not make some loose decision.

He needs to choose carefully, maybe in one or two days, so he can first build an idea based on whichever theme… That he too needs to select.

One of Sanghyuk’s advantages as a director and scriptwriter is his ability to make quick decisions and improvise if the situation called for it, however, not even him can do much without some kind of initial idea, and right now, he doesn’t have any, his focus on an ongoing project that has nothing to do with the college, but that guarantees him just as many benefits. Moon Ilhwan, a famous vintage director, promised to display his work when done, after receiving a small edit with its trailer. His main actor is set to graduate in a month, and he has time to think the plot, make a script and select his artist; which doesn’t mean he will simply forget about the useless, envious teacher’s short-film project.

Besides, he is proud of what he does. He will make this animation just as brilliant as the rest of his works; move others to the point of tears like always.

As he walks, people give one or two steps back, no living – and dead, if there’s some campus ghost he knows nothing of – being courageous to be on his way, his tall frame and perpetual menacing glare enough to make them move, if his well-known reputation doesn’t do the deed. Sanghyuk isn’t stupid; he’s aware of the other type of reputation that lurks in the shadows of his former one and in the whispering voices of those who studied at the same time as him in high school.

A smirk appears on his face, just as an energetic voice tears through the somewhat tense atmosphere set around the platinum haired boy “Hyukkie!”

At the same time, said boy feels a sudden weigh on his back and a hot breath on his ear. He doesn’t need to turn to see who it is, since only one person in the world would do such an infantile action; instead, he holds this person’s legs, providing the wanted piggyback ride “Hyung, seriously? You’re cutting my whole ominous dude vibe right now” he says without any real spite, continuing to walk. The papers on his hand crumple; he’ll examine them later, pocketing them on his jeans.

“Ooh, ‘ominous’ is an adults word” Hakyeon giggles happily, using one hand to mess Sanghyuk’s hair “My baby can never be ‘ominous’, you’re the cutest thing ever”

“What about Taekwoon-hyung?”

“Hmm…” the dancer pouts, considering “… both are the cutest”

The youngest rolls his eyes indulgently, leaning forward to adjust Hakyeon better on his back, not giving a flying fuck to the dozens pairs of eyes that follow him. On normal days he would drop his hyung on the ground without thinking twice, but felling especially merciful today, he’ll be lenient… As long as Hakyeon don’t bother him too much. Like always, the oldest babbles the entire way – what he did, who tried to confess and failed, what teacher asked him to demonstrate a move and on –  asking sometimes if he’s too heavy – which is ridiculous; Hakyeon is built like a bird, light and graceful – and pointing the right direction unnecessarily.

“If you don’t shut it hyung, I’ll drop you” Sanghyuk finally threatens, tired of the tanned hand blocking his peripheral vision as the owner of said tanned hand indicates the small cake store on his left.

Hakyeon makes an overly fake scandalized noise, before patting the blonde’s shoulder so he can leap off of his back. He should be offended, but then again, it is not as if he wouldn’t carry the threat, because he would “My beautiful Cha-booty doesn’t deserve a lover such as the cold, frigid ground”

Fuck, Hakyeon can really say the weirdest things.

“Your ass has met its share of frigid lovers, didn’t it?” mockingly, Sanghyuk crosses his arms, looking at the smaller man skeptically “Does it even know what a good fu–!” he’s hit by a neck chop, and winces, not concluding his sentence.

“Shush” the glare is positively opening holes on his skin, so the director obeys, but not before adding in a singsong-y voice:

“With such a sour mood, definitely a good fuck to make you feel better”

He laughs out loud, long legs giving him the ability to escape another hit aimed at his neck, fast steps leading him to the cake shop. He passes through the door and a suave tinkle of bells alerts the few clients and the countertop girl of his presence, his face instantly assuming a serious and aloof expression, the perfect image of coolness. He holds inside the smirk after seeing Hakyeon’s glower from the other side of the glass wall.

“Taekwoon-ssi! Your dongsaeng came again!” the countertop noona calls to the small hole on the wall behind her, and kitten-like eyes appear. Silently he opens the door separating the kitchen from the store, green shirt slightly dirty with flour, hands still covered by gloves and chocolate staining his lips, informing every one of his little habit of tasting a bit too much of the sweets he helped making. He nods at the other blonde, entering the kitchen again without a word.

Sanghyuk snorts; Taekwoon would be a perfect actor for a mute movie. Albeit, his hyung could be really talkative and expressive, had he a role in some musical or to explain a new composition. He made some mute short-films in the past – experimenting with different forms, and on most of them, had asked for his hyung to act, receiving a direct and cold ‘no’ as response. His hyung indeed is difficult.

The bells by the door tinkle again, and the group’s dancer enters, smiling brightly at all of those who look back at him, his eyes momentarily tinning in Hyuk’s direction – a promise of a scolding in brown eyes –, but no sign of annoyance can be seen in the beautiful tanned face; not clearly, of course, the oldest knows better than anyone how to hide his true self beneath cute acts and excited chit-chat. “Annyeo Noona! Can I have one sweet potato cake and banana milk, please?” he asks the countertop girl, who blushes at having his attention turned to her so suddenly.

“Yes, of course! And you…?” she looks at Sanghyuk.

“Coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream”

She bows, and starts to prepare the orders.

“Aigoo, you’re such an old man” Hakyeon says, finding his favorite place in the store: a two-seats table next the window, but not too close to be inconvenient in sunny days, which isn’t the case today, the sky darkening with the sunset and the growing winds. He sits and supports his head with his hands, elbows on the table, analyzing Sanghyuk like a mother hen “Asking for black coffee and posing like the grumpy badass of some B-quality movie even though you like mint chocolate”

“Someone has to be the adult here, and you’re clearly not fit for the position, despite being the real ahjussi”

“I hope you die full of wrinkles at thirty”

“Not before you, ahjumma” Sanghyuk is very satisfied with the face Hakyeon makes, reclining on his own seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The sunset’s soft light bathes his hyung, the specks of green on his bangs shining against the light brown, the darker skin – Sanghyuk thinks it’s exotic, but Hakyeon hates it, always trying to cover it with weird, expensive creams – also shining, a halo of light giving him this ethereal sort of aura, like an air spirit or a mere illusion meant to deceive fools. The low hanging white shirt helps with the effect, and the director feels that familiar fluttering on the pit of his stomach, the itching need to pick a camera – his cell phone – and film.

The illumination is perfect, the scenario too – a ghost of a boy who never got to confess; an air spirit who wants nothing more than be noticed by the fleeting, ever busy humans – and Sanghyuk’s mind is already working 100% per hour.

“I know I’m gorgeous Hyuk-ah, but you’re hundred years too early to get a piece of this” old bastard as he is, of course Hakyeon notices the glazed look on the younger’s eyes, that one he gets when he sees something he appreciates and would like to use on one of his movies. So, arrogantly, he mentions for his whole body, winking mischievously and biting his lips seductively.

Sanghyuk makes a disgusted face, questioning how in seven hells he became friends with… this “Gross”

The dancer opens his mouth to speak and has to restrain himself from it, since the countertop woman walks towards them, their orders in hand. She smiles – her teeth are crooked and her eyes too small; Sanghyuk doesn’t like her – while putting the plates on top of the table, gaze on Hakyeon. He smiles back with all that fakeness of his, earning another blush from her.

Diverting his eyes from the ridiculous exchange, Hyuk sees… a piece of ice cream cake? Right beside his… mint chocolate coffee? “Hey, this is not my order”

The noona stops sending pink fluffy hearts to Hakyeon, attention now on him. She stutters when faced with his glare “Y-Yes, I know… Tae-Taekwoon-ssi made these and refused to make your original order. I’m s-so-sorry”

Certainly, Taekwoon being cute and mindful and knowledgeable of his tastes are such news.

Feel the sarcasm?

“Thank Taekwoonie for him, yes?” Hakyeon meddles with a piece of sweet potato cake already half way to his mouth; the girl looks ready to cry under Sanghyuk’s scrutiny.

“Y-Yes” she bows deeply, scrabbling back to her place behind the countertop, the blush on her cheeks caused by embarrassment rather than infatuation.

Observing her retreating figure, the dancer sips his banana milk “So meanie”

“So annoying” he copies the older.

Pouting, Sanghyuk angrily stabs a piece of his cake, eating it. He restrains a moan; delicious.

Damn him.

Silence installs itself as they eat, too busy in appreciating the sweet, full taste of the cakes and the thick, warm drink – maybe not in Hakyeon’s case, but whatever – when the weather is like this, windy and preparing to get colder.  Maybe snow would follow, and Sanghyuk can picture the beautiful scenery the garden between the B1 and B2 building will make, ideal to film a scene describing longing, the necessity to obtain what one cannot have.

Black hair flying with the wind, a scarlet dress, a lily as white as the pure snow which covers the once colorful garden and whispered thoughts of what could never b–

The bells on the door tinkle, and a young – still older than Sanghyuk – man enters the place, out of breath. He wears a lab coat dirty with what looks like mud and grass, but in general, he’s really handsome, frustratingly so. Not one to deny his vision the privilege of pretty people and things, the director observes – cold expression in place; anyone would say he is judging the other boy – as the other goes to the countertop, ordering quickly several pieces of cake and coffees. He has to repeat it to the noona, whose neurons apparently stopped working when faced with the handsome face; after she writes it down, he smiles, and fuck him, the boy has dimples too.

He stays by the countertop as the girl prepares his order, tapping his fingers nervously in the glass surface.

“Hongbin-ah!” someone calls from the door as the bells clink; huge brown eyes, messy brown locks and full pink lips forming a face hardly Korean but hardly anywhere else either. “Are you done?”

“Just a few more minutes, hyung” the handsome boy – Hongbin – says, and his voice is rough, a great contrast to the other childish one.

“You ordered my cream frappe?!”

“Ye!”

The boy by the door nods eagerly, looking around the small cake shop. He stops on Sanghyuk’s table, and his gaze fixes itself on the director’s, brief recognition crossing the clear brown orbs. Smiling brightly, he waves excitedly, the long sleeved rainbow-like shirt he’s wearing creating a kaleidoscope of colors in the air.

Confused above anything else, Sanghyuk throws the guy with no sense of auto-preservation his most intimidating glare – even Hakyeon winces lightly at this one, caught in the middle of the exchange – and closes his face in the stone-cold, superior look he’s so known from having; he masks his shock as his scowl seems to bear no effect in the other, who shrugs, waves again and calls for his friend.

Said friend answers back with an exasperated sigh, picking the sealed cups and a two bags worth of cake. He pays with full hands, and leaves, taking his idiotic, smiley friend with him.

“Whoever was by the door surely managed to piss my Hyukkie off” Hakyeon comments, glancing to the empty spot on his back “Was he that ugly?”

Sanghyuk doesn’t answer, thinking why the face of that boy is not strange to him. An idea crosses his mind, and he grabs the papers with the faces and specialties of the artists he has yet to select to make part of his new project. They’re crumpled because of the time they spent on his jeans’ pocket; the faces are not compromised and can be seen clearly. He reads through them, and smirks at what he finds. Beneath a picture of a happily smiling boy, a profile:

Name: Lee ‘Ken’ Jaehwan

Age: 24 years.

Major: Drawing

Specialty: Comic and anime.

Teacher’s opinion: Outgoing and easy to work with. Can be too childish and attention seeker.

Hm.

.

.

He dips his finger on the strawberry icing, not really caring that the chef is near and can see what he’s doing; he brings the pink finger to his mouth and tastes the fresh, not too sweet flavor, reveling on it and the way it mixes with the previous frosting: dark chocolate, bitter against his tongue. A few tresses of blond hair fall on his forehead, and he tries to take them out by blowing them, a tactic that does not work. Giving up with a soundless sigh, he carefully puts the tube full of mint cream away, wiping his hands on the apron; searching on his pants’ pockets, he finds a hair clip, capturing the rebel strands in one apple hairstyle.

Turning his attention back to the strawberry icing, he motions to dip his finger once more, only to be stopped by a slap on the back of his head. Wincing silently, he meets the glare of his chief and chef.

“You really have no shame” the older woman scolds, tsk-ing to him “Put your dirty finger on my icing again and Jung Taekwoon, you’ll play the piano with only nine of them!”

Taekwoon stares at the woman without blinking, but a red tint take over his chubby cheeks and he joins his hands on front of his body sheepishly. She looks from his head – with the apple hair – to his toe – on indoor baby blue shoes – and groans; like this, he’s like a kicked kitten, and she senses a tiny bit of guilt for making him this way.

“Aish, you manipulator! Go take the coconut cake out of the oven, and no sampling it!”

Taekwoon nods, walking away.

Behind him, the chef can see a metaphorical blond tail swinging happily, and she groans again.

Damn that boy and his cuteness.

Chapter Text

Tuesday is his luckiest day, since 2/3 of their trio is too busy to try and do something. Hongbin has classes and a shift on his part-time job on a veterinary clinic near their home and while Jaehwan doesn’t have any class to attend, he has a double shift on his own part-time job, an assistant on the University’s library.

Wonshik smiles to himself, pushing his hair back so the black strands won’t fall on his eyes; the look is good and sexy when he’s out in the night, but in broad daylight, he just looks like someone who passed out face down on essays, one side sticking up and the other obstructing his left eye’s vision. So okay, maybe he had passed out on top of some assignment the day before, but no one needs to know the moment they set their gaze on him.

Besides, he has to appear like a straight-out-of-a-fashion-magazine if he wants Hakyeon to spare him a glance; the older boy had proved to be a lot less sociable and nice, and Wonshik felt he could be worse. Not being one to give up – more like not wanting to lose for a flower boy prototype and an unassuming devilish artist – he made an special effort earlier on the day to wake up, putting a decent outfit when he normally went to the University on hoodies and jeans which have had better days.

Really, what he has do to win that marvelous massaging pillow and avoid cleaning duty… Aish, troublesome.

He checks his phone to see the time and his hair – worrying about his hair like this, he’s spending too much time with Hongbin – and notices that the first class for the fifth year dancers is to start in fifteen minutes; still, no sign of the dancer he wishes to see; using B1’s painted wall as support for his back, Wonshik sees groups passing through him, boys joking and girls giggling – some directed at him – but no Hakyeon, Sanghyuk or Taekwoon.

Oh, he hopes the dancer isn’t with them; that Taekwoon guy scares the hell out of him and the kid, Sanghyuk seems those types whose face begs to be punched. He wants to impress the oldest, and the two will sure be a hindrance to his plans.

Talking about plan, here comes Cha Hakyeon, walking towards the B1 with a bright smile and alone.

Yup, lucky.

“Hakyeon” he says, schooling his voice so it comes out a long, low drawl, ignoring the need for a suffix. Cool, cool, keep this tone, the girls love it.

The dancer stops walking, seeming to notice his presence; the smile on his face turn tight around the edges as recognition shines in his eyes. “Oh, it’s you again… Hyunsik-ah”

Shit, Hakyeon couldn’t remember his name, not even the stunt he pulled on Monday with all the embarrassing tacky talking and slight flirting. Forget about being lucky.

Shit.

“It’s Wonshik” he corrects, masking the aggravation with a soft smile.

“Of course” Hakyeon doesn’t appear fazed with his mistake, continuing to smile at the younger, a muscle jumping on his jaw the only signal of his true emotions. Negative ones at that and Wonshik curses mentally, panic rising up on his chest, mind working furiously to think of something, anything to ease the suddenly thick atmosphere “I thought we had already settled things between us– I don’t like players”

“I’m not a player” Wonshik says quickly – perhaps a bit too quickly – as he runs a hand through his hair, sheepish “I just… like you”

Brilliant Wonshik, now you sounded stupid, resembling a high school girl confessing for the first time to her crush. Congratulations, you finished fucking up for real. Forget your pillow and your free time.

Hakyeon’s tight smile disappears and he openly frowns in the younger’s direction, confusion and suspicion taking over his features. He takes a few steps, stopping only when his face is centimeters away from Wonshik’s; up close, the literature student can see clearly the green highlights on the brown hair, the round eyes lined with a thin layer of black eyeliner and shiny – is that lip-gloss? – light pink lips in a small face. He doesn’t know why, but his face feels hot, and his heart starts to thump erratically on his chest.

The dancer’s frown turns into a knowing smirk “You like me?” his voice stretches the ‘like’ mischievously, and his mint smelling, warm breath hits the younger.

Woah, is today hot or it’s just him? His throat feels really dry, and could use a glass of water. Gulping down instinctively, he nods, once more cursing his lack of tact. So much for being cool about the whole situation; more like being a complete idiot.

“And why’s that? I don’t remember ever seeing or talking to you before yesterday, Wonshik-ah”

This wasn’t part of the plan, everything is going wrong.

Think fast damnit. Think.

“I’ve seen one of your presentations” Wonshik says, thankfully not stuttering “I– You were beautiful” it’s obviously a lie. Hakyeon’s skills as a dancer are known all over the campus and every time he has some presentation people gather up to see him work his magic; Wonshik’s worst personality trait is his laziness, so he never bothered to actually search some video to see if the guy right in front of him is all this make him to be. He hopes his phrase is enough to caress Hakyeon’s ego – which he notices, now that he started on the dancer’s bad side, is quite big.

Hakyeon blinks, mouth opening in a cute ‘o’. He steps back, the confused frown back on his face, the dark skin of his cheeks darkening more with a very slight blush; Wonshik is having trouble trying to grasp the older’s constant change of humor: bright, fake, confused, cautious, suspicious, mischievous, back to confused and then cute. He didn’t expect any of this when he picked the piece of napkin with the older’s name; he expected something relatively easier, since that on the B1 trio, Hakyeon is the one with the fame of being always gentle and polite, a helpful hand for teachers and a kind sunbae for all. Honestly, if he’s the best out of the trio, he can’t imagine how Jaehwan will deal with a kid with superiority complex and Hongbin with a scary guy who’s more a ghost than an actual person. His head spins, and he finds himself babbling.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, I know I acted kinda like a douche but I thought you liked confident people the best, I mean, I–”

Hakyeon smiles, this time a real, if small, smile “I don’t get you, Wonshik-ah” he says, walking towards B1’s inside, movements hypnotic and gracious and without looking back.

Wonshik stands still like a statue – a scene endearingly similar to the one on Monday –, dumbfounded.

That’s good right? Right?!

.

.

“You can go now, Hongbin-ah”

“Yes boss” finally.

Hongbin grunts as he throws the last 10kg sac of dog food on the pile, elongating his back and listening to the sick crack they make. He didn’t sign up for this thing, he signed up to take care of cute little puppies and kittens. Instead, in the eight months he’s been working on this place, all he managed to do was to take care of an enormous snake that had gulped down a phone, two iguanas that couldn’t stop fighting a chameleon, a dozen of birds who thought his hair was their nest, a couple of police dogs infested with fleas and several crazy cats, inclusive his last one, a fat black and beige thing that tries to mar his perfect face every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday with needle-like nails. He’s not counting having to carry heavy bags of food every other day.

His life can’t be more difficult.

Except it is.

And he’s not even thinking about the Mission Impossible of Seducing Jung Ghost Taekwoon. Nah, he’s thinking about possible things on his life.

Like studying and working. Like dealing with Wonshik’s shit and Jaehwan’s craziness. Like trying to think in a way to see that girl, Heo Youngji, once more.

Oh, because she’s like the light in the end of the tunnel, with her flow-y long hair and long eyelashes; she’s his ideal type and he can’t miss his chance in attempting to know her better.

While simultaneously attempting to seduce Jung Taekwoon. To win a bet. So he can see Park Hyo Shin’s concert and get a kitten.

Hongbin groans loudly, running his hand through his damp hair until it’s a mess, black strands pointing to all directions. He can’t care less right now, mind machinating all his options; his only one as he concludes: be a jerk and go after both Youngji and Taekwoon. It’s not like he’s serious about the male, and he can always explain the situation to the girl later, if they start to date. And Hongbin needs to stop fantasizing and plotting his uncertain future and leave before his boss can give him another shift.

He walks to the balcony full of pet jewelry – seriously, why would a dog need a pink amethyst on its’ collar? Or a cat need its’ identification to be written in a strap made of pure gold? – where his phone is, together with a piece of whipped cream cake and the latest edition of Céci, featuring his beloved Park Hyo Shin, his favorite distraction on days like today, where there’s no crazy cat aiming for his face. Hongbin eats the cake remnants in one big bite, moaning as the taste explodes on his mouth, sweet and light, the strawberries adding a sharp contrast Hongbin appreciates on his sweets.

He could kiss whoever makes these cakes, the inconspicuous cake shop near the University hiding possibly the best confections of the whole Seoul.

“You’re still here?” his boss, a thirty-something small woman appears from between the shelves with cat-accessories “Want another shift?”

“No!” he’s quick to grab his things, scurrying to the clinic and petshop’s backdoor, going straight to the lockers where he keeps his bag and shoes. On his hastiness, Hongbin fails to see the front door opening, the wood creaking to reveal a client and on his case, a person that would be very useful, considering the bet and his wish to win.

A young man with dyed blond hair and feline eyes watches silently as the place’s functionary ignores him – and the cute little orange cat he’s holding close to his chest – and vanishes, dark eyebrows setting on a subtle frown. The kitten on his arms mewls unhappily, and he shushes the animal quietly, rubbing its’ back with a sweater-covered hand, receiving a purr in exchange.

He looks back to the door behind the balcony, seeing that the employee indeed went away without bothering to attend him.

“Rude”

.

.

Jaehwan drops his keys on top of the kitchen’s countertop, his backpack following, as well as his shoes. The small living room is dark, the television the only source of light altogether; Wonshik is sprawled on the couch, munching loudly some snacks – they better not be the ones Jaehwan saved for himself, or else, the younger boy will suffer – and wearing solely black sweatpants, tanned – and toned – chest exposed for everyone to see, a faint trace of black from his tattoo visible from this angle.

Smug little dongsaeng.

“I’m home!” he sings happily, dropping his entire weight on top of Wonshik – a subtle vengeance for his indiscretion and for eating without him – who chokes on his snack and squeaks stridently.

“Get off hyung! You’re heavy!” the younger complains with his mouth full.

Just to annoy Wonshik further, Jaehwan wiggles on top of him, making sure to force his mass down on him, gaining another loud squeak as the literature student tries to escape from beneath him, trashing limbs and all “Nooope, I’m satisfied here, on top of your comfortable, soft little tummy. Have you gained weight Shikkie? It’s kind of too soft here” he snickers, when in truth the other’s belly is still just as defined as before, chocolate abs, like the girls call it.

Using a string of very bad, colorful words, Wonshik kicks Jaehwan off of him, sitting and scowling “You’re just envious because you’ll never have this sexy six pack”

“And you’ll never have this set of wide, powerful shoulders” he singsongs, moving his arms so the blue, green and yellow shirt molds to the mentioned body part, stretching against the muscles under it. “I don’t need to have silly depressions on my tummy to impress girls when I have those. You, on the other hand, tsk tsk, can’t be helped”

“Bastard”

“Oe, respect your hyung!”

A mocking smile spreads on Wonshik’s face, sinister with the TV’s lighting “Bastard-nim”

“Aish, you–!” Jaehwan tackles him, the rough movements making Wonshik’s snack package fall to the ground, dirtying the rug – Hongbin will talk their ears off later, in his ‘don’t-mess-the-house’ ahjumma tone – with barbecue flavored crumbs; Wonshik squeals like a girl, flailing his hands uselessly in a pathetic attempt to stop Jaehwan’s nimble fingers to tickle his sides, where he feels it the most, his desperate laughter surpassing the noise from the drama currently on. “Say you’re sorry!”

“I- hahah- I’m s- ahhaha sorry!! Wuahaha”

“I’m sorry hyung-nim” unsatisfied, and taking lots of pleasure with the younger’s desperate situation, Jaehwan pushes more, his fingers going all the way from the boy’s armpits to the loose waistband of his sweats. “Say it!”

“I’m sorry hyung-nim! Stop, STOP!”

Laughing, Jaehwan does stop – his victory chart marking a point for him; 12 for him x 8 for Wonshik x 9 for Hongbin, his leadership not threatened – resting his hands on Wonshik’s chest to recover his breath, legs on each side of his waist, on a straddling position to pin the loser down; Wonshik’s breathing is harsh as he recuperates his ability to breathe properly, hands falling by his sides and posture as a whole indicating his defeat. His small but full lips are open as he wheezes and his eyes are closed, drops of perspiration blooming on his forehead.

“I’m h– WAH!” he hears the sound of Hongbin’s screech – this household is so hysterical sometimes, his dongsaengs should learn how to relax – and the clicking of the door, locking it “It is safe to proceed or I must suddenly realize I forgot something and come back in thirty minutes?” he suggest with malice, opening his fingers, which covered his eyes instants before, to peek at them.

“Fuck… you” Wonshik rasps, still out of breath.

“I wouldn’t be saying this in your position” a suggestive wink, and Wonshik flushes, appalled with the maknae’s remarks.

Jaehwan slaps Wonshik’s chest, and shows Hongbin his middle finger, smiling cutely.

.

.

A shift makes the couch squeak, and Sanghyuk’s voice breaks the comfortable silence – not considering the dance competition Hakyeon’s watching on the television “Taekwoon-hyung, you know we can’t keep her here”

Taekwoon takes his eyes off the sheet with lyrics he’s been mouthing soundlessly; his hand stopping with the caress on the younger’s platinum hair as he looks down to his lap, which Sanghyuk uses as pillow, his legs dropped on top of Hakyeon’s. He sighs, diverting his eyes to the small kitten curled on top of covers, sleeping soundly. One of its’ orange n’ white paws is bandaged “I know”

“I wish we could, she’s really cute” Hakyeon says, massaging Sanghyuk’s calves absentmindedly “But if our landlord finds out–”

“–We’re as good as dead” the youngest finishes, pushing his head further onto the compositor’s lap, whose fingers resume its’ strokes. “Guy’s freaking crazy”

Taekwoon pouts, his already pouty lips jutting out childishly, showing his displeasure with the current situation “She’s hurt and doesn’t have a family”

“We can look for a place for her to stay until she’s adopted” Hakyeon touches his shoulder reassuringly, squeezing it lightly “Maybe go to the B5”

“The Veterinary department will accept her, they have lots of pets” Sanghyuk practically purrs with the soft caresses on his hair and the massage on his legs. Taekwoon lips curve upwards, in a subtle smile; the maknae can be very cute when he’s not posing as the threatening director.

So he nods “Hm”

“We can go there tomor–” sheepishly, Hakyeon halts his suggestion “I have to help Junho with the freshmen, sorry”

“I will go with hyung” Sanghyuk purposefully kicks Hakyeon, ignoring the outraged ‘hey’ and the slap on his thigh, smiling at Taekwoon with all of his maknae charm “Because I’m a good dongsaeng”

The small smile on Taekwoon’s lips turns a tad more open “You are, Sanghyukkie”

“What about me?! I’m the best hyung in this world!”

“You’re annoying”

“Taekwoonnie!”

.

.

Chapter Text

Wednesday comes uneventfully; early in the morning the sun is hidden by gray clouds, and the strong winds carry the smell of damp grass, signaling the soon to come rain. Students pile up inside their buildings, no one daring to risk losing class over the impending storm. Groups run towards the big gray structures, girls complaining about their bad choice of clothing – some use short skirts or shorts, others use short-sleeved shirts, few wear dresses – and boys shoving each other in childish games.

Hongbin watches everything from his class’ window, not interested in the lecture his teacher is giving about… he’s not really sure. Cows’ digestive system?

Whatever.

Lightening, white and bright lights up the skies, followed seconds later by loud thunder, rumbles through the classroom. His teacher – an annoying woman with voice similar to a cockatoo – squeaks like a mouse, her marker squealing in the big white board, messing with some of her writing and her grossly accurate drawing of said digestive system. Immediately after, rain starts to pour, and Hongbin actually smirks when a couple who was making out in the middle of the campus is caught, separating instantly so they can run in opposite directions. Servers them right, for their lack of awareness.

The slight prickle of envy and jealousy has nothing to do with it.

It’s not as if he wishes to be in the boy’s place, kissing his girl – Youngji’s smiling image pops instantly in his mind, surrounded by a golden halo – as they say each other a ‘see you soon’, before each leaving for their respective building, the idea of separating for hours almost too much for their smitten hearts. It’s not.

Hongbin pouts, leaning his head on his hand, eyes distant as he zones out again, ears detached of the teacher’s incessant talking – he’s sure there are not that many phases to a cow’s digestion, and he’s sure because he has already read his textbook – and focusing on any other sound, such as the tick of the clock on top of the board or the suave scratching sound made boy by his side, doodling voluptuous anime girls on his desk. He needs to bear this for more fifteen minutes before he has a free period, which he’ll spend on the first floor lab, preparing the mice for the last years’ Pharmacy class; being his class’ maknae has its perks, but most of the time, it only makes him work more than the others.

The boy by his side – his name starts with J… Jaehyuk? Jihwan? – is finishing his fourth doodle – a busty girl with ponytails and sailor uniform – when the bells indicating the period’s end ring, and Hongbin leaps upright, the first to do so, walking straight to the door, exiting the damned place and heading to the lab; the faster he does his ‘duty’, the more time he has to do nothing.

As expected, the place is empty – exceptionally dirty too; he bets it’s some chemistry class fault –, and Hongbin picks his lab coat inside the students’ closet, grimacing at its’ condition; he’ll have to wash the thing soon. Putting it on, he starts by cleaning the desks used to handle the small animals, frowning upon seeing all the beakers and cups and all kinds of materials, dirty and scattered around the room. His inner perfectionist and clean-freak shivers when he cleans the tables, a sticky, blue – why blue? Why sticky? – substance staining the cloth he uses.

Clean this, clean that, and twenty minutes later he’s almost done, only missing the floor, which is surprisingly spotless if compared to anywhere else inside the room. Hongbin is sweating and feeling proud of himself when the door squeaks open.

He’s focused on scrubbing one point on the floor, so his view begins with legs, damn long legs – both in jeans, one black, and the other dark blue – followed by torsos – clad one in a black hoodie, other in a dark green sweater – and finally… faces.

Freaking fudge.

Buddha help him, he’s staring straight into the faces of Han Sanghyuk and Jung Taekwoon. Jung Taekwoon.

It’s Hongbin first time seeing them so close, and damn, he never imagined people could actually look so good, especially while wearing simple clothing; he knows he looks good, for example, but even on normal days he puts some sort of effort on his clothes and hair – his out-of-bed hair should be considered a crime – but these two apparently don’t know the meaning of working hard on looks. For someone so young, Sanghyuk – he’s what? 20? – is the tallest and the one with the sharpest jaw; his lips are set in a tight line, similar to his dark eyebrows, in a glare that shoots goosebumps all over Hongbin’s spine with its’ killing intent, distracting him from a nose that could be cute. The blond-platinum hair only adds to form a perfect image of a delinquent.

Now, Taekwoon must be something of another world.

Hongbin likes his boys pretty. He likes them smaller than him and lithe. Likes them with a bit of sassy on their moves and fire in their eyes.

Jung Taekwoon is pretty, yes, but he also emanates an air of untouchable handsomeness, with his wide shoulders stretching the sweater he wears; it doesn’t do much to hide an impressive figure of great proportions, his dark jeans hugging his toned and long legs. His face is impressive too, light blond hair framing fair and clean skin, his jaw is sharp at the same time his cheeks are slightly chubby. The darkest of eyes are distant and cold, as if he’s there only in body, not mind, and even his pout-like lips are arranged in a way his face is completely devoid of expression; he’s a statue, an Adonis sculpted out of ice, perfect and unattainable.

He’s everything Hongbin’s type is not.

He’s fucked. Utterly, completely fucked. There’s no way he’ll be able to stand closer than 3 feet from him; seduce him is out of question. Nope.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the voice belongs to Sanghyuk, and thanks to Buddha – or any god out there – the boy doesn’t have a really deep, tough, alpha-like voice – he begrudgingly admits Wonshik’s voice is all of those –  but that tone between a teenager and a fully grown man.

It doesn’t make his words any less rude or his tone less menacing, though.

Snapping out of his kind of trance induced staring, Hongbin puts one of his best smiles; first impressions are important “Oh, I’m sorry. Can I help with something?” he politely asks, curious about why two of the three infamous B1 students are doing in the B5, a fifteen minute long walk separating the two buildings. With the still rumbling rain – now he notices their sneakers are wet, as is the bottom of their pants – make that twenty.

“For a matter of fact, yes, you can. You will” the director’s already narrowed eyes narrow more, only two slits visible, but capable of cutting diamonds. He doesn’t seem to care for the fact that Hongbin is older than him; he doesn’t bother to present himself, bow or ask for the vet student’s name either, standing arrogantly with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I will?” Hongbin can’t help but arch an eyebrow, mildly offended by the boy’s attitude, smile dropping to a smirk; he’s not one to receive sassiness without countering, as intimidated as he feels “Until I don’t see your need, I can’t do anything– Besides, with such poor manners, I don’t think I can help you… At all”

If looks could kill, Hongbin would be six feet under, being eaten by worms. Sanghyuk is digging holes on his forehead, his mouth contorting itself to a snarl “You’ve got guts, but let me tell you something, greasy flower boy–” his long legs propel him forward, and in two strides he bursts Hongbin’s personal bubble, danger practically oozing from his tall body “I–“

“Meow”

The sound is faint, but still echoes in the room and cuts Sanghyuk’s words short. Both boys turn to face Taekwoon – in the same position, with the exactly same, vacant expression – who calmly takes a tiny orange cat from his sleeve. The animal meows again, strained and slightly agitated; from his position, the veterinary major can see one of its’ minuscule paws wrapped up in bandages, and a red flag immediately rises in his head.

He passes through Sanghyuk – bumping their shoulder with a bit of too much force – and goes to Taekwoon, ignoring the way his heart suddenly decides to dance BIGBANG’s Fantastic Baby on his ribcage, beating frantically, to the point he can hear his pulse on his ears, loud and erratic; a wave of heat climbs up his neck, settling on his cheeks. Hongbin suddenly remembers his appearance – lab-coat dirty, hair ruffled and greasy with sweat – and resists the desire to pass through Taekwoon and head to the door; if not, dig a hole in the floor and stick his undignified face in it. Forget about first impressions. Maybe next time.

Professionalism. He needs to care for the tiny, minuscule kitten, and then he can freak out with the fact he’s closer than 3 feet from Jung Taekwoon, a living sculpture. “Hello there, little kitten” his voice immediately warms. It’s so tiny and cute.

The kitten meows again, tucking its’ face back into the compositor’s sleeve.

“No need to be afraid of me” Hongbin bents a bit, enough to get closer to the green sweater; he doesn’t look up, not one to risk meeting Taekwoon’s face, if it changed in any way as he asks “What’s its name?”

He doesn’t really expected a answer – the older boy’s unwillingness in speaking well known – so his still frantic heart leaps out of his chest when he hears a small “Caramel”

Hongbin’s mind can’t really process Sanghyuk’s snort behind him, or the rain thumping on the high windows, the slight shuffling the cat – Caramel – does on the oldest clothes. For someone so intimidating and cold on the exterior, Taekwoon has a soft, low, kind of fragile voice, somewhat a similar to his idol Park Hyo Shin, and he understands why the University teachers often ask for him to sing in their musicals; if his singing voice is anything like his speaking voice, he’s liquid gold, melting hearts and scarring people for anything on lower level.

It’s a pity Hongbin will have to seduce him; break that untouchable aura he emanates.

Except it is not. Park Hyo Shin’s concert and the prospect of finally having a pet are sufficient for him to carry with the bet.

“Caramel” the name is clichéd for an orange cat, so it’s cute – he totally didn’t think that; Taekwoon is scary, scary ice statue, not cute – Taekwoon named it that “Caramel, come with me so we can look at that paw of yours”

Taekwoon moves, taking the kitten out of his sleeve with the utmost care, carefully holding it for Hongbin to hold; their fingers brush in the exchange; Taekwoon is cold, similar to his eyes and face, but the touch sends small tingles through Hongbin’s hand and arm. He picks Caramel, careful not to force the injured pawn unnecessarily. He goes to the closest large metal table, setting the animal on top of it, so he can remove the expertly made bandage.

Too expertly made. “Caramel looks well treated”

“That’s because she was” Sanghyuk is back in the picture, and he sounds just as murderous as three minutes ago.

“I don’t understand why–”

“We can’t keep her, and everyone knows the messy zoo the B5 is”

Hongbin bites his lip to say anything back; Sanghyuk is kind of right. Housing all nature-related courses, the building and its precincts are full of several types of animals, from a mini aquarium in the seventh floor, to a glass house with snakes and reptiles in general, a medium sized barn with horses and a creepy as hell insect rearing. This, overlooking the free animals and pets the students and professors alike keep within the B5 limits. The place deserves its status as a zoo. But it’s not messy.

“And you want this ‘messy’ zoo to keep her?” Hongbin empathizes the ‘messy’, mocking “Great way of showing how much you care for her”

He hears a disgusting noise of cracking joints, holding his gulp. He’s stupid, but it’s not really his fault his brain likes to ignore a social filter before his mouth spills what could probably end with him getting his bones crushed. Despite not appearing muscular, Sanghyuk is taller and certainly has experience in the breaking bones area, if the rumors are 1% true. “Let’s go hyung. We’re done here”

Sanghyuk’s voice is tense, but incredibly warmer as he addresses these words to the oldest male. Hongbin doesn’t hear an answer from Taekwoon; he’s the type who speaks barely the necessary, and having someone like Sanghyuk to talk for him daily, then he doesn’t need to.

It’s too soon. With the damn brat accompanying the compositor, there’s no way in Heaven, Earth or Hell Hongbin will get a chance to be closer to Taekwoon.

“Help me” he whispers desperately to the orange ball of fluff, seeking anything to make the older stay for a longer time, or tie him to the place for a later encounter. Caramel licks lazily one uninjured paw, looking in his direction with large blue eyes.

An imaginary light bulb glows on the top of his head, and Hongbin turns so quickly his neck cracks painfully. The B1 duo is by the door, Sanghyuk already on the hallway, shacking what at this distance appears to be an umbrella; Taekwoon waits in a frozen-like posture that seems to be common for him to stand. “Ah, Taekwoon-ssi!”

Said boy hardly moves, slightly moving his head to gaze at Hongbin with those black pits of nothingness. He, unsurprisingly, doesn’t speak.

“Well…” this is his only chance, Hongbin can’t commit a mistake. Breathe in, breathe out– “You can come whenever you want– You seem to be fond of Caramel, and I’m sure she would appreciate the visit, especially being hurt. It may not seem like it, but cats do enjoy familiar company, and… uh… We have dozens of cats here…” Hongbin can only hope Taekwoon likes cats the most – and dimples, since he flashes his own, charmingly – and it’s not doing some one-in-a-lifetime generous act.

Not a twitch in the inexpressive face, not a signal he listened to Hongbin.

Of course. How conceited of him to think that in less than fifteen minutes he could convince the most unattainable one of the unattainable trio to come again, possibly to see him again, only for a kitten he doesn’t want to maintain. Hongbin sometimes scolds his own arrogant ass; his face won’t help him today, and he can’t trust his tongue. Damn it, if only Sanghyuk isn’t near, acting like a hound, he could use some more direct flirting

“… Okay”

For a minute, Hongbin considers an illusion, a mere distortion of his anxious mind, a wisp of whistling wind. Taekwoon’s eyes are less cold – still could freeze someone, but not an entire room – as he stares Caramel, tranquilly cleaning herself on top of the table. He doesn’t look soft – Hongbin can’t think of him as soft – in any ways, but it’s kinda… comforting to see him relaxing because of a nearly ten centimeters long cat.

“Hyung” Sanghyuk holds his hand, and Taekwoon takes it, entering under the red umbrella; Sanghyuk’s arm sneaks around Taekwoon’s waist, pushing him close. He throws one last dirty look in Hongbin’s direction, before smiling to the oldest – and hell, he’s a child, a baby who pretends to be 20 years; he can’t have more than 15 – and leading him away.

Watching the two walking away, Hongbin pushes one hand into the sweaty strands of his hair, groaning loudly “It could have been worse” he mumbles to himself, trying to sound convincing.

Doesn’t really work.

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Chapter Text

As he leaves the building, the first thing – rather, person – Hakyeon takes notice in is Wonshik, who much like the previous time, leans against the cacophony of drawings and colors on the outside wall; he looks amazing with a thick but snug on his wide torso sweater, poetically red as blood and dark jeans, a beanie covering his black hair, his posture nonchalantly sexy. Accustomed with girls and boys alike showing interest in him, the dancer admits most can’t live up to his expectation on the appearance department, so Wonshik, as humorously silly as he acts, is a good change for his eyes.

“If you continue to act like that, I’ll think you’re stalking me, Wonshik-ah” he says, making the other stand straight in haste, cheeks lightly flushed.

Which doesn’t stay red for long, as he replies sassily “It’s lunch time, and I could be waiting for anyone”

Hakyeon clicks his tongue, dissatisfied with the answer; he crosses his arms, and pouts “Then, bye bye” the dancer pretends to go on his way – like Wonshik said, it’s lunch time and he’s famished after helping Junho with the freshmen, the dumb kids with two left feet – only to be stopped by a hand on his wrist.

If asked, he’ll deny to his grave and beyond, but Hakyeon is secretly a sap with an undying love for dramas of all kinds, and right now, the whole wrist-grabbing-to-stop-someone-from-leaving seems out of one of those corny, cringe worthy scenes Hakyeon loves so much; this, and his diva-like, protagonist complex are feeding of the attention he gets from the others ogling students leaving the B1, passing by, and Wonshik himself.

“Don’t” the younger’s husky voice actually sends one big shiver up Hakyeon’s spine, but he expertly continues to hold his unimpressed face “I don’t mean it like this, I– I’m not stalking you, I…” he staggers, cutely – the older doesn’t think the other views the action as such – rubbing his nape with his free hand, black medium hair pointing to all directions after he’s done, in a sign he needs to calm down with the styling gel. Wonshik appears to think the same, side glancing at his hand with barely concealed disgust.

You see, this is what Hakyeon is having trouble with; Wonshik’s inconstant behavior. If he on one moment acts like some sexy playboy trying to bed him, in the next he’s a kicked puppy, unsteady on his words, uncomfortable on his own skin and eager to please. He makes it hard for Hakyeon to decide which one of his actions reflect the true Wonshik – he suspects it’s the kicked puppy personality rather than the sexy playboy – and honestly, he’s not the better character judge, confiding only in Taekwoon and Sanghyuk while maintaining a polite distance from the rest of the world. He may have missed great opportunities to make good friends – there was a boy on high school named Minhyuk, and he looked nice – but the dancer isn’t one to bet and see.

“Would you like to go and have lunch with me? There’s this place really close to the campus that serves the best jjajab–”

Hakyeon interrupts him, pitying his efforts, but also admiring them; most boys would have already given up on him, after two rejections “Wonshik-ah–“

“My treat” Wonshik is the one interrupting him, quickly speaking the magical words. The grip he has around his wrist tightens minimally.

Hakyeon is a college student, which most of the time means he’s broke. He’s a dancer too, so he spends lots of energy twirling around a room, sweating the calories he consumes away, making his slight body extremely, freakishly hungry most of the time. He charges younger students when they need his help with choreography or an essay, and he brings food prepared by Taekwoon daily; still. An opportunity to eat for free is rare, and he’s not about to lose it.

Putting one of his brightest smiles, Hakyeon is surprised with himself when it comes easily, not fake “Now we’re talking”

.

.

Thursday morning and the last thing Jaehwan expected to see is one very pouty, sulky Han Sanghyuk, arms folded in front of his black pullover clothed chest, motionless on his classroom’s door. This period is self-study, and the art student is perched on his favorite spot near the wide window, the glass shaking with the howling winds force and the heavy rain outside; his classmates seem just as paralyzed as him, looking at the director with dozens of wide eyes, which the younger ignores.

“What’s the matter?” his teacher asks, raising his gaze from the newspaper he reads. “You need something?”

“I need Ken”

Three simple words and the previously shocked to silence classroom erupts in bubbling whispers, several sets of eyes gyrating 180° to stare at Jaehwan, who just smiles cutely, masking his surprise with childishness. “Meee~?” he singsongs. Sanghyuk’s pout juts a little more, and his eyebrows lower on his face.

Jaehwan is sure that if he could, Sanghyuk would be shooting daggers, lightening, fire, green goo, cockroaches and every gross and dangerous thing on Earth in his direction.

“It won’t take long, seonsaeng-nim” the director promptly ignores his question, talking to the teacher instead, who nods with lack of interest “Come. Quickly”

Jaehwan finds himself passing through the class with curious glances being thrown on his direction, and as the attention seeker he unabashedly admits he is, he stops when he’s face-to-face with the younger boy, smile unwavering “Here I am”

Sanghyuk grabs his collar, not roughly, but not gentle either; firm, a manner to affirm who has the upper hand in this situation despite the age gap favoring Jaehwan. He pushes them both a few steps backwards, closing the door so they have a little privacy, releasing him after the click echoes in the empty corridor. Knowing how the people from the arts courses like to gossip, Jaehwan bets the classes all around them already know about the encounter. He himself is one of those with a penchant for prying on the personal lives of others, even if he doesn’t involve on them.

They stare at each other, Sanghyuk with his perpetual frown and Jaehwan with a smile often called cute “So? What kind of matter would the great Han Sanghyuk has with me?” he says, hoping his words will massage the younger’s ego; the bet he made with Wonshik and Hongbin just now lurking on the boarders of his thoughts. As much as he likes the idea of receiving free paint for months and acquiring a set of special brushes, he’s not exactly at ease with the notion of playing with emotions. Also, he’s a cute jokester, not a heartthrob.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work, as the frown deepens; Jaehwan is starting to think Sanghyuk will have wrinkles twenty years earlier than he’s supposed too, with the amount of brow-action “You volunteered to aid the Second Year Film and Directing class with their main assignment. I chose you, and now we’re working together”

Oh, wow. Certainly direct.

Not even his cuteness can overpower the instant gape of his mouth or the way he feels his eyes widening at the not at all request.

“Hm…” he mutters, pursuing his lips, index finger tapping it, hand covered by a light pink wool sweater in a pawn of sorts “Hyuk-ah, we just met” he whines “Buy me a coffee before wanting my body”

Sanghyuk left eye twitches, the thin line of his lips curving downwards “Don’t go feisty on me. It’s Han Sanghyuk, Director Han or Sanghyuk-ssi”

“But it’s all just so lengthy” he blinks repeatedly, joining his hands together in front of himself “I’m your sunbae, I have the right to call you more informally”

“As you seem to already know my name, you probably also know that I don’t give a damn about seniority or whatever” the younger gives one step forward, but Jaehwan doesn’t bulge, still holding his gaze without a hint of being intimated; Sanghyuk all of a sudden looks a little less frown-y, one dark eyebrow lifting in wonder “I found your style satisfying, so we will start today–“

“I have work today…”

“–Tomorrow then” Sanghyuk fixes him a gaze, the first one that doesn’t promise an eternity of pain in hell; it’s almost normal, if it wasn’t for the edge of anger in the orbs bottomless brown color. “Meet me in the library by 4 o’clock. I don’t like to be kept waiting, so be punctual”

Jaehwan nods, internally cursing the seven hells and back; this guy’s crazy. Like, completely crazy, if his anger management issues and disregard for education and personal space have any say on this. He can look past this whole delinquent like image, seeing underneath the overly violent demeanor, how cute the other can be, with juvenile features and potential to aegyo, maybe sassiness. This Sanghyuk boy has some things bottled up inside him, and no-one to talk about it too.

“I understand… Han Sanghyuk-ah” he calmly says, smiling through Sanghyuk’s change in expression; to reasonably normal to lethal.

“You’re playing with fire, Ken” he hisses.

However, his angry brown eyes blink confusedly when Jaehwan smiles wider than ever “I’ve always liked to play”

.

.

He’s staring, and he should stop; he can’t help, the sight is too captivating.

Hongbin feels his smile grow as he watches Youngji laugh silently, her perfect white teeth exposed in one big smile; the whole world seems dim compared with her in this moment, emanating her own light, his own private sun. Breathtaking.

This idea of his, to wait for her to pass on the same place they stumbled – read: where he fell painful and shamefully with his butt on concrete – is proving itself to be great, since Youngji recognized him easily and didn’t hesitated in starting a conversation, asking if he found his composer friend – which he lied, saying he did – and if he needed help to go to the B1 again – which he refused. With a charming smile and a flash of dimples – he could be infinitely smoother with girls, their natural softness attracting his own soft side, which they loved – he skillfully strayed her attention to other topic.

They’ve been like this, sitting on a wooden bench in the not-that-bustling pathway from the B5 to B1 for at least half an hour, and depending on Hongbin, they’ll stay for another half, when he has his next class. He’s supposed to be cleaning after the reptiles, but it can wait; it’s not as if serpents leave anything behind except for their skin, and he swears some lizards are in the same position for years.

The rain has stopped it’s been an hour, but the sky is still colored light gray, something that only attracts more eyes to her; Youngji glows with her own light, a mini-sun in a world temporally covered by dullness.

“Hongbin-sunbae” Youngji calls in between her fits of silent laughter, and his whole being focuses on her, and her only “Oh my god, Hongbin-sunbae, are you serious?!”

He nods, putting on his best wounded face “You hurt me. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“No no no, that’s not it!” she shakes her hands, even if she tilts one eyebrow, slender and delicate like her  “It’s just hard to swallow– Singlehandedly fought a crocodile with a nail clipper, wearing only a pink tulle with unicorns drawn on it… Give me the credit of doubt”

“What? I look good in pink, and in tulles” he blinks exaggeratedly, enjoying the mirth dancing in her beautiful brown orbs “To my defense, the nail clipper was really sharp”

Youngji giggles some more – she can giggle all she wants, it’s a pleasure for Hongbin to witness it – attempting to cover her mouth with dainty hands “How exactly did we came to discuss this?”

“Well, you asked me what was the weirdest thing I had done as a Veterinary major” Hongbin points out, smiling a smile he knows it’s cute, making his eyes turn into slits.

“I just can’t understand the purpose of it”

“Veterinarians” he says the word like it explains everything; seeing Youngji doesn’t understands, he completes “Only like animals, and no, we mere humans don’t fit the category. The sunbaes are ruthless with freshmen”

“Hm” Youngji hums, tapping a finger – with a nail painted light pink – on her chin, a pout settling on her lips “So that means you made your hoobaes go through something similar?”

Ugh, Hongbin groans mentally, resisting the urge to rub his neck in a gesture of embarrassment. Youngji send him a knowing look, biting her lower lip – and if Hongbin fixes his eyes on the action it’s totally unconsciously – in poor concealed amusement.

“I-I… I think traditions are very important, and who am I to break one that happens since the beginning of the course?”

“So yes, you did”

“I never made anyone fight a crocodile”

“So, the pink tulle…”

“They’re a classic!” Hongbin moves, so his body is half turned towards the girl “However I’m fond of them bright yellow, and green”

Youngji laughs soundlessly again “I do remember some boys walking around a whole day with these horrific things. You’re the one to blame”

“Me and my class, please”

“For someone with this face, you surely are wicked” she says, only to blush right after.

They may not have met more than twice – counting this one – but Hongbin feels at ease with her, as if they’ve been friends – he wants more – for years, so he doesn’t hesitate in wiggling his eyebrows “What about my face?”

Youngji blushes harder, and suddenly stands, wiping imaginary dust from her jeans and picking her bag “I– I have to go now sunbae– Things to do, you know? …Drama things!”

She’s cute like this, all red and stuttering; Hongbin shows an accepting smile, one dimple visible “Sure, Youngji-yah, we can text later”

There it is, the signal he’s interested in her.

Youngji catches it, and smiles through her blush “Okay” she hugs her bag against her chest “’Till later, sunbae!”

Hongbin watches as she goes away, not bothering to suppress his smile; he’s satisfied with his day up until now, and pretty happy with this development with the beautiful, oh so beautiful Heo Youngji. He hopes that by the end of the semester, he’ll have the honor to call her his girlfriend. He can already imagine, they’ll make a stunning couple – he conscious of his flower boy image, and who doesn’t like dimples? – one of those who make heads turn as they pass by. He’ll hold her gently against his side, and smirk at the envious looks the boys will give him.

He chuckles – no, he won’t admit he giggles – entering the B5 building; he greets some of his seniors and heads en route for the second floor basement, so he can pick the proper attire to move around the snakes – why it isn’t on the reptile’s house, he doesn’t know… so unpractical. Hongbin decides, since he’s already near, go to the room the veterinary courses keeps the pets in observations, because of injuries and/or illnesses. Caramel is there, and being just one day ever since her arrival, he thinks it’s fair to go and check on the tiny kitten.

Confusion creeps its way to his mind as he sees a certain commotion on the second floor; students are perched close to the stairs, hiding behind walls to gaze at something ahead of the hallway; a light buzz of whispers mingle together, and Hongbin almost nudges some of the louder second years to ask for an explanation. He doesn’t, one because he is not the type to ask around and two, because he was supposed to be feeding snakes and lizards forty minutes ago; he’ll get scolded later, but after spending quality time with Youngji, it’s going to be worth it.

A few steps later and Hongbin discovers the reason why a commotion is forming on the floor.

Taekwoon sits by the floor, huge blue headphones contrasting starkly against his very light hair. He uses his backpack to lean on, head on the wall as he balances a notebook on his bent knees, pen scribbling viciously on the page, bottom lip caught in between his teeth. Somehow, Hongbin never imagined him as one of those students who flopped down anywhere, with the ‘Ice Prince’ image working for him. With long blue sleeves up to his elbow and skinny jeans, he looks like any other student.

An exceptionally good-looking student, but a student anyway.

“Taekwoon-ssi?” he risks calling the boy’s name, in a whisper that seems to echo in the long hallway.

First, Taekwoon stops assaulting the paper sheet. Then, slowly, almost lazily he pushes down the headphones – for a brief moment Hongbin thinks he hears a pretty, haunting ballad rhythm – and looks up, directly into Hongbin’s eyes, freeing his bottom lip at the same time, and no, Hongbin doesn’t follow the motion with rabid focus, no, he doesn’t. Taekwoon doesn’t say anything, blinking once.

Hongbin breathes deeply, feeling his ears getting hot with the attention he knows he’s receiving from the other students “Taekwoon-ssi, why are you here?”

The older boy doesn’t answer immediately; instead, he closes his notebook and putting it inside his bag. He raises with it slinging on one shoulder, and finishes putting the headphones down, setting them on the base of his neck. As Hongbin opens his mouth to speak again, he says, in that soft, quiet voice of his “I came to see Caramel… And the kittens”

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6… Buddha.

Hongbin isn’t stupid enough to gap like a fish in front of Taekwoon, but that doesn’t mean his mind can’t collapse at the same time. He knows that there are people on the B1 who have never, ever heard the compositor’s voice, and understands that for him to be listening to more than half a dozen of words coming from him is nothing less than a miracle; how the curious whispers behind him get louder is proof that he’s not the only one who recognizes this.

Taekwoon is still looking at him, eyes black and distant, cold and dull. He appears to have no hurry, and waits as Hongbin’s brain tries to recompose itself.

“T-T-The ki-kittens? Yeah, sure, come with me!” he stutters, feeling sweat blooming on his forehead.

In front of him, Taekwoon nods, turning slightly to the side, as if saying ‘lead the way’. His expression remains the same, and he follows Hongbin quietly when he starts to walk, their shoulders bumping for one millisecond.

Hongbin’s heart feels like stopping.

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Chapter Text

For what must be the tenth time in a short span of time, Hongbin wonders how he got into this situation.

Taekwoon sits on the floor, legs crossed, with a dozen and a half of different kittens and puppies perched around him and on his lap, shoulders and even head, all whining softly for attention, which he gladly gives, running a pale hand of thin, long fingers – he has very beautiful hands, loyal to his status as a compositor who handles several instruments – through their fur. He happily, or at least Hongbin thinks he’s happy, with the inexpressive curve of his lips a little softer, pets Caramel, that for such a tiny kitten, hisses rather angrily at any other pet who tries to get close to her position, snuggled on the junction between Taekwoon’s arm and forearm.

And this allows Hongbin to observe, awkwardly leaning against the room’s door; his free period ended ten minutes ago, but just as he doesn’t make a move to leave Taekwoon alone, the older boy appears to not bother with his classes either, if he has one now. He rubs his neck from time to time, not wanting to bother Taekwoon, but also not wanting to stay frozen like a silly statue.

A low, slightly high-pitched hum breaks the – apart from the keens, purrs and yaps – otherwise silent place, and it’s with a startle that Hongbin notices it comes from the compositor, now helping a striped kitten climb up his thick blue sweater, so it can curl around his neck, consequently interrupting a sand colored puppy on his quest to chew the light blond hair. It barks, annoyed, and tries to paw the kitten away, who in response, carves its’ nails deep into Taekwoon’s skin, if the practically invisible shudder means anything. With the small dispute going on, the other pets all start to playfully fight, instigated by the turmoil, all while still on top of Taekwoon, who stops humming.

Taking pity on him, Hongbin moves towards him, kneeling in front of him to take off the pup out of his head, delicately prying the silky strands – and how he keeps his hair dyed so light while managing to continue with the soft texture is a mystery in itself – away from its’ mouth “Hey, Mingyu, what manners are these?” he lightly scolds the puppy, placing it on the floor “You too, Sangsan, come here” and doing the same with the kitten. He can’t avoid touching Taekwoon’s shoulder and gulps down at the sharp yet strong edges of his collarbone.

Hongbin looks up, finding black cold eyes piercing through his skin, and feeling his face flush, he tries to distance himself away at the same time he evades bumping on the pets. Obviously, with someone with his luck, Hongbin loses his balance and ends up falling on his butt, the cold tile shooting a tingling pain across his backside. To complete, Sangsan, Mingyu and three other puppies crawl up his chest, Mingyu even licking his cheek.

“Ya, you… A-Ah! Hahaha, stop!” he breathlessly laughs as the other puppies seem to find Mingyu’s idea brilliant, all repeating its’ actions and licking him all over – Sangsan doesn’t bother, curling on his stomach and staying there – with too wet tongues and overexcited yelps. “Aish, you all…!” he attempts to be serious; it fails when four pairs of puppy eyes – literally – look at him “You rascals are lucky to be so adorable”

He caresses Mingyu’s sandy fur affectionately; his eyes widen like saucers when he listen a suave, almost inaudible “Cute”

For the third time that day, he looks up to meet black orbs, suddenly gentler than they’ve ever been before. His heart skips a beat – or two, or three, or twenty – as he blinks owlishly, mind mush once more. His throat feels clogged and white noise deafen his ears to any other sound that’s not Taekwoon’s light breathing; he’s speechless and sure he’s about to pass out from lack of oxygen.

Did… Did Ice Prince Taekwoon, 1/3 of B1’s untouchable trio just called him cute? No, no, no, that can’t be right, he must have heard wrong; his ears ceased to work for a few seconds, the blowing wind brought some sound from outside, a chirping bird passed by, anything but Jung Taekwoon called him cute.

“What?” he manages to gasp, his face heating and heart pounding on his ears, his throat dry.

Taekwoon is not fazed by his splutter, maintaining his look “… Mingyu”

Oh, of course.

His face felt hot before, but couldn’t compare with how Hongbin feels right now, burning in embarrassment and shame. Of course Taekwoon wouldn’t call him cute, what the hell was he thinking to consider the though? The compositor very obviously has a weak spot for cute animals – it makes him cute too, contradicting his icy personality because of balls of fluff… No, Hongbin totally didn’t think Taekwoon is cute in some way – which he doesn’t hide. Of course he would think Mingyu is cute.

“This rascal here?” he asks rhetorically, trying to not make – more – a fool out of himself “Like you saw, he’s a little devil with an odd obsession for hair; two more minutes and you would find some missing, hyungnim”

Taekwoon’s pouty lips stick out faintly as he examines the puppy in question curiously; it’s the most Hongbin has seen him express, and his heart does a triple backwards jump, beating erratically. The older boy is so adorable like this, a childish aura overpowering momentarily the normally unattainable, cool handsomeness. Taekwoon tilts his head to the side a bit, sucking his bottom lip – he needs to stop doing this; Hongbin’s eyes are about to go cross with the rapid movements he does to follow the action – and blinks lazily once.

An image pops in Hongbin traitorous mind: A Taekwoon biting his lower lip, wearing a fluffy headband in form of cat ears, complete with a fluffy tail, all while looking at him with his head tilted to the side, like now.

His dry throat dries more, and he desperately wants a gulp of water.

“Taekwoon is fine”

Change that. Hongbin needs to go drown himself somewhere.

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Taekwoon watches silently as the boy with the dimples – he doesn’t know his name – blushes a very dark shade of red, his almond eyes widening slightly. He opens his mouth as if to speak, closing it seconds later. Today the boy’s hair is down, not wetly sticking to all directions, but he still looks like one of the main characters in Hakyeon’s dramas, those overly pretty, but stupid main characters. The sandy puppy – Mingyu – loses interest in him as he doesn’t show it much attention, and climbs out of his chest, being followed by the others, brawling on the floor. Only the kitten – Sangsan – continues on its’ place, tiny body curled on the boy’s lap, sleeping peacefully, ignorant to the noise.

The lost look on the younger’s face – Taekwoon will call him Dimples for now, because he’s not original, he likes them and it’s not about to ask for a name – morphs into a pensive pout, the jut of his lips causing his dimples to carve holes on his cheeks, and he runs his hand through dark brown hair so it falls unevenly on his forehead.

“… Taekwoon?” he says, but the name sounds like a question.

Taekwoon is aware his expression – or lack of – remains the same, but he feels his chest warm slightly, uncomfortably; he’s not a fan of suffixes on his name, which already sounds too full on anyone’s tongue but Hakyeon and Sanghyuk’s, where it normally grows with endearments, Taekwoonnie and Taekwoonnie-hyung their favorites. He doesn’t exactly likes how Dimples says it; at least it’s better than ‘Taekwoon-ssi’ or ‘hyungnim’.

To show the other he acknowledged the change, he pointedly stares at his face for a breath longer, before turning his attention to Caramel on his arm, caressing her orange fur lightly. Taekwoon hears a low curse coming from the vet major, and resists the urge to frown against the absence of education near someone older than him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about how he preferred to be addressed, if this boy thought it is automatically okay to use foul language freely.

See, this is why he stays silent; his words never quite sound right, his inability to communicate properly leading people into being too forward and disrespectful. Taekwoon can only count on Hakyeon and Sanghyuk to understand him.

For the sake of Caramel, he stays, shutting the other’s presence from his mind and focusing on the small animal on his care. She’s well treated, with clean bandages and brushed fur, not flinching every time he strokes her near the wound, careful to avoid touching it. It’s good to see this, and he remembers that bringing her here was Sanghyuk’s idea; he’ll make some ice cream cake for him on the shop and bring it to him later. Ahjumma will scold him for doing personal things, but let him nonetheless. His dongsaeng deserves some sweetness in his life.

“So, you’re in your free period?”

The question comes from Dimples; he’s not looking so stupid with his eyes on their normal size and his mouth closed.

It doesn’t mean Taekwoon will answer him. Let the younger struggle. He doesn’t, shutting up immediately.

The truth is quite the opposite; Taekwoon is skipping his History of Music class, just because he can and… Kittens. Kittens and puppies.

Dimples sighs loudly, before flashing a smile so big said facial features turn into clefts, deep and cutely mischievous. Some of his edgy aura dissipates, and he propels himself into a sitting position, shushing Sangsan as the kitten mewls discontentedly at the move, his hand – Taekwoon notices he has nice hands, with long fingers that would look rather good on a piano or guitar – petting it.

“So, would you like to help me brush them?”

Taekwoon looks down on his lap, seeing all the kittens and puppies in different states of tousled. An overwhelming warmth fills his body, and he presses Caramel closer to his body, free hand gently tickling a black kitten on top of his leg under its’ chin, receiving a purr in exchange. He nods faintly, gaze not straying from the little, fluffy balls of joy.

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Sanghyuk doesn’t like gardenias, but they’re Hakyeon’s favorite, so he considers buying some later, when he comes back from his encounter with the feisty, weird artist Ken. They look fresh and beautiful through the floriculture’s glass window, and he knows Hakyeon likes to decorate their house with flowers – and that Taekwoon likes them too, although being allergic to some types, like lilies and roses – to distract them from all its’ problems; like the large hole on one of the doors, the constant pitter-patter of the bathroom’s faucet or the old, ratty furniture that creaks every time someone touches it.

But he then remembers the half-assed excuse the older boy gave for the second time and huffs. Eat lunch with some Literature student just because he offered to pay for it, was that what Hakyeon said? Ha, yeah, and he’s BIGBANG’s Seungri.

Hakyeon isn’t one to accept any of the dozens of requests he receives simply because he gets to eat for free. They’re struggling to make money, yes, but they’re not starving and the dancer is not even one to eat like it’s his last meal – this is something reserved to Taekwoon – preferring to eat less than he should, and being picky on top of everything.

A low growl escapes from in between his teeth, and he stomps away from the floriculture, his blood boiling on his veins, a red haze of anger clouding his vision. He hates this situation, hates the fact that he’s thinking about this.

Thinking about Hakyeon not giving his time to him or Taekwoon. Sanghyuk is aware of the charismatic persona the oldest makes himself to be on the presence of other people – when he’s normally a mother-hen, a whiny, arrogant diva with him and Taekwoon – and yet, he wasn’t one to let such people in, keeping them at a safe distant. They’ve been together since his middle school – high school for the other two – with no one interfering more than idiotic confessions which were dismissed, requests for help that were sometimes accepted, others not and the inevitable colleagues for school works and lately, jobs.

For the dancer to go with someone who was not Taekwoon or Sanghyuk for either of these reasons could only mean one thing: he liked this Literature student, conscious of it or not.

And Sanghyuk hates this; frowning is already his common expression, but now he feels the creases on his forehead, each one trying to mar his young face, carve a permanent place in between his eyebrows. A girl passing by recoils the moment she sees his expression, and had this street been one of the lowest in Seoul, he would have his hands full of delinquents looking for trouble. But he’s close to the University campus, and the most dangerous thing he can find in here is that cake-shop ahjumma that employs Taekwoon.

The Library is a large, three store-building in the middle of the campus, and is open 24 hours five days, for those desperate students who don’t know the light of day. In his almost two years since he entered University, Sanghyuk never needed to enter the place more than half a dozen of times, when he had to study for tests that required more than his natural talent. This will change, now that he has to do an animation and has no idea where to start.

He enters; as expected there’s a lot of students pilling up on tables, hunched over books and walking around with hands full. Sanghyuk wonders for a second how in hell he’ll find Ken, when his eyes catch something very bright on its’ corner. The director turns, seeing a kiosk – probably where the librarian stays, doing whatever they do – with a boy inside, wearing a disgustingly purple and lime long-sleeved shirt and an equally disgusting lime beanie.

From his short experience with Ken, Sanghyuk identified quite easily his eccentric choice in clothes. As he approaches the kiosk, he sees himself right; Ken finishes waving to some person in the distance, and looks at him with those big, humongous deer eyes in a face full of other big features. Weirdly, works for him, making him appear younger when in other people it would probably just appear dumb.

“Ken” he says, still mildly annoyed from his earlier thoughts. His tone is harsh, growled.

Ken doesn’t show any reaction to it but a cute smile, eyes cricking on the corners “Han Sanghyuk-ah, you’re early! Did you miss me this much?”

“What I told you about playing with fire?” Sanghyuk feels his blood boil; he’s not in the mood for banters. In fact, he’s not in the mood for anything but ice cream cake, a marathon of One Piece and Taekwoon’s miraculous back massage. He prefers not to think about traitorous Hakyeon.

“And what I told you about liking to play?” Ken’s smile gets bigger, if that’s possible, and he starts to gesticulate, hands half-covered by the ugly clothing swaying excitedly “Honestly, Han Sanghyuk-ah, you need to chill out a little… Scratch that, you need to chill out a lot. In fifteen minutes my shift is over and we can discuss whatever we need to do for our project calmly, without silent threats, frown-y eyebrows and death glares, okay?” Ken joins his thumb and forefinger together, forming a circle. A symbol for ‘okay’.

Sanghyuk’s eyebrows twitch; he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, the glare is – minimally – softer.

“Whatever”

He sits far away from Ken’s kiosk; the artist is popular and in the remaining fifteen minutes of his shift, twenty or so students pass by, turning in books or asking for information. Eleven smile towards Ken, a girl fawns over him and two boys chitchat for five minutes straight with him. Ken never stops smiling, not even when he’s by himself.

He remembers Sanghyuk of Hakyeon. The dancer also never really stops grinning – falsely to others, but ever so honest and pretty inside four walls, with just Sanghyuk and Taekwoon by his side – and to think of him again makes the director’s mood darken once more. He hates that everything can bring his Hakyeon’s thoughts back to surface.

A loud bang takes him away from them, and he follows Ken’s moves as he settles next to him with barely concealed anger, a snarl passing through his lips; how dare he startle Sanghyuk?

Ken does not react to the sound, happily spreading books and notebooks on every visible space “I was thinking about making an animation using mostly shades of gray, because like, they’re easier to work with, and with you having this permanent cloud over your cute little head, it will suit you. You prefer anime or cartoon? I’m familiar with both, but I like ani–“

“I decide what we’ll do” Sanghyuk interrupts, not appreciating the babble at all “The only thing you have to do is draw; preferably silent”

He makes sure to add his most menacing glare, voice dripping with venom and you-will-do-whatever-I-order-you-to-you-worthless-trash intonation. It never fails to intimidate, not with the terrified freshmen, not with the bitter seniors.

So it’s with a great amount of surprise when Ken simply shrugs, smile not present for once. The boy with chocolate hair and doe eyes stares at him mockingly, lip curling on one side to form a smirk.

“Yah, listen here you brat– This project is just as mine as it is yours, and I won’t tolerate your egocentric, bad-boy attitude just because you have some shit complex I don’t care about. You chose me, and if you want my help, we’ll work on this together, capisce? Otherwise, you tell me, that I will just get up and go do my things. I’m a person, not trash to be treated like one”

Sanghyuk gulps.

Chapter Text

Hakyeon hums happily as he cooks dinner – Taekwoonie has to work till later today – on the empty apartment, body moving sinuously with the rhythm. While on days Taekwoon isn’t there to cook Hakyeon would normally order food from some dirty, cheap and greasy place, today he feels excited enough to try his hand on the kitchen; his date – he giggles a little at the word – with Literature student Kim Wonshik playing in his head. He’s not the best in cooking – there has to be something he’s not good at, otherwise, he’s pretty damn perfect – but at least it’s edible, and he gets to economize some of his scarce, precious money. Besides, it’s only rice and a vegetable soup. Not even he can do it wrong, right?

Wrong.

By the time Sanghyuk arrives, Hakyeon is whining to himself, pouting because for some reason the rice got stuck on the bottom of the pan, and the vegetable soup is getting browner, and why is it getting browner? He’s a twenty five year old dance major, and he’s supposed to be able to live independently; if things continue as they are, he’ll be forty and paying for Taekwoon to cook him meals, parting from the idea they won’t be living together by then, which he doubts. He possesses absolutely flawless looks, dance is ingrained in every cell of his body and yet, he can’t do soup without making it appear straight out of a swamp.

Sanghyuk shuts the door and takes off his shoes, going straight to the living room, not making any effort to recognize Hakyeon’s presence, making the oldest realize that his baby is angry for a reason he’s not aware of. The youngest may not be the most affectionate and touchy guy in the world, but he never simply passes through Hakyeon purposely without having the trouble of saying minimally his grumpy ‘I’m home’ or on his good days, let his hair be petted or knock shoulders with the older. He’s definitely mad, and a mad Sanghyuk is a very scary and sulky one.

Sighing, Hakyeon officially gives up on his attempt at cooking dinner – Taekwoon will appear later with some leftover cakes, and too much sugar is bad for him who has to maintain his weight, but whatever – and goes after the youngest of their little group, finding him draped over the couch, with his backpack thrown on the floor, papers scattering messily all over the floor and on his lap as the handsome lines of his face all creased up in a mix of what it seems to be worry, exasperation and bewilderment; his hair, much like the papers, falls chaotically on his face, and the black roots are starting to show, signaling Sanghyuk’s need to go to a hairstylist.

“Hyukkie~” Hakyeon mewls, preparing to throw himself on top of the director, whose dark brown eyes glance at him with disdain, cute nose scrunching up as his mouth curls into a snarl.

A single word makes him rethink the decision “Don’t.”

Normally a mad Sanghyuk is cranky, but today he just sounds… pissed off. Like, truly mad, and whatever happened, or whoever made him like this will pay; Hakyeon is used to take care of him from a young age – his eighteen year old self scolding a fourteen year old bruised Sanghyuk deep into the night more times than he cares to remember, an equally eighteen year old Taekwoon observing everything through sleepy eyes and quiet whispers –, and he admits he can be both protective and possessive of him and Taekwoon, overly so. He also knows how difficult dealing with Sanghyuk can be, and that the boy isn’t one to go sharing his opinions and feelings in what mattered the most, choosing to only offer a slight insight of his thoughts most times. He can be annoyingly frustrating and try to deal with everything by himself, carry all of his worries on his shoulders when Hakyeon is tired of offering his own.

Also, the blonde beneath him is a master of facades, that’s for sure, but not with him; Han Sanghyuk is Han Sanghyuk when at home, not the Director or the scary-guy-with-glares-capable-of-scaring-out-ghosts; he laughs at stupid jokes on his favorite animes and whines about what they’ll have for dinner. He occasionally does aegyo to gain something and is sassy, but gentle. For him to be using his scary mask there… things are serious.

“Sanghyuk-ah…” the dancer tries again, this time softly, kneeling by his side, next to his head. “Oi, are you alright?”

He sees the boy taking a deep breath, a bit of the tension on his brows – and he was serious when he said the younger will have wrinkles twenty years earlier than he should – relaxing, enough for him not to look ready to break all of Hakyeon’s teeth. “Just go away hyung; I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now”

… Wait, what?

Mildly scandalized by the words, it is Hakyeon’s turn to take a deep breath “Hyogi…”

“You didn’t listen the first time?! I’m busy hyung!”

“Yah! Don’t get sassy on me Han Sanghyuk!”

“If you fucking went when I told you so, I wouldn’t need to sass you away!”

“You blame me? I’m just worried because you have this freaking constipated scowl on your dumb face!”

“Well, clearly I’m not happy or satisfied or willing to deal with annoying old men”

Hakyeon bites the inside of his cheek to contain the urge to bitch slap the director; he only got like this when running away from a subject “Goddammit Sanghyuk, I wanna help, that’s it”

“I don’t need your help” the youngest expression loses some of its rage; it continues to lurk in the corners of his pretty brown eyes, ready to emerge. With the living room’s cheap light, they look bottomless pits of black. 41815149191

“But–”

“No means no, hyung. Leave… please”

The final word makes Hakyeon’s outrage go as fast as it came, and he blinks owlishly at Sanghyuk, not quite understanding. His mind soon is filled with all kinds of scenarios and schemes to kill whoever affected his boy to the point of him saying ‘please’, as he is well aware the word would immediately cause him to back off, for Hyuk never said it if not for serious situations. Hell, the last time he said it was two years ago, after one of their worst fights, and for him to be using it deliberately like this, purposefully creating a barrier he knows won’t be trespassed, is a stab on Hakyeon’s heart. Seeing the tired lines around his eyes and the unhappy curve of his mouth, Hakyeon hesitantly gets up, biting his lip so hard he actually feels the coppery taste on his tongue.

Sanghyuk doesn’t bother to follow his movements, instead turning back to the stack of papers on his hands and chest; he snaps his head towards the dancer when he bents down one last time to lightly kiss the top of dyed hair, an habit he has for years, which the youngest shows both annoyance and amusement when faced with; now, he throws a glare capable of melting steel on Hakyeon’s general direction, running his hand through the tresses as if wanting to erase the action.

The pain on his chest intensifies, and Hakyeon contains the urge to scold, cry, scream, coddle, slap and hug Sanghyuk, choosing to go to his room and stay there, since dinner won’t happen so soon. He lies on his bed, fishing his phone from his jeans’ pocket, noticing a small notification of a new message; it’s from Wonshik, inviting him for lunch again tomorrow on a place that has the best galbi on the university’s surroundings. The Literature student is absolutely ridiculous via text, sending too many emojis – a lot like himself, and he would deny this to his death – and typos, cutely trying to correct them and managing to make more mistakes. It rips a giggle out of Hakyeon, a giggle that quickly transforms into a hiccup.

Dependence is the defining word for their trio relationship, it is common knowledge within them; Hakyeon can admit that, the fact they care for each other in unhealthy amounts, that while they can survive without the other two, this is not a considered possibility. They have been through thick and thin together for almost seven years, saw each other’s flaws and qualities and learnt to accept them. Taekwoon and Sanghyuk deal with Hakyeon’s narcissist personality, Hakyeon and Taekwoon deal with Sanghyuk’s arrogant one and Sanghyuk and Hakyeon deal with Taekwoon’s thirty different barriers. They work

Maybe they’re doing things wrong.

Clicking on Wonshik’s icon – also ridiculous; is that a slug?! – he calls the boy; he needs a distraction.

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The soft bell clinks as Hongbin enters the small cake shop, giggling. On his hand, his cellphone shines with the conversations he’s been having with Youngji for the past twenty minutes since his part-time job ended; they already discussed all kinds of themes, ranging from the best places to sleep on the University, to the weird concoction the canteen ahjummas keep making every Thursday. Youngji thinks they simply throw all leftovers together, while Hongbin insists that that red, boiling goo is the mortal rests of some unfortunate soul.

He asks for the girl of his dreams to wait a little as he buys coffee for himself, before pocketing his phone, happily going to the counter. All the cakes look delicious – they taste delicious too, from Hongbin’s experience – but he has no enough money with him to buy a piece and his so desired green tea latte, which is top priority right now. One of his teachers went crazy that afternoon and gave his class an enormous essay do be done for the end of next week, and despite being past 6p.m, he heads for the library to start his research.

The noona from the counter blushes – like always – the moment she sees him, and stutters as she asks what he’ll want, and if he’ll want it to drink there or not; he opens his mouth to say that no, he won’t be drinking it on the shop, when an eerily familiar humming catches his attention. His head snaps in its direction and his mouth opens involuntarily at the vision his eyes are greeted with.

Taekwoon sits alone on the farthest table on the shop, between two walls. Differently from earlier today, when he was with Hongbin, he wears a brown jacket over a white shirt, and his hair, at this distance, appears to be wet. He hums to himself, distractedly chewing a piece of what Hongbin recognizes as whipped cream with strawberries cake, his favorite; his cheeks are really chubby, protruding like a squirrel’s, or a hamster’s.

“Mister..? You’ll want to drink your beverage here or must I make it for travel?”

Snapping out of his Taekwoon-induced trance, Hongbin turns to the counter noona, who seems just as dazed as him, the blush on her face redder “Hn? Oh yes, I will drink it in here”

She nods and sets up to make his green tea latte. For the whole three minutes she takes, the veterinary student maintains his gaze on the music student, admiring the smoothness of his voice, even in a sound as simple as a hum. The rhythm is similar to one of Sung Sikyung songs, and Hongbin wonders how his voice would sound in one of Park Hyoshin’s. He, Taekwoon and the counter noona are the only ones in the shop – it’s near its’ closing time – but the older boy doesn’t notice him, cold eyes scanning through a book; he also sips on a big mug, not once lifting his eyes.

He pays for his drink and in a bold move that could get him killed – or frozen to death – Hongbin courageously walks towards Taekwoon – he thinks he hears the noona gasping – and sits on his front. “Hello, Taekwoon-hyungnim”

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.

Lifting slightly his eyes, the first thing Taekwoon sees are dimples and a trembling smile.

Oh.

It’s Dimples, looking at him expectantly as he sits on his front, holding what Taekwoon identifies as the green tea latte. Ugh, gross.

Dimples greets him, his almond eyes shining with hope and apprehension; Taekwoon simply looks at him, silently disapproving of the ‘hyungnim’, as he already told the boy earlier today that he preferred to be called without overly long honorifics, yet he seemed to disregard his wishes. Again, this boy seems to do whatever he wanted, without considering other people. So, for that reason – and for not wanting to vocalize anything – he doesn’t say a word.

Dimples shifts uncomfortably on his seat, and sips at his drink nervously “So, hyungnim… How were your classes today?”

Seriously, this kid… He surely is something else, with his oh so failed attempts to make him talk, and while that could be annoying on Hakyeon’s part, and cute on Sanghyuk’s, Taekwoon doesn’t feel any of the two, instead feeling an unfamiliar, almost sadistic amusement directed at the squirming boy. It is kind of funny to see him so lost near him, and although he would never admit it, the music feels a little flattered at the attention Dimple has been trying to give him. He isn’t approached by guys – for friendship or more – and girls normally are too afraid of him to come closer, deciding it’s best to watch from a ‘safe’ distance. The rare times he is, people run away, intimidated out of their minds.

Feeling a little flattered doesn’t mean he’ll let Dimples confortable on his presence, or even make an effort to be more welcoming. No, he doesn’t need one more person on his life, for he has more than enough with Hakyeon and Sanghyuk. If he wants to keep accompany him, he can; Taekwoon won’t do anything to stop him, yet won’t incentive him either.

Dimples deviates his eyes from him, sucking first his upper lip then his bottom one – his dimples are very visible with the action, and it distracts Taekwoon for one second –, his fingers fidgeting on the cup he holds. The boy he still doesn’t know the name of is probably very attractive to any standard, but visuals are of no interest to the compositor.

Taekwoon blinks, uninterested, but before he can return to his book, Dimples tries again “The tone you were humming before… It was… Sung Sikyung’s ‘On the Street’?

Hm, so the boy knows a bit about music. Deciding he deserved at least a bit of response, he tilts his head a little to the right, in a sign of confirmation. He picks his latte – hot, because it’s cold outside, and it’s dark and he’s eating whipped cream with strawberries cake – and gulps some of it, staring straight into Dimples eyes.

Whose cheeks become red “It is one of my favorites. Sung Sikyung and Park Hyoshin are the best, and Jellyfish Ent. know what they’re doing”

This picks his attention. He could never have imagined Dimples as someone who appreciated music – he is very pretty and his appearance is of an idol; girl groups perhaps? Very pop-y, electronic sounds – like Sung Sikyung’s and Park Hyoshin’s. It’s a good surprise, since at least now he won’t have to listen to a hormonal boy talking about short-skirts and ‘S’, ‘T’, ‘X’ lines; Dimples looks like he wants to stay.

In Taekwoon lifespan, he learned a few things. One of them is very simple:

If one wants to have him by their side, they have to fight. Hard.

.

.

“You’re awfully cheerful today” Jaehwan comments, side-glancing Wonshik, who’s been smiling for the past twenty minutes, dumbly staring at his phone, a blue lollipop dangling from his lips.

Said boy’s smile only grows “Victory tastes sweet” he pops the candy loudly, winking boyishly.

“Ooooh?” Jaehwan propels his body forward, interested in the information; the bet lingers in the air around them, filling it with a tension that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “Aren’t you cocky?”

The Literature student shrugs, dismissing the idea “Not cocky– I’m just that good”

Jaehwan rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to his drawings. After the somewhat successful meeting with Sanghyuk – after explaining with a little emphasis that he wouldn’t accept be treated like an inferior vermin, the boy had gotten surprisingly cooperative, even if sullen – he has a general idea of what he needs to draw to make this animation. Both decided to use a more anime-styled design, and since director apparently was able to only come up with depressing, cynical or horrifying scenarios, they reached an agreement that Jaehwan would only use more somber colors, preferably grays, dark blues and deep purples.

“Won’t you ask me why Jaehwan-hyung?” Wonshik asks, and the older can hear the pout on his voice; and they called him the attention seeker.

“Didn’t you say you were good?” it’s Jaehwan’s time to smile, mocking the other while using his best innocent tone “I don’t see it”

“Hyuuuuung”

“Not interested” he singsongs, making a ponytail for the girl he’s drawing “You probably are bribing Cha Hakyeon’s affections out of him. If I know you, and I do, you’re buying him food or lip balm”

Wonshik’s eyes widen, and the lollipop almost falls from his lips “How do you– Wait, lip balm? Hakyeon likes lip balm? How do you even–?” his eyes glow, like in the day he proposed the stupid bet that has Jaehwan regretting his life decisions till today; more like the weird pink drink he accepted from Hongbin right before Wonshik got them stuck in this bet. His hazy mind – something not true; his alcohol resistance is great – thought it was a funny, challenging idea and look where he is. Dealing with a boy with all kinds of complexes and issues.

Ops, so maybe he talked too much.

“I know nothing” Jaehwan quickly turns. The eyes for the ponytail girl are getting too dark, and he sighs, reaching for an eraser. The other character – a girl with feline eyes and long curly hair – is complete, but he can’t quite feel satisfied with this one. At this pace, he’ll start again.

“Oh, you totally do! C’mon, help me here! What does Hakyeon likes besides this?! I promise to tell you about my progress!”

“Again: Not interested. Honestly Wonshik-ah, you expect me to help you woo Hakyeon when we’re both going against each other on this stupid bet of yours?” facing Wonshik dejected face, the Arts major chuckles, amused “You disappoint me”

“This deceptively cute face of yours hides a monster” Wonshik groans, snuggling as far as he could from Jaehwan on the couch – they spent way too much time there – concentrating on glaring the book he previously was reading. A few minutes pass like this, with them silent, the scrapping of Jaehwan’s different pencils on paper and the eventual flick of Wonshik’s book pages the only sounds on the precinct; then “Have you met Sanghyuk?”

Jaehwan feels a brief twinge of annoyance towards the younger “Yes, Wonshik-ah, I did”

“How is he?”

“He is himself”

“Urgh, you’re frustrating!”

“Took you too long to notice” Jaehwan shows him his tongue, winking cheekily as the younger grumbles and tears open another lollipop.

He talked too soon “I’m trying to make things easier for us– You help me with Hakyeon and I help you with Sanghyuk. Hongbin will never, ever, not in a million years make Jung Taekwoon like him” he gesticulates a lot while speaking, almost hitting Jaehwan’s arm and fucking up his one hour and a half work “Sorry– Look hyung, you’re the one who knows the B1 trio the best, please?”

Jaehwan looks at Wonshik; sees the droppy eyes pleading to him, the small, button like lips pouting and the black hair starting to fall on his forehead, now the gel isn’t working that well anymore. This Wonshik reminds Jaehwan a lot of the first time he saw the boy, on a hot summer day of his second year, after one week ripping his hair out because his previous roommates graduated and left him to pay rent by himself. Okay, 19 year old Wonshik – being followed by a 19 year old Hongbin – had the weirdest hair in the world, white-blonde and triangular fringe, heavy combat boots and that preferred to be called ‘Ravi’, yet, was the same dork he’s seeing on his front now, four years later. The same loyal, cute-loving, sweet and awkward dork.

Argh, damn the soft-spot he has for the younger.

“What to do~?” he finally says, smiling in a way it’s cute; or so people said “Okay, Wonshik-ah, you win. But!” he adds, before Wonshik can say anything “You’ll buy me… a piece of cake for information”

The literature student smiles “Fine, just don’t blame me when you get fat”

As if to seal the deal, both his and Wonshik’s stomachs growl, and they laugh together.

.

.

Chapter Text

Taekwoon blinks in confusion at the scene displayed in front of him; on one side of the small living room, Hakyeon sat alone on a position that can’t be comfortable, half on top of a chair, half on the floor, eyes glued on his phone, hands quickly moving on the screen, probably talking to someone – he has a lot of acquaintances and dance partners and whoever else the dancer talks to – over something while Sanghyuk occupied the whole couch and center table, papers scattered everywhere and notebook open, the youngest boy’s features scrunched up so tightly together Taekwoon feels the need to smooth them. He agrees when Hakyeon says Sanghyuk will have wrinkles twenty years earlier than he’s supposed to.

That’s not the problem, because yes, Hakyeon spends a lot of time on his phone and Sanghyuk always hogs up the living room’s space during a project for a class or one of his individuals; no, the problem is the immense distance in between both boys. Hakyeon is very clingy, and likes to sit as close as possible to Sanghyuk, who despite not being naturally affectionate, only rejects the oldest by fun. This atmosphere here is genuinely strained, his two friends ignoring each other’s presence purposefully, and he wonders what could have happened.

“I’m home,” he says quietly, locking the door behind him, taking off his shoes. “I brought cake.”

Hakyeon takes his attention off from his phone and focuses on him, smiling a tight lipped smile, not common for him. “Oh, you’re my savior, Taekwoon-ah! Can you believe that the rice cooker isn’t working right? And I think we’ll have to change our stove, it’s making all those weird noise and...” he babbles, picking the bags he carries, knowing Taekwoon tends to ignore his rambling. He’s right, and Taekwoon honestly doesn’t care; he knows Hakyeon’s lying, for he cooked breakfast that morning and everything was working perfectly. The older is just incapable of cooking most dishes.

He follows him to the even smaller kitchen, where he sees the dancer’s attempt at making dinner. Looks like he took mud from a swamp and Taekwoon wrinkles his nose minimally, annoyed with the waste of food. He has already told Hakyeon he would take care of food in the house, he can’t comprehend why the other insists in trying.

“Uh? Where’s my sweet potato cake?!” Hakyeon asks, pout on his lips.

Taekwoon doesn’t turn from where he’s collecting plates and glasses. He hears Hakyeon huffing, and goes to the fridge to grab the strawberry milk.

“Could at least bring the red velvet one,” Hakyeon continues complaining behind his back. “Triple chocolate is too caloric, I can’t handle anymore vanilla and… Seriously? Ice cream cake?! That’s–”

“– my favorite,” Sanghyuk walks in the kitchen, hair rumpled and deep creases on his brow. He grabs his piece of cake without looking at any of them – and Taekwoon is getting more and more annoyed by the time; he won’t deal with snappy maknaes and stupid old mans – and leaves, muttering under his breath.

“Rude brat,” the dancer growls, and when Taekwoon spins around to pick his own piece – he’s hungry, even after eating two pieces back in the cake shop, accompanied by Dimples – not bothering to ask what’s wrong. Sanghyuk is difficult to deal with on a good day, and god knows someone must have had irritated him today. Hakyeon likely tried to help and got lashed out by the younger. So, he simply hugs Hakyeon from behind, nuzzling briefly on the brown hair to pass a bit of security. He hates seeing them fighting, but it’s their fight.

The dancer leans slightly on his chest. “Thanks Woonie, I needed that,” he sighs. “I can’t understand this boy sometimes.”

“You understand the best,” Taekwoon affirms, and it’s the truth. No one in this world knows Sanghyuk more than Hakyeon, not even himself.

Hakyeon was the one to find Sanghyuk, after all.

“That’s because I’m awesome.”

He decides to let Hakyeon’s effort to lighten the mood slip, releasing him. He takes his cake – the vanilla one, because as much as the older complains about calories and whatever, triple chocolate is his second favorite – and a glass of strawberry milk and goes to his room. He sits on his bed and leans on his half a dozen of pillows – he likes being warm – before taking a bite of his vanilla cake. It’s good, but maybe he needs to stop putting too much Chantilly, so it won’t be too sugary. He hasn’t a problem with it, but the clients may have.

Now he started to think on the shop, Taekwoon can’t quite help – surprising himself – thinking about the boy, Dimples. The younger – he appears younger, without the typical circles around his eyes and with idol-like hair – had thoughtfully striven to keep a conversation, and he wasn’t exactly bad; ignored the fact that Taekwoon allowed him to call him by his name only, but the compositor imagines that’s more for costume and respect, which isn’t bad, come to think of it. Dimples is all persistence and dimpled cheeks – and he can admit this; he appreciates those little holes on the attractive face more than a normal person would – and Taekwoon can respect that.

If the boy continues to approach him with interesting enough subjects and his dimpled smile, as well as the unlimited access to Caramel and the other kittens and puppies, who knows.

Taekwoon might even ask his name.

.

.

Saturday finds its way to the week like a blessing from classes and work.

And as the undergraduates they are, Jaehwan, Wonshik and Hongbin decide the day it’s perfect to go out. On their separate ways, ‘cause they have enough of each other on a daily basis.

Hongbin arranges a date with a girl named Youngji, whom Jaehwan never heard of, but knowing him, Hongbin charmed her with his stupid dimpled smile and awkward flirting – seriously, did the guy learned how to date from a book for dummies? – that is cute and endearing and had girls – and some boys – falling over their feet for his attention, the idiot. The artist can’t understand why his friend is single… No, thinking well, he definitely knows: Hongbin has this list of things he expects his suitors to have for him to consider dating them and it’s so absurd and difficult to meet Jaehwan sometimes wonders if Hongbin will one day end up living on a one room flat, full of cats and Park Hyoshin’s face.

This Youngji girl must be an apparition, or fake in some way. No one can be beautiful, with long hair and fair skin and big doe eyes, with a delicate and perfect to fit by Hongbin’s side body, all while being younger and intelligent and funny, with a little bit of shyness, but not too much to be annoying, and confidence to make things interesting. Nope, that’s not possible.

So, with Hongbin out with her, Jaehwan invites Wonshik to a party. The Arts seniors are having a party, and when their class gives a party… It’s a party.

They arrive at the club – one of the seniors, Yura, is the owner’s sister, and she uses the place every once in a while – not a minute past 10pm, and the place is already packed, electronic music muffled by the purple walls, still loud. Both boys wait in line for twenty minutes before Jaehwan gives his name to the security guy, who checks on a clipboard – Wonshik bites his nails, expecting the worst, and he’s stupid too, Jaehwan shouldn’t have invited him – before letting him, and by consequence, Wonshik, enter.

After that, they kind of separate; Jaehwan has his friends, and Wonshik likes to believe he can chat up girls on the bar. He’ll have a surprise.

Jaehwan had said before, but he has indeed a soft spot for the younger boy.

And Cha Hakyeon is widely known for his social skills, so it’s no surprise when he appears an hour later, on tight leather jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt, dark skin almost otherworldly underneath the bright lights. Jaehwan sees the moment he catches Wonshik’s eyes, the boy not so discreetly following each step the dancer gives, towards the center of the dance floor, people opening space for him to pass like they expect him to put on his usual show. Jaehwan laughs at little when Wonshik downs a shot, and gets up to go after Hakyeon.

He looks at his own blue drink, and gulps it down on one go.

.

.

Wonshik can’t believe his luck.

When he got up from the bar to go after Hakyeon on the dance floor, he expected a clear and snarky rejection, like the older used to give him, despite the few dates – and yes, he will call the lunches together dates – they went to; instead, Hakyeon smiles brightly at him with those perfectly white little teeth on that luscious mouth of his and practically dares him to dance. Not one to say no to a challenge – which brings us to the current situation, with the bet and everything – of course he accepts.

The fact that he will be close to that lithe, tanned body and mischievous smile has absolutely nothing to do with it. He wants to win the bet and it will do some good to rub in the faces of those pretentious art hipsters who’s the one capable of dancing with The Cha Hakyeon, with capital ‘T’ and italic letters.

There’s also the fact that Wonshik is good at dancing.

So, with the electronic music pumping through the speakers, they own the dance floor, his heavily hip-hop and pop influenced style mixing well with Hakyeon’s contemporary and elaborate moves, more than one person stopping to see them intertwine together, a push and pull of raw power and polished experience. Sweat clings to Hakyeon’s hair, and his dark brown eyes are vibrant like they were never before; Wonshik is mesmerized, finally understanding the reason why he’s considered one of the B1 Trio, untouchable and unreachable, why everyone seems so fascinated about him, and all he can do. Seeing him dancing is the same as seeing art on its purest form.

The song changes after that, a sensual track that instantly makes half of the people dancing glue onto the closest person, bodies pressed close together.

On a bold move, Wonshik pushes Hakyeon by the hips, his chest meeting the dancer’s back, hands splaying on his stomach, the soft material of the white shirt, just above the hem ruffling with the movement. Hakyeon in turn raises one hand to wrap it around Wonshik’s neck, grabbing at the short hairs on his nape, the other descending so his nimble fingers fit into the spaces left by Wonshik’s own fingers. They’re hot, and Hakyeon smiles and breathes out a light chuckle before starting to move to the rhythm of the current song.

Slowly rolling his hips, Wonshik presses closer, his broader form enveloping the dancer’s slighter one; they grind together, taking their time and for the first time, they lose a bit of the rhythm, going slower. Hakyeon feels marvelous on his arms, so smooth and delicate, an exotic perfection he desires to have. A sparkle of lust surges on his body, and boldly Wonshik lowers his head to press a kiss on the junction between Hakyeon’s shoulder and neck, leaving his lips there, breathing in the citric scent of his skin as well as tasting salty sweat combined with peach body lotion. The older boy stiffens up for a millisecond before melting on Wonshik’s hold, leaning more heavily against his chest.

“Don’t think you can do that again,” he says, squeezing the literature student’s hand, rocking his hips a little harder. “You’ll need to do better than a few lunches if that’s your objective.”

Wonshik’s alcohol affected mind deliberates, and he laughs throatily, nuzzling onto the side of Hakyeon’s face. “Go out with me then, on a real date,” he declares.

“Smooth,” Hakyeon mocks. He turns to stare into Wonshik’s eyes, and the boy feels a tightening on his stomach; Hakyeon is beautiful.

“That means you accept?”

“That mean I’ll think about it,” Hakyeon smirks at him, turning his back to him. At this point more than one – or five – songs have passed, the people around them back to their frenetic pace, yet the two continue to slowly – dare Wonshik think, sensually – dance, bodies pressed close, intimate and contrasting to all others.

Wonshik opens his mouth to talk, but a hand grabs his shoulder; he lifts his eyes to glare at whoever ventured to approach him right now – he’s making so much progress, victory tastes great on the tip of his tongue, and Hakyeon’s body feels amazing beneath his hands – only to meet Suzy – a third year that has worked with Jaehwan before for some projects – staring at him with huge, pleading brown eyes.

Damnit, he can never resist these kicked puppy looks. Jaehwan and even Hongbin – the sassy maknae has a datewith a girl – constantly use those looks when they want something from him, and it always works.

“Wonshik-oppa,” she says, rather, screams; they are on the dance floor after all, with loud music blasting.

“Suzy-yah,” he nods, releasing Hakyeon, who crosses his arms petulantly in front of his body – it is kind of cute, how his brow furrow and his lips jut on a pout –, clearly annoyed with the interruption. Wonshik counts this as a point for him. “What’s the matter?”

“Jaehwan-oppa is feeling really bad; he drunk a lot,” the girl fidgets, glancing briefly in the bar’s direction. “He already threw up once, and maybe it’ll be better if he goes home. We’re thinking of calling a cab for him.”

Immediately Wonshik worries; Jaehwan knows how to handle his alcohol the best, and if he’s drunk enough to puke, it is because he really abused. Which is somehow weird, since the arts’ student isn’t one to go downing every drink he buys; no, Jaehwan is one for sip in the middle of animated conversations. “Take me to him,” he basically orders the girl, who smiles slightly and gestures for him to follow.

He’s about to go after her when he hears someone cleaning their throat. Hakyeon still looks impossibly aggravated with the entire situation, and Wonshik curses mentally Jaehwan’s – and by extent, Suzy’s – timing. Of all days, he just had to abuse the day Wonshik was getting some progress done with his target.

“Where are you going?” the dancer asks, whole stance mimicking the annoyance on his voice.

Wonshik rubs his neck, apologetic. “I’m sorry, but I have to go– A friend of mine drank too much and needs my help.”

Some of Hakyeon’s annoyance seems to dissipate, and he cheekily questions, “What about me? You’re going to leave me to deal with a drunkard?”

A vein of irritation pops on his forehead, despite noticing the cheeky tone. No one talks like that about his friends, especially not Jaehwan, who’s one of his closest ones. Damn that bet to hell, not even Hakyeon. “Yah, Hakyeon, don’t talk like that about Jaehwan-hyung, okay? He’s my friend, he needs my help, so I’m going to help him.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply stalks away, finding Suzy waiting for him. She guides him past the bar, entering a door – that he wouldn’t notice ever – where five people simultaneity raise their heads to gaze at them. Wonshik recognizes Yura, Minsoo, Kibum and Jonghyun, all crouched in a circle, rounding a very drunk Jaehwan.

His friend smiles brightly at him, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair down an clinging to his forehead; he’s without his jacket, and the first three buttons of his yellow shirt are open. He seems to breathe deeply and unevenly. “Shikkie Shikkie! There yo are!”

Minsoo quickly open space for him and Wonshik kneels in front of Jaehwan, cupping his face with both hands. The skin is hot under his palms. “Damn hyung, you’re really wasted,” he says helpfully – he hears a girly scoff near him; he bets its Kibum’s – to the older boy. Jaehwan only chuckles and continues to smile dopily, like the happy drunk he is.

Like the happy Jaehwan he is. Seriously, Wonshik can’t remember the last time he was sad; as an eternal font of optimism and happiness, it’s almost impossible to imagine Jaehwan anything but happy. He’s the one who pranks him when he’s working too hard to distract him, he’s the one who sings – he could have been an idol – early in the morning while cooking breakfast, wiggling his hips clumsily but cutely.

“‘Am! There was dis blu’ drink, then... then it pink and blu’ again~” Jaehwan cheerfully tells, hands moving hectically on the air. “But my tummy hurt, an’ my mouth tastes bad.”

Wonshik sighs fondly, softly pushing the brown hair away from the other’s face. “Let’s go home, hyung. I’ll make you some tea to make your tummy better.”

Jaehwan blinks at him with glazed large eyes, his red face and red mouth never relaxing, smile still in place. He’s cute, Wonshik will admit that – only for himself; Jaehwan is strangely fixated on the word, and insists he’s the cutest artist to have ever lived –, as Jaehwan wraps his arms around his neck. An intoxicated Jaehwan is a vulnerable Jaehwan, who clings to anything and anyone, and the younger’s stomach drops just by imagining what could happen if the boy’s friends hadn’t taken him away. He could have been abused without having how to fight back or even noticing, judging by the way he is so out of himself, truly childlike.

“Up! Up!”

Chuckling at his friend’s mannerisms, Wonshik obediently lifts him, his arms supporting Jaehwan’s body, a hand on his back, the other under his bum; Jaehwan’s legs hang limply by his sides, but he snuggles on Wonshik’s chest, closing his eyes and giggling like a kid.

“We’re going,” Wonshik declares, looking to the small group; they all stare at him with curiosity, and on Suzy and Kibum’s case, knowingly. Yura nods, guiding him to another door that goes to the back of the club. “Thank you guys.”

“We called a cab, Oppa,” Suzy speaks. “It’s probably waiting on the front.”

Thanking the girl, Wonshik leaves.

“Ah, it’s cold! Ah dun like cold.”

“The cab is warmer– Hey, stop squirming! I’ll drop you!”

“Yah won’t! Shikkie Shikkie’s strong~”

“Okay okay” Wonshik can’t help but laugh, entering the cab. The driver gives them a weird look, yet doesn’t say anything. He tells the man the address, adjusting Jaehwan’s position, which is basically on his lap, now he’s sat. The artist grumbles and whines, trying to get into Wonshik’s jacket, face never moving from its place on the junction between Wonshik’s neck and shoulder. He’s definitely a kid.

Getting comfortable, the literature student pets the arts student’s hair, one hand firmly holding his hip.

Ah, and Jaehwan is supposed to be the hyung.

.

.

Taekwoon receives a phone call when it’s past midnight. Sleepily he pats his bed in search for his phone, answering it silently.

“Taekwoonie,” it’s Hakyeon’s voice, and it sounds a mix of slurred and annoyed. He is out on some party of sorts; Taekwoon hates parties and all the noise. “Can you come please pick me? I’m too drunk to go by myself, and you know I don’t like to ride taxis alone,” he whines.

“No.”

“EH? Wae Taekwoonie?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“So you’d rather sleep than help your lifelong friend to get home?! You’re a meanie, just like Hyukkie,” a sob now, and god, don’t tell Hakyeon’s now crying. “Hyukkie hates me!”

Taekwoon resists the urge to end the call and go back to his peaceful sleep, yet he knows he won’t ever rest with Hakyeon smashed on a club somewhere; preparing to go out, Taekwoon resignedly hums.

“I’ll catch a bus,” he says. “Where are you?”

As Hakyeon explains the club’s location, Taekwoon puts on a loose jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, grabbing Sanghyuk’s hoodie – his own is on a place he can’t care to remember in the moment – to put on later. The apartment’s keys and his wallet, and Taekwoon leaves.

There’s a bus stop with the bus he’ll need two blocks from where they live, and Taekwoon does his best to hide in the shadows; it’s not that his neighborhood is dangerous, but it’s late, and he won’t risk. Not that a person with bad intentions will try to mug him, as in the end his 1,81cm of height normally scare away possible threats.

When he arrives, there is someone sitting on the stop, head low and ankles crossed. The person doesn’t appear dangerous, so he simply sits by their side.

They raise their face, and features Taekwoon is learning to recognize – almond eyes, light pink well-shaped lips and a straight nose on a handsome face framed by dark brown locks, a hint of dimples on cheeks – appear. A gasp is heard, before Dimples opens a smile.

“Taekwoon-hyungnim!”

Taekwoon sighs and nods. What a coincidence.

Dimples seems to be thinking the same thing. “Are you heading somewhere? Do you need any help?”

He shakes his head no.

They wait in silence, Dimples occasionally opening his mouth to say something, closing it not a second later. Taekwoon doesn’t think it as awkward; he enjoys the silence more than anyone. Dimples already knows, which doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.

“Do you want to listen? I promise you I have lots of Park Hyoshin and Sung Sikyung’s songs,” Dimples asks as he offers an earphone, the other piece already on his ear. “I also have Justin Timberlake, Seo Inguk, John Legend… You can choose.”

The bus he needs will take some time…

Taekwoon picks the earphone, placing it on his ear. “Park Hyoshin.”

The boy by his side smiles delightfully – his dimples deep on his cheeks, very distracting – and quickly puts on a song. Wild Flower starts to play softly, and Taekwoon is slowly lulled into a state of drowsy consciousness. After Wild Flower, Memories Resemble Love plays, and Taekwoon feels his eyes slipping shut; his body tilts to the side.

“Oof,” Dimples softly grumbles as Taekwoon’s head drops on his shoulder, half-asleep.

Taekwoon whispers the number of his bus, and promptly falls asleep.

.

.

Chapter Text

Don’tbreathedon’tbreathedon’tbreathedon’tbreathe…

Hongbin repeats the same mantra over and over and over on his head, body tense and breathing through long inhalations, doing his best to not disturb the sleeping figure on his shoulder; Taekwoon’s blonde hair is the only thing he can see, locks almost white under the bus stop’s lights, black roots just now starting to appear. Hongbin wonders how the composer would look up close with his hair black, falling over his forehead, contrasting sharply with the fairness of his skin and complementing the impassive light of his dark eyes. From an Ice Prince to a Fallen Angel.

And he’s been reading too many of Wonshik’s books. These are not the type of thoughts he should have concerning the older boy; he needs to focus, think of ways to seduce Taekwoon, make him like him, declare his feelings so he can win the damned bet he accepted and prove that yes, he is capable of doing whatever people dare him to. He needs to step up his game, be more incisive and learn how to press the right buttons. Wonshik’s idea was stupid when he accepted and continues still to get on his nerves – he’s missing out time with Youngji, the prettiest, sweetest girl to ever live of this Earth – but, as always, Park Hyoshin and a kitten, Park Hyoshin and a kitten. There are worth it, all his headaches and the cold stares Taekwoon directs at him with the dark, endless pools of apathy that he calls eyes.

Taekwoon shifts a little, nuzzling softly on the fabric of Hongbin’s shirt, a low sigh escaping his mouth. Hongbin’s hands itch with the desire to take his hair out of the way, push it back so he can see the other’s face better, see if Taekwoon’s calm on his sleep, if his features relax into one of serenity, lips no longer set on an indifferent line, eyelashes brushing his chubby cheeks. He speculates where he’s going at such hour, clearly exhausted and alone, and a pang of worry twists on his stomach, suppressing the curiosity. The older boy hadn’t said anything about a problem – he hadn’t said anything really, not that this was a surprise – or if he is in trouble.

It takes another fifteen minutes before a bus passes by – when Hyoshin’s voice is substituted by the piano intro of one of John Legend’s songs – and it’s the one Hongbin should enter to go home, a few blocks away. On the last second, he gives up, not willing to let Taekwoon alone in the night, asleep and defenseless; he’s not a heartless bastard. He knows the next bus will take more than one hour to appear again, but well, what could he do.

Nothing can make his day bad. After a successful date with Youngji – they ate dinner at this little, cozy restaurant she recommended, then had ice-cream while shyly holding hands, walking aimlessly by the streets, talking about her classes and the crazy pets he gets to treat on his job. He left her at home, where she still lives with her parents, and she kissed his cheek, face bright pink – that late afternoon and now a sleeping Taekwoon on his shoulder, Hongbin can’t complain of his luck. So he settles for leaning back on his seat carefully, pushing the composer’s body gently with a hand on his waist, to accommodate both better on the bench. Taekwoon doesn’t make a move, deep on the land of dreams; with this new position, Hongbin can see perfectly the boy’s face.

Taekwoon sleeps with his lips slightly parted, his eyes closed and soft expression, totally at piece. His beauty, like this, isn’t that icy, steely unattainable beauty, but a different, warm, almost fragile beauty. Hongbin cringes at his own cheesiness, unsure of what the hell is making him think of words like ‘fragile’ and ‘beauty’ and make comparisons, of how Taekwoon’s lips are pink like strawberry candy and how his nose is cute and perfect for little kisses.

Damn, he hadn’t thought of that until now, and now he can’t help but imagine the taste of those pink lips, if they really taste like strawberries, or maybe the whipped cream of all the cake he eats; if his nose scrunches up every time another’s lips kiss the tip or if the Ice Prince isn’t that icy and blushes under tender attention.

The lights of another bus takes his eyes off the older boy, and Hongbin sees it’s the one with the number Taekwoon murmured seconds before dozing off. He quickly signals for it to stop with his free hand, and prepares to wake Taekwoon. First he calls his name in a whisper, his face brushing against the light hair, then, when Taekwoon shows no response, he calls for him on a normal tone, with still no result. Secondly, sighing with his heart a little tight for perturbing Taekwoon’s peace, Hongbin tightens his hold on his waist – which he never released – continuing with his calling. A girl on her twenties observes them through the window, smiling softly, and Hongbin feels his face flush. He doesn’t know why, but the fact that she probably thinks they’re dating – he admits he would think the same, being in her place; two people snuggled close to each other, in the dead of night – makes his chest all fluttery and bright, and the realization turns his face ever redder.

He sucks at keeping focus of the important things.

“Taekwoon-hyungnim,” he calls, slightly shaking the boy. “Hyungnim, your bus is here.”

Taekwoon makes a huffing noise, nose centimeters from Hongbin’s neck, as if trying to cuddle closer and ignore the outside world.

Puffing out an amused breath, the younger shakes the older a little harder; the bus-driver is now glaring at them, clearly impatient. “Hyungnim, you’re going to lose your bus. C’mon, wake up.”

Finally Taekwoon’s eyes open, hazy with sleepiness. He doesn’t utter a sound, yawning and lifting his head from Hongbin’s shoulder; he blinks several times, the noiseless flutter of his eyelashes entrancing on its gentleness, his mouth slightly agape in disorientation. Hongbin’s eyes are fixed on each move, flushed with the vision Taekwoon makes under the lights, a fresh and bone human for once.

“Your bus Taekwoon-hyungnim,” Hongbin repeats. “It’s waiting for you, and honestly, I don’t think the driver is very happy to be.”

Taekwoon acquiesces, rubbing his eyes. He gets up, stretching his body; Hongbin follows the small patch of ivory skin the shift reveals: a tight, slim tummy and he gulps with his mouth suddenly dry. There’s an atypical warmth growing on his personal emotions, as if something is ready to burst and overflow. “Thank you,” he says in that whisper tone of his, not cold or apathetic, but rough with sleep.

“No problems,” Hongbin flashes him a smile, noticing how Taekwoon seems to focus on his dimples. Oh, so he likes them? Good to know. “Be careful, it’s late.”

The older boy stares at him almost pensively, head pending to one side in similarity to a puppy. It’ so cute the younger boy wants to pinch his cheeks, pink them to match with his pouty lips. His side is cold without the other’s body, and he hugs himself tighter, zips his jacket up to his neck. He waves timidly at Taekwoon; mouthing a silent ‘good-bye’, smile in place, to see if he will react well to a calculated bashfulness and a much dimpled grin.

As he imagined, Taekwoon nods, waving back shyly, eyes glued on his cheeks.

He enters the bus, sitting on the seat in front of the girl, whose heavily make-up orbs never left them, not for a second. She seems delighted that Taekwoon is so close to her, and she also waves at Hongbin, gesturing and miming what he roughly understands as a ‘Come follow him, pretty boy! He’s too beautiful to be alone! If you don’t come I will attack him!’

So, on an impulse, Hongbin hops inside the bus. It’s empty except for the girl – who is about to combust in hearts and nosebleeds like an anime character, he swears – and a sleeping man on the very back. Taekwoon silently stares at him, inquiring, eyes capable of freezing hell, all that human impression vanishing to the customary icy statue, and had he done the right decision? Hongbin is unsure of his choice, awkwardly standing in front of the boy whose face doesn’t betray whatever he’s feeling besides the analytical coldness of his stare.

The bus driver goes his way, and the sudden leave-taking causes Hongbin’s equilibrium to falter, and he stumbles forward, face about to meet the ground; a firm hand holds him upright by his forearm, preventing his eminent fall. With his heart beating fast on his ribcage, throat dry from the scare, Hongbin finds Taekwoon erect – shoulders straight, frown set on his eyebrows, for the first time appearing worried, the ice of his face melting minimally – by his flank, holding him. If his heart was beating fast, now he’s on overdrive.

“Careful,” Taekwoon says, releasing him.

Hongbin’s face feels hot, like a fireplace. “Thank you hyungnim! I could swear that if it wasn’t for you, I and the floor would become close friends.”

“Hm,” the older hums, hand releasing its grip, but descending to intertwine with Hongbin’s. His hand is cold, but smooth – aside from a few callouses he recognizes as ones from playing the guitar, as he has these too – and Hongbin may or may not have focused on the sight they make together, Taekwoon’s long fingers linked with his, shorter and faintly tanner, fitting so well. Taekwoon pushes him to the seat next to the one he was sitting previously. “What are you doing?”

Hongbin hears the girl behind them squeal, and he prays for his hand to not start sweating in anxiety.

He needs to think and answer correctly – how can he say that doesn’t know why? That he felt compelled by a girl he never saw before? – without sounding like a stalker?

So he pouts – his dimples seem deeper like this – and glances at a waiting Taekwoon by the corner of his eyes. “I lost my bus while you were sleeping, and I don’t want to be alone on the stop; serial killers like handsome and alone people in the dead of night,” he jokes, letting a bit of his habitual sass loose. It’s the easiest way to not sound like a stalker or worse, like an idiot.

“Oh,” it’s what Taekwoon mutters. He releases Hongbin’s hand, and he immediately misses the cold palm against his. “I’m sorry.”

“W- No no! I was the one who chose to stay! I could have woke you up, but I didn’t,” Hongbin quickly explains, a spark of satisfaction bubbling for the fact he troubled the un-trouble-able Ice Prince. Maybe he’s doing better than he thought, so he continues. “I would never leave you alone at night, hyungnim; you’re too pretty and too sleepy to be left by yourself.”

To his delight – and truthfully, immensurable disbelief – a slight blush colors Taekwoon’s cheeks, and despite not saying anything, Hongbin can see him squirming on his place, seemingly uncomfortable in face of a straightforward compliment, even in the midst of a playful phrase; Hongbin hums, satisfied with the new bit of knowledge, and adjusts himself on his seat.

He barely hears Taekwoon whispering: “Sung Sikyung.”

He quickly understands, and for the second time that night, offers one ear of his earphone to him.

Closing his eyes, Hongbin can feel victory itching closer to him.

.

.

Taekwoon frowns when he – followed by Dimples, who even in simple clothing, fits in the club’s atmosphere – notices Hakyeon on the bar, two girls on front of him, a boy by his side, all clearly flirting with his friend. The lights are colorful and sparkly and they hurt his eyes, but even in the distance he’s currently at, he sees how Hakyeon’s face is red and his normally light, graceful movements are lax and heavy from intoxication.

Hakyeon is gloomy, clingy and extremely thoughtless when drunk. His brain-to-mouth filter simply disappears, and he manages to be more troublesome than normal. It’s no good that he’s surrounded by strangers.

Going to the bar – Dimples grabs one long sleeve of Sanghyuk’s hoodie he’s wearing, stumbling a little while trying to deviate from dancing bodies – he silently positions himself by the dancer’s back, directly looking to the girls; they notice his presence fast, and after a few heartbeats, go away, faces hot and embarrassed. The boy is more oblivious, continuing his attempt – Taekwoon wants to smash the guy’s head against the bar’s countertop at the appalling things he says to Hakyeon; he hates how some people can be so… rude – to find his way into Hakyeon’s pants. He promptly ignores Taekwoon, and the composer has had enough.

He isn’t one to go all big gestures in public, unaccustomed with any display of emotion both physically and on his expressions, but on this case, he will have to act. His distaste for this boy only intensifies. Hakyeon will have to be very grateful towards him when he’s sober, and Taekwoon plans to guilt-trip the dancer until he agrees on giving one of his amazing massages; one of Hakyeon’s most prominent personality traits is his over-protectiveness, and he, together with Sanghyuk, better than anyone else knows how much Taekwoon doesn’t like to be forced into doing something.

Sighing – he does that a lot when the subject is his oldest friend – he prepares to speak.

“Excuse me,” uh? This is not his voice. “I don’t think you’re quite welcome here.”

It’s Dimples, smiling with his mouth closed, obviously condescending. The boy turns to glare at him, and Hakyeon side-glances Dimples, confused in his inebriation. “Oh yeah? And who are you to say this?”

Dimples pouts, faking a pensive instance. “Someone who clearly has a better education than you,” he’s taller than the boy, and despite his handsome face, he looks intimidating. Taekwoon conceals it well, yet fixes his eyes on him, curiosity and wonder and respect blossoming on his chest. A smirk blooms on Dimples’ face, and he arches one eyebrow. “He’s clearly inebriated, and you should be trying to help him, not trying, and quite badly at that, to get into his pants.”

Hakyeon laughs loudly and the rude boy splutters, his face flushing several tones of red. He attempts to speak, opening and closing his mouth half a dozen of times – reminding Taekwoon of a fish – before lowering his head and stalking away, bumping into several people on his haste to leave.

Oh, that was oddly quick.

Hakyeon seems to think the same. “Poor boy sure needed that,” he singsongs. “You know what they say: better late than never. And those girls? I don’t even like girls!”

Taekwoon hums, helping his friend to a standing position; Hakyeon falls against his chest, frowning when he, for the first time, pays real attention to Dimples.

“You are entirely too beautiful to be on my presence,” he declares, eyes wet and eyebrows drawn taut together, finger pointing accusingly to the youngest of them. For God, what is he– “I don’t like you…”

“Hongbin,” Dimples says, and that attracts Taekwoon’s interest.

So his name is Hongbin. Good, now he won’t need to ask.

“I didn’t ask for your name. I don’t wanna know the name of people who think they can be beautifuler than me. Taekwoonie, why is this… this… creature with you? Are you going to replace me like Hyukkie did?” great, Hakyeon is openly crying, big droplets of water falling from his eyes as he stares at Taekwoon with unconcealed betrayal. “Hyukkie preferred his papers to me and you prefer this stupid pretty boy with dimples– you love dimples Taekwoonie!”

Ahh, this is going to give him a headache. Involuntarily he steals a glance at Dimpl- Hongbin, and sees the boy looking at him back, pressing his lips together like he’s holding a smile. It confuses him, for he can’t say if the other wants to smile because of Hakyeon’s attitude – someone at least having fun at it – or because Hakyeon just kind of exposed him and his taste for silly holes on a person’s cheeks; for some reason his face feels warm, and he suckles on his bottom lip, glancing back at the dancer.

“Hakyeon…”

Said boy sobs. “No! Today sucks! Sanghyukkie still isn’t talking to me, then that Won-larva leaves me hanging and that ugly boy kept talking and those girls wanted me to go home with them and I’m gay! but I had no space to shoo them and now this Hongbin boy you brought with you is too beautiful with these double eye-lid eyes and straight white teeth and fair skin and dimples! I bet he has abs too Woonie, abs! You’ll leave me for him and I’ll die alone in a party for hipsters who want to use my body!”

Taekwoon doesn’t have a clue of what to say in face of… this.

Hongbin apparently doesn’t know too, exploding in a fit of laughter. He hugs his sides, his eyes disappearing to form crescents. He’s really handsome… and cute.

“I’m sorry, but this,” he manages to say in between his chuckles. It’s strangely charming, and Taekwoon won’t go there. “This is too funny, hyungnim.”

“I ain’t funny!” Hakyeon complains, new tears welling up on his orbs in drunken frustration. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, substitute!”

Lord give him patience.

“Hakyeon, please,” he starts. “Don’t cry, I’m not substituting you,” wiping the smaller one’s watery face, Taekwoon lets a tiny little smile stretch his lips.

The dancer sniffles, “It’s not fair, you’re too beautiful too, stop smiling, you, you, you hamster!”

“Sure Hakyeon. Time to go.” Normally he would simply look at Hakyeon in a way which the older would immediately understand; drunk, Hakyeon can’t comprehend anything even when he’s talking.

Nodding, Hakyeon allows Taekwoon to wrap a hand around his waist and guide him to the exit, Hongbin following behind them with his head low, holding the hoodie Taekwoon’s wearing for the second time.

It’s not practical to walk like this – holding a smashed dancer by the waist, basically carrying him while having a handsome boy clinging to his clothes, forcing him to diminish his pace – but Taekwoon succeeds in walking past the crowd of dancing bodies and gaping mouths, some of the students there recognizing him and Hakyeon, opening space for them to pass. He hates being the focus of their attention, and mentally adds one week of cleaning job on the list of things Hakyeon will have to do to thank him.

“It must be so annoying to have so many people staring at you,” Hongbin comments, head going from one side to another, rubbing his neck in the way Taekwoon has seen he do a lot. “You seemed really bothered with that guy back there, especially since he wouldn’t go without a bit of a scolding and hyungnim apparently doesn’t like attention.”

It… It is possible that Hongbin interfered because he saw how uncomfortable he was – is – with having to express himself through words, principally when it came to strangers? A strange stirring on his belly makes him bite his bottom lip in thought, and his face feels warmer, so he lowers his head to hide it in the shadows provided by the night, pretending to check on the brunette leaned on his chest, who smiles amongst tears.

“Attention is always good! The more the merrier! My Hyukkie loves when he has all the attention, and he is so handsome, that kid,” they fall freely from Hakyeon’s eyes, down his face with renewed force. “H-He hates m-me and I- I d-don’t know why!”

“What happened?” Hongbin asks him as silently as he can, not directed to the dancer. He releases his hold on the hoodie Taekwoon’s wearing, moving to stand side by side with the older.

Hakyeon hears, and sobs louder, shoving his face on his hands. “H-He… Sa-Sanghyuk, he–” he doesn’t finish, turning to tuck his entire self into Taekwoon, weeping miserably.

Taekwoon isn’t one to meddle, yet maybe is time to lock his two friends on one room and force them to discuss whatever they need to. He’s tired of Hakyeon’s moping and fake cheerfulness – he wouldn’t have gone to this party in the first place if he wasn’t on bad terms with Sanghyuk and so the blonde wouldn’t have needed to leave home and his warm bed to go after his wasted ass – and Sanghyuk quiet and intense temper, combined with the regret on his eyes.

He catches himself thinking often enough the reasons why he is even friends with those two to begin with. They can be so incredibly complicated.

“Taxi! Taxi!” the younger calls waving his hand high and frantically, and a car stops a few steps from them; Hongbin turns to smile a giant smile in Taekwoon’s direction, almost like a puppy who wants to be praised by doing something right. The corners of his lips tug upwards, and thankfully Hongbin doesn’t see it, busy opening the door for him to push Hakyeon inside under his protests. He’s the next to enter, followed by Hongbin.

Hakyeon falls asleep after ten minutes of crying nonstop, and Taekwoon caresses his hair with sorrow, when he drops his head on his lap. He really wishes Sanghyuk could control his temper better, for his oldest friend’s sake.

Hongbin is looking to the passing streets, resting his head on the window; Taekwoon wants to rest too – exhaustion uncomfortably reminding him his lack of sleep – and takes him barely a second to decide what he’s going to do.

He drops his head on Hongbin’s shoulder for the second time that night and closes his eyes, the soft pulling of sleep claiming him.

.

.

“I can’t believe that fucker got himself laid,” Wonshik groans as he looks around the empty and dark apartment, Jaehwan on his back to facilitate his movements. Hongbin’s shoes aren’t at the entrance, signalizing he never arrived home after leaving for his date.

Jaehwan snuffles, as if agreeing with his frustration, and a bit of Wonshik’s annoyance vanishes right there, as he chuckles with the somehow cute sound made at the perfect timing. With difficulty he gets rid of his shoes, and balancing Jaehwan’s weight with one hand, takes his shoes off too.

He walks through the hallway stumbling in clothes – he recognizes as Hongbin’s, and wow, for him to leave anything of his unorganized and spread around must mean this date was important – and doing his best to not hit any part of his and Jaehwan’s body on the walls, for the hallway is too narrow for them both, even when one of them is being carried on the back of other.

Jaehwan’s room is the only one of the right, closer to the bathroom than the other two rooms. It’s the smallest room too – Wonshik has the luck of owning the larger, after winning on gawi-bawi-bo – and the most packed too; an unmade single bed on one corner, posters of everything, from bands to animes to games  covering an entire wall. His wardrobe is open and clothes spill on the floor, which is residence of tons of papers with half-finished drawings and anatomy books and figure-actions, the eventual color pencil. A desk on next to the window is the only organized space in the whole room, where Jaehwan works his projects and assignments.

Wonshik shakes his head in fond amusement. They are responsible for cleaning their own rooms, and he knows that if Hongbin ever saw the state of Jaehwan’s, he’d have an aneurism, in the lightest of cases.

Maneuvering his way to the bed, Wonshik sits first so he can release Jaehwan and positions him comfortably. The older doesn’t do much but grumble a little, latching onto the first thing his arms find, which happens to be a stuffed Chopper.

He’s cute, his hyung, especially when he acts innocent like a child; his hair is messy and his plush lips curved into a pout, slightly open. The flush of alcohol still colors his face, descending to his neck and chest, perspiration making his shirt cling to his body. How he is even sleeping so deeply with these clothes is a mystery in itself, and the younger knows that at some point, Jaehwan will wake up sick and itchy.

He decides then to help a friend in need; he opens the buttons of Jaehwan’s jeans, pushing the tight fabric down his toned thighs and calves, leaving him in only a shirt and… bright banana stamped, blue boxers?

Snickering to himself – oh his hyung, always so eccentric and cute and absolutely lovely in his unpredictability – Wonshik goes for his shirt, thanking the fact he has to unbutton it to take it off, and not risk waking Jaehwan by pushing it through his head. He unfastens them slowly, careful so his movements won’t rouse the sleeping boy, despite the fact that Jaehwan hasn’t muttered anything or shown sign of uneasiness. His actions reveal a smooth expanse of skin, not defined like his own, but broad and no less attractive to the eyes.

Wonshik can’t understand the sudden heat on his face, so he simply finishes stripping Jaehwan of his shirt, covering him with his duvet afterwards. Looking at the peaceful face, he bends down and presses a light kiss on his forehead.

.

.

Sanghyuk observes the turbulent expression on Hakyeon’s sleeping, the tight line on his eyebrows and the downwards curve of his lips.

Regret and guilt tug strings on his chest, throbbing nonstop, his eyes hazing as he feels tears filling them.

It’s his fault. Hakyeon likes to drink, but never got drunk on the infinity of parties he frequented; he hated feeling vulnerable near anyone who wasn’t Taekwoon and himself.

Taekwoon said when they arrived home – past 2a.m, with that nonsensically handsome boy they met some time ago, when they went to the B5 to find a place for Caramel to stay – that Hakyeon was babbling about how much Sanghyuk hated him – the youngest almost feels the urge to laugh at that; he, hate Hakyeon? – and that the oldest had cried himself silly, falling asleep on the cab they took home. The composer looked tired to say minimally, and after putting Hakyeon on his bed, coming back to shove blankets, a pillow and a pair of old sweatpants and shirt, as well as shown the couch and bathroom to Annoyingly Handsome, went to the room he shared with Sanghyuk.

Looking at the dancer right now, seeing the wet marks on his cheeks and the dark circles around his eyes, Sanghyuk confirms what he already knew.  

Stupid Hakyeon.

Stupid Sanghyuk.

He kneels in front of the bed, pushing Hakyeon’s brown and green hair out of his face, fingers sliding down to caress his cheeks. Sighing, he promises he’ll talk to Hakyeon in the morning, apologize for being rude and secretive and plainly… a brat.

It’s habit that makes him scan the room, making sure there’s no one hidden in the shadows; he dips his head low and presses a single, soft kiss on Hakyeon’s chapped, light pink lips, tasting the sweet cherry chapstick and the strong tinge of alcohol.

Chapter Text

Hakyeon awakes with a pounding headache and a sour mouth that makes him grimace and wish he was dead. His body feels gross, and lifting the two thick duvets that cover his body, sees he’s wearing his pajamas, which he doesn’t remember putting on.

Probably Taekwoon changed him, that silly, thoughtful hamster.

He first plans to go take a shower, take off the layer of dry sweat that clings to his body and plain honestly, stinks. Brush his teeth and just to be sure, be certain that nothing died in there. His movements feel sluggish, and Hakyeon promises himself he won’t ever drink that much again, not matter how upset he is; he can’t record much past the moment when Wonshik left him standing like a fool in the middle of the dance floor.

… The sad and pathetic larva.

Hakyeon hoped he would step on a Lego. That all the chocolate chips on his cookies be in fact raisins.

He had made his priorities very obvious on the club, preferring to tend a drunk friend – Hakyeon ignores that part of him that insists the action was very honorable and that he undoubtedly would have done the same without even blinking in the direction of whoever was with him – at staying with him, Cha Hakyeon, the most desired body of all B1, the whole college, counting his reputation. Damn him to hell, Hakyeon had let Wonshik touch him, scolded him lightly after he kissed his neck. They were, for all effects, grinding against each other on that dance floor.

Ugh, Hakyeon wants to forget all of this. Never look in the stupidly handsome face ever again or think of the caring actions Wonshik seemed to have when he wasn’t trying too hard.

And he still has to resolve this situation with Sanghyuk; they couldn’t continue to ignore each other’s presence. Hakyeon wouldn’t pry on the youngest problems, as much as he wants to help. Sanghyuk has this abominable habit of thinking he can keep everything to himself, deal with his problems alone, despite him and Taekwoon proving over and over again that no, doing everything by yourself doesn’t work, their maknae is stubborn.

His head throbs painfully, and Hakyeon stops worrying. After a bath and his toothbrush, a change of clothes and breakfast – his phone says it’s a little past 9a.m – preferably made by Taekwoon, he will be capable of meditate his options.

Twenty minutes later and he’s showered and starting to feel like a human being once more; he smells bean sprout soup, the noise of the rice-cooker and the constant thumping that usually means Taekwoon cutting something for a side dish. Oh, how Hakyeon loves Sunday, when none of them has to go somewhere – the brat is almost always out somewhere with his camera, filming… everything and Taekwoon stays in the B1 to use their instruments on the days he doesn’t need to work on the cake shop until it’s dark – and so can enjoy a cuddle on the couch, seeing some stupid anime or a rerun of a historical drama or a tearjerker movie, while eating snacks and leftover cake Taekwoon brings from the shop. On Sundays they talk about their weeks and plan to go out, to the zoo or an exhibition and put Sanghyuk and Taekwoon’s bed together so they all can nap in a dog pile.

With the vision in mind, Hakyeon steps into the living room, where a countertop divides the small room from the kitchen; he halts altogether, eyes threatening to jump out of its sockets.

Taekwoon is indeed cooking, his broad back still covered with his pajama shirt, and Sanghyuk does sits by the countertop, hair shaggy and shirt falling from a shoulder like the oldest expected.

What he didn’t expect is to see a boy – distastefully pretty, with the complete set of double eyelids, masculine face, straight nose and a hint of dimples – standing on the kitchen, bustling from a place to other, asking in a voice annoyingly deep – it reminds him of that larva prototype – where are the plates and if he should help Taekwoon with making the side dish, or if it is better for him to wash what they dirtied. The final strike to cause Hakyeon a cardiac attack is when Taekwoon turns to the boy with that blank face of his and quietly answers that yes, he could do with some help.

Of course, being Taekwoon, what really passes through his mouth is a soft: “Cut the radish,” which is more than he ever lets Hakyeon do.

Annoyingly Pretty – somewhere in his mind the nickname sounds familiar, but before he can place the why, his head throbs painfully – smiles in Taekwoon’s direction, and yes, he has dimples, deep holes on each cheek that only make one pay more attention to his white, perfectly lined teeth. His lifelong friend opens discreetly a space near him for the intruder to fit with his body, evidently toned even clothed… Wait a second.

Are those Taekwoon’s clothes?????

“Hakyeon,” his name brigs him back to reality – more annoyed than ever, slightly scandalized and moody – and he meets Taekwoon’s slated eyes looking straight at him, a big bowl on his hands. His expression is just as blank as ever, no a signal of embarrassment for having someone over or irritation at him and the admittedly stunt he pulled the night before. It’s reassuring, if not a little disconcerting.

Sanghyuk and Annoyingly Pretty both turn towards him, and their reactions are so completely opposed it’s funny; while the intruder – how dare he? – widens his orbs and flushes a pretty – his mouth curves downwards, honestly peeved at so much good looks at once – pink, brown hair helping to hide his face as he lowers his head, Sanghyuk pales and closes his eyes, seeming to take a deep breath.

“Hyung.”

At this, Hakyeon feels his whole body stiffening and the smile on his lips tastes forced. “Good morning to you all! What do we have for breakfast, Taekwoonie? And who happens to be this cute stranger that’s helping you?”

A tiny crease appears in between Taekwoon’s brows, as he doesn’t buy his cheerful act; he refuses to answer to it, plainly stating: “Take these.”

‘These’ are headache pills, two white capsules being held out to him. On Taekwoon’s another hand, a glass of water.

“Oh? Thank you~” Hakyeon manages to singsong, his own voice ringing on his ears.

He gulps down the medicine, smiling broadly as he gives the glass, now empty, back to Taekwoon. The younger turns his back at him, nudging Annoyingly Pretty – who seems very confused with everything, and goddammit, even confused he is adorable. He’ll steal Taekwoon away from him with this face, and Hakyeon hates him for this, hates his entire presence – slightly to the side, continuing to prepare breakfast. The boy stares at Taekwoon with evident bewilderment, eyes focused only on his life-long friend, infatuated like all before him, who dared to approach Taekwoon.

Another nudge and Annoyingly Pretty turns to him, bowing briefly. “I’m Lee Hongbin, Hakyeon-sunbaenim.”

“Hongbin-ah then? It’s a pleasure to meet you, but what are you doing here?”

The boy – Hongbin, ugh – blushes and looks at his friend. Hakyeon follows the interaction, purposely avoiding meeting Sanghyuk’s gaze, unwavering and cutting.

“Well I… I… I accompanied hyungnim yesterday… I met him at the bus-stop and…”

Hakyeon stops listening right there, suddenly consumed by mortification. If this guy met Taekwoon yesterday, that means he saw his pathetic self at his worst, drunk and too honest, too earnest on his opinions, and specially, on his sorrows. Normally Hakyeon wouldn’t drink so much, but with Sanghyuk ignoring him and after being… dumped by Wonshik, it got too much. One shot became two, two became five until he lost count and in one last rational thought, called Taekwoon to go pick him.

“Oh,” he can’t think of anything more to say. “Oh.”

Hongbin rubs the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed. He attempts to say something, but Taekwoon looks at him with that pretty eyes of his, blinking repeatedly,  head tilting to the side in a mix of puppy and kitten, silent and soliciting all at once, too irresistible to be denied by anyone, not needing to say a word; Hongbin immediately opens his mouth – this time to gap – and freezes. Taekwoon turns the stove off, walking away and entering the room he shares with Sanghyuk, promptly followed by Hongbin.

Hakyeon doesn’t know if he should thank his friend or curse him to hell, the prospect of being alone with Sanghyuk equally bad and good.

“That dude has been trailing after hyung since yesterday, it’s ridiculous,” Sanghyuk says, still fixatedly staring into Hakyeon’s soul.

“I don’t like him,” Hakyeon answers quietly, the air heavy with awkwardness.

His tone makes Sanghyuk sigh, the creases in his forehead deepening. “Look, hyung, we need to talk– Better, I need to talk.”

He gulps, nodding. Walking over to where the maknae is, he is surprised when two long arms wrap around his waist, pulling him close, Sanghyuk hiding his face on his belly, a blonde halo surrounding it. Warmth spreads through Hakyeon’s body, and he knows that whatever comes out of the younger’s mouth, he is already forgiven; Sanghyuk doesn’t act childish, he doesn’t initiate touches that don’t imply possessiveness – a hand on the waist when someone is staring too long at him or Taekwoon, a intertwine of hands in clubs – and he doesn’t say sorry.

That doesn’t mean Hakyeon isn’t eager to hear the boy stumbling to say whatever he needs to. Preferably to apologize.

“Hyukkie–”

“Iwmsowwy.”

Muffled by Hakyeon’s belly, Sanghyuk’s words are lost in meaning. “What?” Hakyeon asks.

The youngest doesn’t answer, shaking his head in negative. Feeling his patience running thin, the headache still present and pounding on his ears, Hakyeon grabs the sides of the boy’s head, pushing it roughly so he can see his handsome face, a little of his childish features still clinging to the more defined angles. “Say it properly, Sanghyuk. You’re not a child anymore to hide in the skirts of your mother, someone I’m not.”

Dark brown orbs blink and Sanghyuk pouts ever so slightly, angelical when framed by his dyed hair, down and soft around his face. “Hakyeon-hyung, I…”

He stops, and thirty seconds pass with the struggle clear in his entire face.

It would be pitiful, if it wasn’t so funny.

“Breathe deeply, Sanghyuk-ah, it’s not that hard,” Hakyeon concedes a bit of mercy. He caresses Sanghyuk’s cheeks, brushing the hair aside.

The youngest does what he’s told, breathing in and out for another thirty seconds, then: “I’m sorry hyung. I… What I did a few days ago was stupid. I shouldn’t have– That day went badly for me; a dude thought he could teach me manners and I was really pissed. He’s the freaking best in his class and I need his work, and I can’t just rip his hands off, as much as I want to. Because of that, I didn’t want to talk to anyone and I lashed out on you. I’m sorry hyung, I truly am, so can you forgiv–”

Biting his lips to avoid cooing, Hakyeon climbs Sanghyuk’s lap, hugging him close, nuzzling into his hair, softly stroking the boy’s cheeks. The body underneath him freezes, the arms around his waist go slack.

“Oh, my baby Hyukkie, of course you’re forgiven! This was so cute, I wish I had filmed it!”

Bubbly with delight, Hakyeon hugs him closer and closer, kissing his forehead several times, giggling like a mad man. His headache is forgotten, and all the can focus on is Sanghyuk’s light relived sigh, his breathy chuckle and how he fully accepts the embrace, settling his face on Hakyeon’s chest, hands loosely set on his hips. Moments like these are Hakyeon’s favorite; the intimacy, the quiet love they feel for each other glowing bright and strong, felt through the touch of their bodies.

He rocks them both back and forward. “I love you, Hyukkie.”

The answer comes after a beat of silence, in a whisper. “I love you too, hyung.”

.

.

Still on the minuscule apartment, Taekwoon and Hongbin stared silently at each other. Every now and then one would look at their cellphones, before going back to staring.

Honestly, it doesn’t bother Taekwoon; he is used to communicating with small gestures and tilts of head, a prolonged silence and a blink or two. Hakyeon and Sanghyuk are more than accustomed to his ways, and are able to easily read what he means, even if he’s not that opposed to talk near them; habit has made their situation comfortable and no one wishes to change it, yet, Hongbin clearly has no idea of what to do.

“Do you think they’re going to… fix things? The atmosphere out there seemed tense.”

Hongbin looks genuinely concerned; Taekwoon thinks it’s nice… How he seems to care for people he don’t know.

He hums, agreeing, not offering another input on the situation. He counts the time on his head, perceiving that thirteen minutes have passed. There’s no yelling or curses or the sound of anything breaking, so he supposes they are doing alright by themselves; Sanghyuk and Hakyeon’s relationship is one of a kind, too complicated to deal with some days.

“Are they… together?” Hongbin asks, fiddling with his phone, checking the time. He couldn’t stop moving, how aggravating. “They seem close.”

Taekwoon blinks confusedly at the question, suddenly thoughtful. He never really imagined his friends together in a more serious way; their three-way relationship is very platonic, too touchy and possessive, but something profound? An actual lover relationship? Hakyeon and Sanghyuk as boyfriends, loving each other more than they love Taekwoon? They would leave Taekwoon behind.

Taekwoon doesn’t like it. “They’re not,” he says, maybe too venomously, “Hakyeon and Sanghyuk are not together.”

Judging by Hongbin’s face – almond eyes and mouth open in shock – he overdid it. “Ok…”

“I’m sorry,” hanging his head low, he apologizes. That was uncalled for and he’s sorry for losing control.

There’s a shuffling noise, and after, Taekwoon feels a hand – with callouses he knows come from playing the guitar, fingers tanner, shorter and stockier than his – lay on top of his, trembling a little of what he thinks is nerves. It’s warm, and when he lifts his eyes, he meets Hongbin looking down at their hands, his ears and cheeks tinted pink, sucking on his bottom lip. His dimples are noticeable and… so cute Taekwoon wants to poke at them.

“Hey hyungnim, it’s okay,” the younger boy tries to soothe him, “that was insensible of me. I didn’t have the right to pry.”

He’s so clumsy it’s cute, Taekwoon thinks, tilting his head.

Still too forward. Yesterday was one thing, now it’s different; he takes his hand away from Hongbin’s, hugging his own torso, trapping his bottom lip in between his teeth. He’s now worried, analyzing the moments he spends with the other two, trying to see if there is any indicative that one or both of them nurture something more. Hakyeon does enjoy plunging into Sanghyuk’s lap more than he does his, and Sanghyuk prefers Hakyeon’s massages. Hakyeon is always clinging to the boy’s neck, and Sanghyuk mock-complains about the constant piggyback rides, going back and forward with the oldest.

“I don’t like this idea,” he finds himself saying, eyes widening at the unexpected declaration.

Hongbin appears just as surprised, blinking repeatedly at him with his hand still awkwardly in the air, where Taekwoon’s hand was just a minute ago. “Can I ask why, hyungnim?”

“No,” Taekwoon hisses, angry with the situation’s unexpected development and the constant use of ‘hyungnim’. He’s angry, angry and tired and his Sunday morning just took a turn to the worst.

The dimpled boy nods in understanding, not pressing further. He plays with the sleeves of his shirt – Taekwoon’s shirt – and looks around, waiting.

Another thirteen minutes later and even Taekwoon is starting to get impatient; whatever the oldest and youngest have to discuss, it can’t possibly take this long, especially when one of Sanghyuk’s traits is straightforwardness. No diva-show Hakyeon puts on can last for more than five minutes with the boy.

“I should go,” he turns to see Hongbin getting up, smiling with his dimples clear on his face; a bit forced, but the dimples do their work in slightly dazing Taekwoon. “I never got back home from my d– college, and my roommates at this point must be buried underneath a pile of dirt, the pigs.”

Interesting motive for going back home.

Also standing, Taekwoon observes as Hongbin picks up his neatly folded – obsessively so – clothes, turning to take his shirt off, only to gasp under Taekwoon’s unwavering gaze; he admires the hard planes of the younger’s chest, the sinuous dips forming his abs and the muscled biceps, for he is human, and knows when someone is beautiful.

“I’m sorry hyungnim, that was so inappropriate! Geez, I’m stupid beyond reason!” Hongbin exclaims, making a mad dash to the bathroom.

Hmm, such a kid.

Chapter Text

As Hongbin crosses the small hallway to leave, face still burning – he’s stupid, okay? Stupid, idiot, a ridiculous excuse of a dimpled human being – from the shame from a few minutes earlier, Taekwoon right behind him, he expects to meet Cha Hakyeon and Han Sanghyuk eating the breakfast he was previously helping to make, the very awkward and tense atmosphere around them gone after they supposedly made up. Honestly, he even expects the air heavier if things haven’t worked out the way Taekwoon clearly believes they have.

But he never, ever, not in a million years imagined the scene carelessly displayed in front of him the moment he enters the small living room with the adjacent kitchen.

Han Sanghyuk sits in the same place he was half an hour ago, by the countertop. The thing is, he doesn’t sit alone; on his lap a very happy looking Cha Hakyeon is settled, arms around Han Sanghyuk’s shoulder, hugging him close as they slowly rock back and forward, the younger’s head resting comfortably on the elder’s chest, his eyes – normally framed by thick, scrunched up eyebrows, so angry and cocky at the same time – half-closed, childish on its’ softness. Hakyeon’s own eyes are closed, half his face buried on the mop of white-blond hair. They make quite the vision; a perfect couple-y vision.

“I don’t like this idea,” he remembers Taekwoon saying, after a minute looking so lost and lonely and so… scared? Certainly he had read the emotion – for once so clear on the icy, blank face, changing his whole demeanor, making him a little more real, reachable – wrongly, because, c’mon, why would Taekwoon be scared of his two friends together? Unless…

Unless he felt something more for one of them.

Hongbin turns around in time to see the impassive porcelain face break into an expression of resigned confusion; it’s like while Taekwoon expected them to make up, he didn’t think of seeing them so close, in each other’s arms.

He thinks of saying something – not sure exactly what, given he can’t understand the tightening on his own chest – but the compositor passes through him, going to where Sanghyuk and Hakyeon are. Hongbin can’t see his face, only the broad expanse of his shoulders and the narrow hips – and no, his hips don’t distract him for a second longer than they should –, but he can listen to the softly spoken words that come from his mouth when he says them.

“Everything’s alright?”

For a moment, none of the two answers, seemingly too lost in each other. Then, Hakyeon opens his eyes and glances at Taekwoon, a dazzling – like, wow, the smile stretching his lips really is something else – smile on his lips.

“Yup! Hyukkie here was so cute, Taekwoonie, you should have seen it! All stuttering and–”

“Hyung.”

Sanghyuk’s voice sounds different, not menacing or cocky, instead whiney and sleepy, making Hakyeon laugh a little, seeming to push their bodies impossibly closer. “Hehehe, sorry, baby Hyuk.”

Someone please explain what the hell is happening?! Please?!

They’re a couple; Hongbin doesn’t care about who says otherwise, not even Taekwoon.

“That’s good,” speaking of him, there he goes, voice all soft. It’s probably the most Hongbin has heard the blond speak; actual words are being said, not tilts of head and blank faces.

Some sort of silent communication must go on between the two oldest, for Hakyeon nods before returning his attention to a Sanghyuk that, from this angle, looks mostly asleep and Taekwoon goes back to his side, accompanying him to the door. He steps out of the apartment.

Another minute of silence stretches, with Hongbin awkwardly trying to vocalize… anything that won’t sound like crap and/or sass. “Thank you… hyung, for letting me spend the night.”

“It’s okay,” comes the reply in a whisper. Taekwoon’s face doesn’t betray a single emotion, but Hongbin’s getting better at reading what he means in his silences.

Right now, it’s basically saying: ‘it’s time for you to go’ and well, his grandma did teach him how to take a hint. But, yeah, no work is perfect, and he decides to act bold. After what he did last night – and ten minutes ago, stripping in front of a hyung – Hongbin is starting to think that maybe it’s time for him to throw shame out of the window and simply do whatever comes on his mind.

“I will see you Monday?” he asks, receiving a tilt of head as response. He wants to say it’s a tilt of confusion, not annoyance. Please be confusion, please be confusion, “Caramel misses you. She’s all cranky and way too snappy for a kitten her size.”

A light – adoration? fondness? – shines on Taekwoon’s eyes for a brief instant. “Monday?”

Jackpot! “Yes, Monday and Thursday are the days I’m taking care of everyone, so I can let you in. Two in the afternoon is a good time for you to come, if hyung has no classes. I stay there until four.”

With another tilt – that Hongbin this time interprets as one of comprehension – of his head, blond hair partially covering one of his eyes, Taekwoon makes the younger’s heart almost leapt out of his chest when a small smiles curves his lips up. His sight can’t focus on anything but that slight curve that softened the entirety of Taekwoon’s icy features; for a moment, he imagined how a large, teeth-showing smile would look in that stoic face on front of him, if Taekwoon’s eyes would take half-moon shapes and if his already chubby cheeks would become more round.

At the same time he thinks of it, a counter-thought makes him stop.

His mind can’t quite conjure the image of an openly smiling Taekwoon.

“See you then hyung,” deciding he’s taking too long to move, Hongbin says, letting a dimple appear on his cheek as he tightens his lips together. He’s no genius, and doesn’t need to be one to notice that the older boy likes the holes on his face.

What he doesn’t expect, though, is a, “See you,” coming from Taekwoon, quietly said as he closes the door.

Hongbin actually needs a second to recompose himself after that.

.

.

“Wonshik-aaaaaaah~” Jaehwan whines, face dejectedly dropped on top of the small kitchen table, hair pointing to all directions and half-closed eyes. His head hurts, just as his eyes, not at all satisfied with the amount of light entering through the windows. “Wonshik-ah, where is my miiiiiiilk? You promised you would make it for me if I got up! Where is it?” he petulantly demands, pouting and hitting his feet on the floor like a child would.

He distinctly hears a sigh, and feels his lips jutting out more. Wonshik has no right to sigh at him!

“Sometimes I forget who’s the hyung here,” Jaehwan hears him saying as he passes through him, mug in hand. Moody and in pain, he puts a foot in front of the younger boy, taking a great pleasure in seeing as Wonshik stumbles and almost falls, a bit of the mug’s content spilling on the floor. “Very mature.”

“I was under the impression you don’t agree with the current hierarchy, so I decided to act as your dongsaeng, Wonshik-hyung,” he teases, sticking his tongue out to the other boy.

“Jaehwan-hyung…” peeking his face, Jaehwan sees the frustrated frown and the conforming smile on the other’s face, and smiles too, his vision blurring thanks to his position, half sprawled on the table. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You can start by giving me my milk and then cleaning the floor.”

With another sigh Wonshik does what told, grumbling under his breath about complicated hangover hyungs and absent clean-freak dongsaengs, which makes Jaehwan remember that yes, where is Hongbin? He’s normally the first one to wake up in the house, to go jogging and to start doing his weekend cleaning, like only he, a twenty-three year old college boy would do.

He sips his milk, appreciating the hot liquid on his sore throat. “Where’s our bean? Got lost on his walk?”

“The bastard never came back from his date,” Wonshik bitterly answers, crossing bare arms in front of his bare chest, some of his tattoos more evident with the bulging of his muscles. Human as he is, Jaehwan takes his time to watch Wonshik’s muscles, his pounding head not at all happy with the chocolate bar on the other’s abdomen. “Sleeping with the girl in their first date… So vulgar”

“You bitter ‘cause yo getting nothin’” Jaehwan laughs at the face Wonshik makes, how his lips pucker in childish annoyance. So cute and so ease to tease.

The bright red that assumes Wonshik’s face is adorable, and if he wasn’t in so much pain, Jaehwan would squeeze his cheeks. “I-I..! T-That’s not it!”

“Oooh~? So if a cute girl or boy offered to spend the night with your sorry ass on the first date, you wouldn’t accept?” He pushes a bit; even raising his head a little to admire better the flustered expression on the younger’s face. “Nooope, don’t think so. Totally would.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would not.”

“Would too~”

“Aren’t you hangover?” Wonshik questions rather ruffled, hand running through his black locks; Jaehwan misses the white-blond of a few months back, and absentmindedly nods. “Then act like one and be quiet.”

He whines in between sips, “So unfair.”

“Unfair was yesterday. You, hyung, ruined all my chances with Hakyeon with your little stunt,” Wonshik pushes a chair and sits in front of him, arms and legs crossed, imposing. “Why did you drink so much? It’s not like you to become that pissed.”

The question sobers Jaehwan up, and he unglues half of his face from the table, leaning back and stretching his legs, poking Wonshik’s until he can settle in between them. He looks at the bright Sunday morning shining through the living room’s window and the pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen’s sink, mind far away from the room, fuzzy memories mixing together behind his eyes and getting in the way of his effort to answer. He recalls colorful lights blinding him and blue drinks coming one after the other, the anxious smile of a pretty girl and the smirk of a boy with glitter on his eyes; blue turning orange then pink and back to blue, and muscled arms enveloping his waist as he started to feel sick, the cold tile of the bathroom’s floor on his burning skin.

Feelings of emptiness, the shallow vanity of having won something and being deeply annoyed with someone.

It’s enough for him to take some conclusions. “Key was there, wasn’t he?”

Wonshik blinks, and nods. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m almost certain he owns me money,” Jaehwan smiles, cracking his neck. “I won a drinking competition against him.”

The younger stares at him with incredulous eyes, mouth hanging slightly open; he looks silly like this, like a larva. Then, he drops his head on the table, grumbling, “I can’t believe I wasted my chance to win ‘cause you’re stupid.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck you,” despite all his complains, Jaehwan sees a sign of a smile on Wonshik’s lips.

“You’re a hundred years too early to try and have my body~” he singsongs happily, hiding his grin behind his mug.

“Argh!”

 .

.

Monday comes a lot like Sunday; sunny and pleasantly warm, not at all like the past week, cloudy and rainy.

Sanghyuk likes to think the climate is mirroring his humor; he feels well rested and happy, and nothing, not even his upcoming reunion with the weirdo, sassy, shabby artist Ken causes more than a light prickle of displeasure on his being. He’s overflowing with the full sensation loving and being loved leaves behind, and it doesn’t matter that Hakyeon doesn’t love him half as much as he does the dancer. After the excruciating days where he ruminated his rude actions towards the one who only wanted his best and how should he apologize – anyone knew that he never apologized, damn all – to the oldest of their group.

He’d spend the entire Sunday cuddled next to Hakyeon, sprawled on their small couch and watching the horrible dramas the dancer refuses to admit he adores, eating the remains of the cakes Taekwoon brought from the cake shop and commenting on said dramas, criticizing the bad illumination on some scenes and the predictable plot.

Weirdly, Taekwoon didn’t leave their room. Maybe Annoyingly Pretty – as Hakyeon had dubbed the boy with dimples – had done something with him; that being the case, Sanghyuk would rip him a new face, this time a lot less pleasant. It seems a little strange to him though; Taekwoon and that guy were hitting off pretty well in his opinion, or as well someone could with the compositor.

“Sanghyuk-ah! Sanghyuk-ah!” he frowns at the sudden calling, mind snapping out of such thoughts.

Jaehwan is fast walking in his direction, waving frantically with a hand full of papers. Great, now he will have to apply more of his precious time into that… thing. Ken couldn’t be described differently, as he wears a bright orange long-sleeved shirt with coconuts drawn all over the material, jeans with ripped knees and folded up to the middle of his calves, neon pink sneakers on his feet.

Nothing with ruin his good mood; nothing will ruin his good mood.

The director waits for Ken to reach him; he puts on his scowling face, to maintain his image. “What do you want, Ken? Couldn’t wait to see me?”

Huffing a little, the older boy pouts with those big lips of his. “So young and so cocky… Anyway! Here,” he extends his hand, full of papers, “the drawings for the characters, in record time~”

This picks Sanghyuk’s attention, and all but rips the papers from the other’s hold.

He admits to himself – he won’t give the artist the privilege of being praised so early. He’ll have to put a lot more of effort to earn it – that these are good, like, really fucking good. They had decided on two main characters, both girls; one of them has bored, empty black eyes and a long hair tied into a ponytail, the other stands with sad blue eyes and dark brown wavy hair, biting her bottom lip colored in red. On both girls’ hands, a crimson thread twists around their pinky finger. The thread seems worn out and one can see as it thins and loses its’ fibers; in the middle, it connects the girls by one single string, so thin it’s almost imperceptible. They look hauted and ethereally beautiful, like Sanghyuk wanted.

The other pages are drawing of backgrounds and those same girls in several different  poses.

“I’m amazing, I know,” the singsong-y voice of Ken turns his attention away from them, the ideas buzzing in his head like static dimming thanks to the interruption.

Sanghyuk won’t give him the pleasure of an approval, despite impressed, “Those are sufficiently good for us to start.”

Ken twists his nose in reprobation. “Compliment me.”

“No.”

Jaehwan’s voice is high-pitched and childish, and Sanghyuk wants him to shut up. “Pretty please~ Kennie here did a good job! Compliment me!”

And yet, behind the seemingly juvenile façade, doe eyes stare deep inside the director’s soul, as if daring him to do otherwise.

Remembering the last time they met – his mouth tastes bitter in loathing – Sanghyuk takes one deep calming breath, conjuring the image of a smiling Hakyeon on top of him, caressing his hair and warm like only him is, managing his temper, forcing it to calm down for he needs this weird, dangerous man in front of him.

“These are… very good, Ken,” he says, almost gaging. “We can start earlier thanks to your… prowess.”

The smile Ken gives him can light up the entire campus. “I knew you had it in you! Thanks Hyukkie.”

Deep breaths; deep breaths.

Chapter Text

His throat feels dry as disdainful eyes stare him down, the pretty features of the person in front of him screaming displeasure at his mere presence.

“Good morning, Hakyeon-hyung,” he attempts to says, and honestly, it sounded a lot better than he expected. He manages a small smile, but makes his posture as guilty as he can. Dealing with Hakyeon is something he’s still learning how to do, and a lot harder than he initially thought, given that the older boy has a reputation of being easy-going and gentle.

Yeah, nope.

He kinda expected it, yet it isn’t any better for his ego when Hakyeon simply goes back to walk, passing through him with no change in his expression. Wonshik instinctively reaches out for him, grabbing the thin wrist.

Blazing eyes turn to glare at him and his grasp, and Hakyeon pushes his wrist, trying to release the grip; he won’t let him go, not until they talk. “Do not, touch me,” the dancer growls in between teeth angrily.

“Only if you agree to talk to me.”

“I have nothing to talk to you,” Hakyeon snorts, pushing harder his arm. At this pace, he’ll end up hurting himself. “You made your priorities very clear.”

The bite on his voice makes Wonshik’s lips stretch into a smirk unintentionally, amused. This is something that fires him up, the challenge the dancer imposes; despite wanting to win this bet as fast as he can, he’s learning to appreciate the chase just as much as the prospect of winning. “Are you jealous, Hakyeon?”

Said boy splutters and – hell yes, this is a great sign – blushes a little. “D-Don’t be ridiculous! Me, jealous? Preposterous.”

“Then there is no reason for you to be mad at me,” Wonshik makes the smirk turn into a smile, and releases Hakyeon’s wrist only to push him by the waist. He knows he’s drawing attention, the buzz of chatter reaching his ears, and a quick glance around confirms it; a few small groups are all looking at him and the dancer, whispering to themselves, most likely shocked that Cha Hakyeon, 1/3 of the untouchable B1 Trio, is in the arms of someone they don’t know.

Hakyeon seems to notice this too, and so starts to punch him on the chest; he’s a lot more strong than his lithe figure suggests. “You damned larva, I’ll castrate you if you don’t release me right-fucking-now!”

“Talk to me,” Wonshik repeats, pressing closer. The other’s body is warm and all defined, slim muscle, felt even through his light jacket and black shirt. He wonders if he’ll be able to touch this same body in the future, not to contain Hakyeon, but just for the pleasure of a touch. He hopes it’s something that will eventually happen; no one can win a bet involving seduction without touching.

Hakyeon glares at him, still refusing. The blush on his face darkens, and it delights Wonshik to no end.

“Give me ten minutes, hyung; we can get out of here, I’ll buy you some banana milk and we’ll talk without so many eyes on us.”

They spend a minute in silence, staring at each other; Hakyeon’s clear, chocolate brown eyes burning holes on his skin, his own challenging him to try. His blood thrums with excitement, and he can’t help holding the smaller body closer to him, caressing the other’s waist absentmindedly, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

He sees Hakyeon’s angry expression cracking slowly, losing the immediate heated glare and the tightening of lips to give place to a patronizing look, still fiery, but kept in check, under the surface, ready to strike at the wrong move.

It’s been a long time since Wonshik properly attempted to seduce someone; he’s that one-night-stand type of guy, never having time to invest on a serious relationship, not the interest to do so. The girls and boys he normally goes for are those already interested in him, and those who play coy while wanting him. He’s no Hongbin in terms of appearance – honestly, no one is quite that handsome – but he’s sufficiently good-looking to have no problems getting the girl or the boy for the night. He knows his voice does things to people, and he worked hard for the body he has.

Hakyeon’s resistance, his narcissism, is both infuriating and… hot.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” the sass takes Wonshik’s attention back to the dancer.

“Maybe later,” he smiles cheekily.

“… You have ten minutes.”

“Aye,” he singsongs, loosening up a bit of his grip on Hakyeon’s waist; he keeps his hand there, and under the scrutiny of a dozen or two of people, guides the most desired body of the B1 away.

.

.

“I don’t like it,” Sanghyuk says for the tenth time in less than half an hour, much to Jaehwan displeasure.

He drops his hold on the pen, it making an empty thud on the graphic tablet on his lap. The screen in front of them shows one of his creations, a girl with sad blue eyes and wavy brown hair, blown away from her pale face by an invisible wind as she prepares herself to run, a dark, trembling dark figure disappearing far from her.

Jaehwan sighs, starting to become frustrated with the director. “Yah, how about you decide what you want before demanding I draw it? Y’know, my poor fingers are cramping,” he whines, adding some sarcasm to it.

The brat – more childish than himself, he thinks with no little amount of hidden annoyance – frowns, his nose scrunching up and his mouth tightens on a straight line; Sanghyuk looks more annoyed than he, and as the minutes pass, he regrets more and more accepting to work with someone that is obviously incapable of working with others when it means working together, not glaring people until they bend to his wishes.

Wonshik’s voice echoes in his mind, reminding him that he has to supposedly woo this pest; he controls the urge to sigh.

He’s good with people, no doubt about that, yet he is no Jesus Christ to go around making miracles; this Sanghyuk kid is not his type, and he feels zero attraction to the younger, and the feeling is very much mutual. Sanghyuk looks most of the time ready punch his cute face – oh, he can try – or bolt out of the room. Probably the boy regrets as much as him the formation of this duo; cocky brat certainly didn’t expect him to have an opinion. As part of the B1 himself, Jaehwan had seen more times than he can count juniors and seniors following Sanghyuk, bowing to his every demand, for the boy was a hypothetical genius.

Till the moment, Jaehwan hasn’t seen any genius-ness coming from the younger; he’s all indecision and a whole lot of grumbling and frowning. They’ve been cooped up in the library for an hour now, and they hadn’t reached anywhere.

For what is not the first, and won’t be the last time, he curses the colorful drinks he’s so fond of recently for putting him in this situation. Hongbin, normally the voice of reason, was just as wasted as him back then, and he should have stepped up as the hyung in the occasion; he hadn’t, coerced by promises of brushes and paint. He’s so easy.

“I visualized things darker,” Sanghyuk finally admits after a long time, voice softer than Jaehwan had ever heard from him. He sounded... not quite a kid, but someone his age. Someone with actual manners and social abilities. “This is a story of an unreachable love, of melancholy; of not being enough to the person you love despite trying your best. I need something that shows that soulmate is a concept that doesn’t mean anything if only one side believes in it, and that destiny can’t force love upon two people, set on stone or not.”

Oh, that was… surprising.

“So you actually have a heart,” Jaehwan finds himself saying, cocking his head to the side in speculation. It feels like it’s the first time he sees Sanghyuk, “a very depressing, pessimistic heart for such a young body, but a heart. The youth nowadays, so discouraging.”

The younger seems caught off guard, eyeing him owlishly, before the unexpected happens; Sanghyuk doubles over, giggling of all things, forehead on the table and arms around his middle.

Jaehwan blinks once, then twice; he rubs his eyes to be sure he’s not hallucinating, and when the image in front of him remains the same, he holds the impulse to take a picture – film it – and sell it online. Han Sanghyuk, The Director, 1/3 of the B1 Trio is indeed giggling at god knows what. Discreetly, Jaehwan pinches his arm, a guarantee of his state of consciousness. Hurts like hell. Yep, definitely awake.

Still, it’s so otherworldly, so absurd to be observing the way the boy’s eyes curve into half-moons and crinkle at the corners, his entire expression free of irritation creases, cute little teeth exposed in a smile that curled ever so slightly at the ends, the relatively large – a bit like his, really – nose wrinkling that he can’t be blamed for thinking his lunch was spoiled and this is a figment of his – very, very, very colorful – imagination. Weirdly, he feels a small amount of fondness for Sanghyuk, some of his annoyance disappearing; pride too, for making the I-scare-ghost Han Sanghyuk giggle at something he did or said, despite not having a single idea what this something was.

“*giggle* Yamamoto *giggle* Genryuusai,” the unexpected name in between giggles lights a light bulb in Jaehwan’s head. An image of an old man, badass but constantly complaining about the younger generations appears on his mind.

He immediately gets it. “Are you calling me old?!”

“I totally am,” a smirk pushes Sanghyuk’s lips upwards, and his eyes shine with water, tears collecting on it from laughing so much. “‘Youngsters these days’, ‘in my times things were different’, you speak like an old man.”

“Kid…”

“Better than an old man.”

“… You’re a pest.”

 “And you an ahjumma.”

Jaehwan huffs, pouting at the dissonant posture Sanghyuk now presents. He turns to look at his drawing, picking the pen he dropped, twisting it on his fingers, itching to add a detail or ten. “Crazy brat– Don’t know if I prefer you acting like you having something up your ass, or as a nerd comparing me to a Bleach character of all things. Didn’t you have a better comparison? Like Chopper? He’s cute like me.”

Sanghyuk immediately closes his face, his smirking lips curving downwards; his brown returns to its’ customary frown-y position, but the humor in his eyes remains untouched. He supports his head with a hand, elbow on the desk. It’s a juvenile pose, with his platinum hair half-falling from its place.

“Chopper? Please, you couldn’t be half as cute as him even if you tried. Starting by changing these horrendous clothes,” the director teases, expression still serious, eyes still mischievous.

He dared..! “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes!”

“Oh no?! They’re the tackiest, ugliest thing I’ve ever seen! Who wears an orange shirt with coconuts on it?!”

“It’s cute,” Jaehwan protests, pushing the shirt down to reveal said coconuts more clearly for the world. He won’t admit it, but this banter is fun, on the verge of friendly. “See? At least I don’t look like a delinquent!”

Sanghyuk runs a hand through his dyed platinum-blonde hair self-conscientiously, scowling at him. “I’ll take the delinquent any day– It’s more dignified than looking like a neon pole!”

“Oh, you’re in for it!”

The smile on Sanghyuk’s face is predatory, mirroring his own. “Give your best shot, ahjumma, and careful not to hurt your back.”

So he can see himself making a bit more of effort on this bet, uh. Han Sanghyuk isn’t that bad, if he can keep up with him. He even looks endearing right now, with mischievousness consuming his face, making it young and free of the creases usually associated with him, all framed by his dyed hair, shining white with the lights.

.

.

People are whispering.

At least, they try to.

As Taekwoon walks the hallways of the B5, looking for the room Hongbin took him last time to see the – adorable, cute, fluffy little – kittens and puppies, he feels the looks of people burning into his skin, and their whispers a soundtrack to every one of his steps. It’s not pleasant to be observed like a wild animal out of its cage, and it’s one of the several reasons why he hates leaving his usual place behind the staircases at the B1. He doesn’t understand people’s interests on him – and Hakyeon and Sanghyuk – but he knows that he doesn’t appreciate it.

He only needs Hakyeon and Sanghyuk. They’re the only ones to matter besides his family, and his family is far from there, living calmly on a small city, free from the pressures of college and building a life from scratch. He supposes it’s his fault for choosing to stay behind when they moved, but then, he couldn’t abandon Hakyeon and a recovering Sanghyuk.

“It’s Jung Taekwoon from the B1! What he’s doing here?”

“I heard it’s the second time he comes here– Last time, the vet’s pretty boy, what’s his name… Hong-something–”

“Lee Hongbin, from fourth year?”

“This one! Well, he approached the Composer and took him somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t have the courage to get close to him.”

“Neither would I. He seems so cold.”

Taekwoon lightly rolls his eyes at the group’s attempts to be quiet while following him, not succeeding at all; they are loud and gossipy. Had Sanghyuk been with him, the younger would almost definitely turn a glare so full of wrath towards them, they would go running to their c=mother, crying in fear. Had it been Hakyeon, the older would turn to them with a saccharine smile and politely ask to them not to follow him anymore.

He’s not with either of them – an ugly, nasty feeling curls on his insides, taunting at him that they’re somewhere else, maybe together; unquestionably without him – and he’s not one to deal with conflict directly. His lack of reaction is what keeps most of it away.

Hongbin understood that, that night on the club; he, who had nothing to do with the situation, took upon himself to help Taekwoon, noticing how bad he is with people, naturally aiding – he won’t go as far as saying he was protected, for it would be a lie; he’s no damsel in distress – him despite them not knowing each other. Despite the fact Taekwoon didn’t treat him exactly well. He, with his dimpled – deep, cute – cheeks and sassy remarks, simply helped. Taekwoon couldn’t – can’t – understand why and how the boy perceived so much about him; it makes his neck and ears slightly hot, and he closes his hands into fists, to stop thinking about those things.

He stops walking and looks around; the hallway is big and full of doors, each and every one of them looking exactly the same to his eyes, students passing through him, some unabashedly staring at him, others too busy to bother, thank god. It wasn’t a good idea to go wander by himself in a building he had never before stepped into, in the four years and a half he’s been in college. He should have waited for Hongbin to appear on the outside of the building, maybe ask – not likely – for the younger boy.

Taekwoon then resumes his walking, searching for a place to settle; he returns to the ground floor and finds a small, cramped stand of coffee, deciding to stay there; if he’s lucky, someone will warn Hongbin of his presence, or at least gossip enough for the boy hear them out and go looking for him, like last time. He also could do with a latte. Judging the climate outside – windy, but sunny and bright – he’ll have an iced one, no syrup, the largest they sell.

The boy behind the counter stares at him for a full minute before making a squealing noise that supposedly is he asking what Taekwoon would want; his whispered ‘iced latte’ and the negative shake of his head when asked about the syrup both seem to shock the boy into another minute of blankness.

Taekwoon only blinks, paying for his drink. He scans the place, looking for a place to sit, finding none; a girl who is sitting by herself notices his actions, and blushing all the way, from her neck to hairline, picks up her things to sit in another table, cramped and loud. He takes the action as an invitation, and promptly sits on the vacated seat. He adjusts the headphones on his ears and turns on his music. A simple, soft piano melody floats his ears, and he closes his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his body to relax.

Hopefully, Hongbin won’t take too long.

.

.

He crosses his arms in front of his body, tense; he feels the creases on his forehead, marring otherwise a perfect tan skin.

“Ten minutes,” Hakyeon hisses, trying to glare a hole into Wonshik’s horrible – handsome – face.

The boy seated at his front rests his elbows on the table, one hand supporting his face; an apologetic smile twists his expression, some of the bad-boy vibe – leather jacket, ripped jeans, low-collared shirt revealing a little of ink on his collarbone – disappearing to show a soft-looking boy, with warm eyes and fluffy black hair.

These kinds of contrasts are what drive Hakyeon insane. He doesn’t get Wonshik, and this is maddening for him, who has an admirable ability to read people, know what they’re thinking about. Wonshik is both shy and bold, soft and rough; he can fix dark, lustful brown eyes on you in one moment, just as much as these same eyes can resemble melted chocolate, sweet and warm. Like now.

He sips his hot chocolate, in cue with this thought; sweet, like Wonshik’s eyes. “I’m sorry for what happened that night in the club, hyung,” the younger starts.

Hakyeon snorts into his mug resentfully. He should be sorry.

“A friend of mine drank his weight in alcohol that night, and I was the one responsible for taking him home,” Wonshik continues, running his free hand through his hair; some of it stayed up in a weirdly adorable way. “He was in a really bad shape, so I had to go.”

He understands, truly does; he remembers a time in which he had to sneakily leave his house during the night, to bandage Sanghyuk up, to dry Taekwoon’s tears, to go to them when being by himself was too much.

But that doesn’t mean he will forgive Wonshik; this boy right here left him like he was nothing. After dancing with him, kissing him neck, sensually running his hands all over his body, had left because of a drunkard. It’s absurd, it’s unacceptable.

“Is that it?” his voice drips contempt, and Hakyeon catches the way Wonshik’s eyes drop a little, as if unnerved.

“Well, yes,” the other admits. “It wasn’t something I wanted to do– believe me, I was enjoying our time together,” he wiggles his eyebrows, and Hakyeon hates how his cheeks heat up at the sight, “a lot.”

“You regret it?” Wonshik doesn’t hesitate, and his answer only annoys him further.

“No, I don’t. Jaehwan-hyung needed me, and he’s my friend, like I said that day.”

This larva brat. What’s the point on following – he ignores the tightening on his chest that is pleased with the fact – him if he’s not on his knees begging for forgiveness? Makes no sense.

He starts to get up, decided on not spending any minute more on this stupid boy that just has the knack to rile him up; he would have done that if Wonshik hadn’t held his hand in the last instant, intertwining their fingers together. His hands are calloused, fingers stockier than Taekwoon’s, rougher than Sanghyuk’s but still… they are nice, hot against his own heated skin. “What?!” he spits, head swimming with too many sensations. Should he go? Should he stay? Ten minutes haven’t passed yet.

“Please hy– Hakyeon,” the use of his name by that hoarse voice sends an involuntary shiver down his spine, and he looks up – his eyes had diverged to stare at the slight contrast both their hands make, the two tanned – to fix his gaze into Wonshik’s pleading eyes. “Please. Give me another chance. If it were you, you would have done the same, wouldn’t you? If the director or the compositor were drunk and needing your help?”

Of course he would; there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them. “Yes, I would,” he begrudgingly agrees.

“Without even explaining me the reason why you were leaving, right?” again, he nods, not feeling more anger than exasperation and a slight, small, almost imperceptible amount of embarrassment. Wonshik squeezes his hands reassuringly of all things, and his smile becomes cheeky. “See?”

That… that… Argh!

“You went sassy on me,” he half-asses one excuse to remain angry, and sees how it the younger isn’t fazed by it. “I hate sassiness directed at me.”

“Do what I say, don’t do what I do?” Wonshik smirks, thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand. It’s distracting. He slaps him for being insolent. “Auch, hyung!”

A giggle escapes his mouth before he can hold it, and at the hopeful look on Wonshik’s face, plus the warm weight of his hand on his, in a one in a million occasions, causes him to give in.

“I want to eat galbi tomorrow.”

Wonshik whole face lights up – so charmingly innocent, with closed eyes and a wide grin, hair half falling on his forehead – and he bends down to kiss Hakyeon’s hand.

His heart starts to best a little faster, and he turns his face away, self-conscious like he never is.

“Thank you hyung! I promise I won’t mess up again!”

Hakyeon permits a small smile to push his lips up. “I’m counting on it.”

Chapter Text

The first thing that happens once he’s back from lunch is a tap on his shoulder.

“I don’t know how you did it, but congrats!” someone – was it Minhyuk? – says, winking at him with a large grin, showing him a thumbs up. Subsequently, two nearby girls nod and giggle, also congratulating him as they pass by.

Hongbin stands in confused shock, not getting the reason why those people suddenly said this to him; he looks around and finds that there are more staring at him, analyzing him from his sneakers-clad tip toes to the last strands of his brown hair, and while he’s accustomed – he’s not being conceited here, things are the way they are – with having a certain amount of attention directed at him, never it was something like this. The novelty of his apparently ulzzang looks died on the second half of his first year, and most times now, when someone needs him for something, he’s referred as ‘the vet’s pretty boy’. The girls like to stare at him, but that’s about it.

A strong slap on his back jolts him forward, almost losing his balance. He glances sideways to the person responsible, ready to sass them into submission, but as he meets Gongshik’s – or Gongchan, as he prefers it – eyes, smiling down at him. Involuntarily, a smile of his own stretches his lips, and he straightens himself, turning to hug one of his best friends. “I think my lunch turned sour just by looking at your ugly face.”

“At least you had lunch already; seeing your quadrangular head made me lose my appetite.”

They stare at each other, serious, for an entire minute before dissolving into laughter.

“What are doing here, you bastard?” Hongbin asks; the first to recover enough to speak. “Tired of your fancy Engineering building?”

The other wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “See, I was tranquilly visiting CNU when I saw someone I never had seen up close, drinking a latte of all things. Y’know that little kiosk with the tasty cupcakes?” he doesn’t wait for Hongbin to nod, continuing, “We were there, CNU complaining about me wanting to eat their red velvet one, and boom! suddenly Jung Taekwoon, yes, THE Jung Taekwoon appears like, seven feet ahead of me, making this poor girl scurry away from her seat so he could take her place.”

Hongbin knows his mouth is open stupidly, yet he can’t help it as Gongchan babbles.

“Imagine then my surprise when CNU tells me that apparently this is his second time on the building, and, that in his first one, he was waiting for you, Lee Hongbin!” Gongchan waves his hands, emphasizing his point with accusing gestures. “Didn’t cross your mind that I would want to know that you’re having an affair with the most impenetrable member of the B1 trio?”

He feels his face burn in embarrassment at his friend’s choice of words. “You make it sound like I’m committing a sin.”

“If you’re dating Leo, Ice Prince, then yes, you are,” Gongchan smirks, cocking his head to one side, his eyes as prying as the others around them. Smirk that vanishes, his face becoming more serious. “You certainly have heard the rumors about the three of them, and what happens to people who try to get close.”

“They’re exactly that, rumors,” Hongbin can’t help rolling his eyes, not swayed by the words. Just like Gongchan, he believed on them not long ago; now that with his – admittedly limited, but more than 99,99% of the university – interaction with Taekwoon, he is starting to think them invented, not fitting the quiet, animal-loving compositor at all. He’s not sure about the ones pertaining the trio’s youngest, Sanghyuk, though. “There’s no proof of them.”

“Digging your grave for a little adventure and a pretty face,” his friend shrugs, tapping his shoulder condescendingly, obviously not convinced and not confident on Hongbin’s abilities. He’d be offended, if he didn’t know Gongchan was only worried for him. “I admit, the nickname Ice Prince is very fitting with that fair skin, light hair and blank expression; he’s very dazzling up close, but dude, dude, you don’t pet a lion without the risk of it eating you whole.”

A frown pushes his eyebrows down, the comparison oddly suitable; besides Ice Prince, Taekwoon’s is known as Leo, as in lion. His features resemble one, at least.

“I know what I’m doing,” he says, a bit petulantly.

Gongchan raises his arms in defeated acceptance. “Whatever you say, ‘vet’s pretty boy’~,” he finally smiles again. “Go then, I’ll be sure to make a tearjerker speech on your funeral.”

“… Screw you.”

“Ooh, rude,” Gongchan pretends shock, before smiling big and ruffling Hongbin’s hair; he turns and jogs away, waving. “Good luck with the beast!” he screams.

Hongbin for very little doesn’t throw him his middle finger, resisting the urge as a thought pops in his mind; if Takewoon is within the B5 walls, that means he’s waiting for Hongbin.

That means he’s waiting!!

Fearing being too late, Hongbin dashes towards where Gongchan said he’s seen Taekwoon, managing to not knock down anyone; that doesn’t mean he can avoid stumbling in between groups or bumping into one or two – or five – unaware students. By the time he arrives, he’s panting and his cheeks feel red from all the embarrassment and curses he had to listen from the unfortunate people he stumbled upon; he remembers papers flying everywhere, and a cringe runs up his spine.

His arrival is received with turns of heads and curious stares, sharp and accessing; it immediately bothers him, and he wonders if that’s how it feels to be part of the infamous trio. The sensation of being an animal on a zoo, there for exhibition against its will; a painting on a museum, untouchable and up there for scrutinizing. No one seems to care as he walks through the tables, staring shamelessly; Hongbin wants to growl at them for acting like this. He feels disrespected – it’s not at all like the stares of people who thought his appearance noteworthy, instead, it’s invasive, rude and he wouldn’t think unreasonable if the rumors proved to be true – and something new, something he recognizes as protectiveness, blooms on his chest.

All he can focus on is to find Taekwoon and take him away from those eyes; a tension he hadn’t noticed installing on the line of his shoulders relaxes when he sees Taekwoon, who tranquilly sips on a big latte cup, headphones on, expression unreadable. His mouth – and no, Hongbin doesn’t take a little longer analyzing the small, pink and pouty lips, he totally doesn’t – moves as he mouths silent lyrics, long fingers softly drumming against the table.

“Hyung,” if his voice sounds relieved, it’s the lack of air from running. When Taekwoon doesn’t show his acknowledgment, he tries again, boldly touching the tapping fingers with his own. “Hyung.”

Taekwoon’s black – so dark, like two black holes, vast but dim, and Hongbin is almost lost looking directly into them – orbs snap in his direction, set in a glare that loses its icy edge when he registers who is. Hongbin bites the corner of his bottom lip to avoid smiling; he’s thrilled that Taekwoon doesn’t consider him a threat, and softens at the edges with him. So much compared to how he normally acts towards others.

He doesn’t speak, but Hongbin takes the unblinking gaze set on him as a ‘hello’.

“Came to see Caramel?” he asks.

Taekwoon nods.

“She’ll be very happy,” he smiles, this time deeper, and like always, the composer’s eyes stray to his dimples; this time however, the inexpressive line of his lips relax, and warmth creeps into his eyes, not at him, but still.

Hongbin wants to simultaneously stop time, so he can admire this vision, and get the hell out of there, as far as his legs will carry him, Taekwoon in tow. Not one of these people deserves to see the little crack on his icy mask. The possessiveness in his line of thought registers only a moment after he thinks it, and… it’s not like he’s feeling possessive of Taekwoon, not at all! It’s not possessiveness to want to pick his hand and guide him to a place where he can happily play with kittens and puppies to his heart content, humming softly, Hongbin being the only one to witness the change in his behavior.

… He can admit to being a tiny little bit possessive. He’s been doing his best to earn the change; he has the right to feel like this towards – not Taekwoon Taekwoon, never – his target if he ever wants to win.

“Mingyu and Sangsan?”

Had the flick of hope on Taekwoon’s voice lasted longer, Hongbin probably would be overheating; he’s thankful it didn’t. “And Mocha and Makki and Dumpling and Dooman too, if you want. I’m sure the rascals will all be thrilled to see you again – they’re up for adoption, but you know…”

Taekwoon blinks at him. Combined with the slight tilt of his head, he interprets it as confusion. “Hm?” he hums in question, softly.

“People usually don’t like a street animal without pedigree,” he snorts. Argh, that’s why he prefers animals to humans, at least they don’t have stupid prejudgments. “Not even the young ones can escape prejudice, cute as they are.”

The change is immediate. Taekwoon’s Ice Prince expression falls to the ground as his brows furrow and his nose scrunches up, his lips twisting downwards and mouth opening in clear incredulity. His hand – now Hongbin notices, he’s still touching his fingers, cool and long – clenches to form fists.

Someone behind them both gasps audibly, and Hongbin has had enough; he approaches Taekwoon and gently grabs his hands, pushing him upwards so he’s standing straight in front of him. This is the closest Hongbin has got to him, to the point he notices for the first time the smallest of moles beneath his right eye, and of course only Jung Taekwoon would have such a risqué feature to add to his already reputation of tall beautiful and mysterious.

“We treat them well here,” he start, squeezing Taekwoon’s hands, “not as well as a loving family would, but we do our best. Don’t worry for Caramel or any of the others.”

Taekwoon looks at their hands overlapping each other and then fixes his gaze directly into Hongbin’s. “People can be mean… and ridiculous.”

Another gasp and the whispering around them is a constant – annoying – buzz on Hongbin’s ears.

“Let’s get out of here hyung,” he releases one hand, but intertwines his fingers with Taekwoon’s on the other, enjoying their coolness, the few callouses from playing instruments, rejoicing internally when Taekwoon doesn’t push him away. To the crowd on the kiosk, he directs his fakest smile. “Some people out here aren’t capable of decency to respect others.”

“Yes,” Taekwoon agrees, and more than one person blushes and splutters, lowering their heads.

When they’re out of hearing distance, Hongbin continues, thoughtful. “Why can’t you keep Caramel? You seem to love her–” seeing how the black orbs harden a little, he quickly amends. “I’m not saying you’re like those people! It’s just that… You love animals, don’t you, hyung?”

“I do,” surprisingly, Taekwoon answers, looking down, sadly. It must be an impression, yet for a split second Hongbin felt a tightening on his hand. “My landlord… He prohibits animals.”

“Don’t be sad hyung,” eagerly Hongbin comforts – tries to – him. It tugs something at his heart, seeing the Ice Prince, always so impenetrable, but also so… soft, appearing so sad, broad shoulders hunching down, blond hair falling over his eyes. “Caramel certainly loves you, and I know that she’ll be happy to see you again.”

Raising his black-hole-like eyes, his voice sounds unsure, timid. “You really think so?”

There are trumpets playing on Hongbin’s head, and he’s faint, dizzy with the surge of emotions coming and going faster than he can attend to. He sets for feeling mostly the frenetic thumping of his heart and the warm of his cheeks, combined with the fierce protectiveness that blooms on his chest at staring into the meek figure of Taekwoon. It takes his all of his will to lose composure and simply hug the boy, kiss his lips and cheeks and eyes until this uncertainty on face is no more and assure him that everything is alright. Damn to all hells the busy corridor and the snooping gazes – don’t people have something better to do other than spy?! – of every science student that happens to recognize Taekwoon.

Instead, all he does – can do – is reassure him. “I’m certain; come, I will prove to you.”

Taekwoon nods, and there, there it is, the small, barely noticeable curve of lips that indicates a smile.

If he stumbles, is because the floor is slippery.

.

.

“I don’t believe you said that. Get out of here, I don’t want to see your ugly face ever again.”

Jaehwan snickers at the exaggerated boy by his side, putting on his mental list of ‘Things That Annoy Hyukkie’, that’s remarkably long giving that they know each other for more than a few days tops, and considering that it’s been what? a few hours since they started to agree – or agree to disagree – on something. The younger is, as expected, as passionate on every subject of his life as he is with directing.

Anime in especial, seems to hold a large part of his interest. Such a kid. “Just because I don’t agree that Sasuke is a stupid character?”

“He made that fucking anime roll for as long as it did!” Sanghyuk practically growls at him, gesticulating wildly. “He’s a much better character than Naruto, who suffers from the ‘Main-character syndrome’.”

Jaehwan rolls his eyes, enjoying the discussion and the fire on the other boy. It’s refreshing, considering Hongbin doesn’t watch animes anymore since getting hooked on Overwatch and Wonshik prefers seeing cartoons or the ones with busty girls and guns everywhere.

“Both are stupid,” he says, throwing at Sanghyuk when he opens his mouth to protest. “One is an indecisive emo who can’t decide who he’s gonna seek vengeance against– And that Hokage thing? What kind of sense that makes?! Naruto I can understand, but Sasuke? Really, that for me is just a serious case of stick up ass. Kishimoto should have them fuck and I bet Naruto would have ended sooner and better.”

Sanghyuk looks positively scandalized, and it’s funny. Jaehwan giggles at the outraged face he makes. “You’re mad,” he declares.

“I’m a realist. Look, I can agree that Naruto suffered from the main-character syndrome and that Sasuke was badass and that Sakura had a lot of wasted potential and that Kakashi was a god-awful teacher, but the rest? Nooope, I refuse. That war? Unnecessary. The whole Tobi-now-Obito-now-Madara-back to-Obito? Ridiculous. So much could have done and wasn’t.”

“You didn’t complain this much when we were talking about Fairy Tail,” Sanghyuk points out. “You’re biased.”

“Am not.”

“Is too.”

Jaehwan puts a hand on his chest dramatically, fluttering his eyelashes in mock dejection. “I don’t mix my personal opinion with my professional.”  

Except maybe when it involves a bet he made while drunk.

Wow, good to remember how much of a bad guy he is; not that he’s worried about hurting Sanghyuk, for he’s not. Sanghyuk is still a kid in many many ways, and he doesn’t seem interested in anything but his productions and anime. He’s a fun guy to talk to, when he’s not being all broody and shit, snarky and with firm opinions. He seems even younger without the several lines on his brows from furrowing them so much, and he looks cute when he smiles.

A pang of guilt, small but there, tugs a string on his chest. Especially when Sanghyuk rolls his eyes, obviously not believing him. Oh, how right he is…

“I hope not,” the younger grumbles, crossing his arms, blowing a strand of platinum hair out of his eye. “This project is worth too much of my grades; this and I want to see the face of my ‘seonsaeng-nim’,” he speaks the word with sarcasm, “when he admits my brilliance.”

“He’ll have to make some herculean effort to see something that’s not even there,” he can’t help but jab at the other. It’s just his nature.

Sanghyuk opens his mouth to retaliate, but then he stops. His eyes widen comically and his mouth hangs open comically. His gaze is fixed somewhere on Jaehwan’s other side, and curious as he is, he turns to see just what made the Director speechless.

Oh.

Oooh.

Wonshik and Hakyeon walk side by side, Hakyeon laughing loudly and freely while Wonshik looks down – their size difference is perfect – at him with a smile of his own. They’re quite a sight together, both tan and stylish and naturally charismatic. There’s an intimacy between the two of them one wouldn’t expect after spending so little time together, but still; it’s almost magnetic the atmosphere around them, proved by how Wonshik’s hands touch Hakyeon’s waist frequently and how he tilts his body towards the other’s, how Hakyeon touches Wonshik’s chest and arm to swat at him playfully.

Now he understands why Wonshik said he was close.

Turning to see Sanghyuk, who continues glued on his place, and then back at the duo walking away, he also understands.

Oh.

Chapter Text

Hongbin is distracted.

Not that Taekwoon cares, but it’s unusual; till these days, the boy had put his whole attention on him, be it quietly or chattering away. To see him seated a few feet away from him, utterly concentrated on the phone in his hands, a small smile – there’s a hint of dimples on his left cheek, not enough to make him want to dip his finger into it – adorning his lips. Every once in a while he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head after; he absentmindedly caresses the black puppy – so cute – perched on his lap, asleep.

Caramel nips at his fingers at the lack of attention, and he coos softly, picking her up – she’s grown bigger than the last time he saw her, and there’s no longer a bandage on her little paw, to his relief – with both hands, mindful to not disturb Sangsan at his shoulder, or Dumpling on his legs, the Pit-bull  puppy sprawled all over him, peacefully chewing a rubber toy. Mingyu plays by his feet, seeming to take an almost sadistic pleasure in bothering a clearly annoyed Mocha, who has been for the past few minutes trying to get on top of Taekwoon’s legs.

Honestly, he could spend the whole day like this, basking in the fuzzy feelings the babies cause on him, hiding away from prying eyes. It’s nice being in here, nicer than his usual hiding place by the B1’s fourth floor staircase, as being surrounded by cute animals is like a dream come true; once upon a time, Taekwoon thought of studying Veterinary himself, stretching the idea for as long as he could, only to give up when it mattered. At that time he had too much in his head – Sanghyuk slowly getting better, Hakyeon’s treading on the edge of exhaustion, his family’s eyes on him, silently questioning, pressuring for him to make a decision – and in the end, look at him: he deals with animals alright, but with people? He’s an absolute disaster, willingly or not. He simply lacks the required social skills to deal with others and to be honest, it’s not like he cares about it.

He has only ever needed Hakyeon, Sanghyuk worming his way into his life long after. To this day, the other two are everything he can possibly want, everything he’ll ever need besides his family.

The ugly coil on his stomach that reminds him of Hongbin’s words – “Are they together? They seem close.” – spins and turns. Repeats over and over on his head, together with the image of them both that day, bodies glued and obvious love surrounding the entire room, emanating from the way Hakyeon’s eyes looked down on the boy he cradled on his chest, to the possessive, but not less tender hold Sanghyuk had on the other. The bitterness he feels just by thinking it makes him sick.

Hongbin giggles at whatever he’s looking at on his phone, and Taekwoon feels a jab of annoyance at the younger boy, whose dimples are now in full display, hair a mess from running his hand through it too many times. He has no idea, right? Has not a single clue of what his words that day are doing to Taekwoon, the type of turbulence he’s arising on Taekwoon’s life. Besides, he should keep his excitement to himself; it’s rude to act so carefree in the presence of a hyung.

Still bitter, and with annoyance mixing inside of him – what can possibly make the other so cheerful? Wasn’t he the one who insisted in going after Taekwoon over and over again? Why would he be so distracted? Ugh, so irritating – Taekwoon starts to sing in a low voice, letting his voice take the breathy tones his teachers call deadly; he sees himself succeed when the chuckles immediately stop and Hongbin turns wide, disbelieving eyes to him, attention captured like Taekwoon expected. His voice is his greatest attribute, he knows it, the B1 knows it, the entire university has heard rumors about it – he may ignore most things people say, but that doesn’t mean he’s deaf – and now Hongbin knows about it too. Satisfaction bubbles inside him, replacing some of the bitterness, and Taekwoon maintains his gaze fixed on Hongbin’s, enjoying his slack jaw, the flush on his cheeks and his very focused eyes more than normally.

Every high note he reaches has Hongbin looking more marveled; Taekwoon lets his lips stretch minimally, unbelievably satisfied with the shift in their situation. Hongbin’s phone lies on his lap, forgotten.

So it’s natural for him to continue even when the music ends, humming different tones under his breath, songs he likes and songs he’s composing, all while caressing Caramel’s orange fur, the perfect picture of guiltlessness. He hides his face on her back when he sees Hongbin approaching slowly, inconspicuously, cheeks red. He won’t admit, but he smiles a little with the action. Caramel’s fur is fluffy and it tickles his nose.

Changing songs, Taekwoon avoids looking at Hongbin’s entire persona, ignoring him just like he did to him. Sangsan provides the perfect distraction; the tabby kitten nips his left ear and plays with the dangling earrings he likes to wear, tiny claws nick at his neck, sharp, although not painful. Cuddling Caramel on one arm – and nearly fainting at how cute she is, all wrapped around herself, purring like a mini tractor – he picks the other kitten situated on his shoulder. Excited, Sangsan bites into the skin of his hand, and Taekwoon grunts softly. For a kitten not much bigger than Caramel, she surely bites hard.

“Sangsan!” Hongbin immediately is all over him, taking her from him – he lets himself pout at this; he has the situation under control – and frowning at the squirming tabby. “Are you okay hyung?”

Taekwoon nods, but Hongbin ignores him; he releases Sangsan – who leaves with an outraged meow – and goes straight for his hand, analyzing the small droplets of blood blooming from the indentations made by Sangsan’s teeth with a deepening frown. He’s still unfairly handsome, if a little silly, worrying with something so minor.

“Someone really needs to teach that tabby better manners,” Hongbin grumbles under his breath, grabbing Taekwoon’s hand in between his.

It’s warm, and Taekwoon recognizes the few callouses on the fingers as similar to his own, born out of hours spent on a guitar. They fit well together, and it’s different from when he holds Hakyeon or Sanghyuk’s hands. Hakyeon’s are smooth and tan, perfectly manicured and they always remember Taekwoon of home; Sanghyuk’s are larger and full of sinuous lines and raised skin, rough but always gentle when handling something precious. Hongbin’s hand is nothing like them; tingles shot up his arm, and somehow they seem to fit better, his and Hongbin’s. It’s weird, noticing these differences, for he never really touched anyone besides Hakyeon, Sanghyuk and his family, not in this way; Hongbin holds his injured hand with care and worry, thumb rubbing soothing patterns on his palm.

“…ung? Hyung?” he blinks, focusing on Hongbin, whose face is pinched in unease. He’s indeed handsome, even up close. “You spaced-out for a moment; should we get up? To clean this?”

Taekwoon inclines his head to the side, silently disagreeing. There are babies on top of him; of course he won’t get up. Hongbin seems to understand, as he smiles – his teeth are very white, and his dimples are deeper up close – fondly, running fingers through his messy hair.

He releases his hand, and Taekwoon doesn’t understand why it seems awkward by itself. “You’re wrapped around their little paws hyung. If you continue in this position for much longer, your joints are going to kill you.”

A pout juts his lips as he huffs. “… I’m not old.”

The smile on Hongbin’s face dips to one side, suddenly cheeky. “I don’t know… Hyung is two years older than me and clearly on the wrong side of twenties.”

It takes him a moment to process the phrase; when he does, Taekwoon can’t be expected to contain his mouth from opening in shock. “What?”

Hongbin hums, getting up and walking towards a big cabinet on one corner of the room; he opens doors and starts to search for something, the line of his back well defined by the light long-sleeved shirt he wears.

“What~?”

Youth. Acting so disrespectfully.

Coming back with hands full of bandages, antiseptic cream, band aids, gauze, a bottle of water and even a bottle full of white pills, Hongbin sits by his side again. It’s way too much for the 4 small scratches on his hand, and Taekwoon lifts his eyes to the younger boy incredulously.

“Unnecessary.”

Hongbin flushes light pink, fingers on his hair, no sign of his previous sass. Something glitters on his eyes, “I won’t ever be careless when it comes to your wellbeing.”

It catches him so suddenly Taekwoon feels his face burn hotly, throat dry and incredulous blinking; his mind is blank and he doesn’t react when Hongbin grimaces, a visible shiver shaking his shoulders as he reaches Taekwoon’s hand. He’s been doing this an awfully lot of times, giving himself the right to grab his hand at any time he wants. It’s the third time today and by now, Taekwoon is starting to get accustomed with the feel of them together.  He doesn’t try to release it from Hongbin’s grip, something that would be easy, as Hongbin holds it softly.

“That was so corny,” Hongbin whines under his breath, scrunching his nose. He meets Taekwoon’s eyes staring straight at him and yelps. “Not that it isn’t true!”

Taekwoon snorts, lowering his gaze back to their hands.

First comes the antiseptic cream, them the bandages, covering most of the back of his hand; it’s an overkill if Taekwoon has ever seen one, and he lives with Hakyeon, the mother of mother hens. Hongbin forces the water on him, and asks if he wants the pills.

“It’s for the pain,” he explains.

Taekwoon’s glare is enough to make him lower the bottle. The water is cool and nice though, just the way he drinks after singing for hours. He finishes the glass and licks his lips, chasing away the droplets there with his tongue; leveling his gaze just in time to see the fixed one Hongbin has on him. They stare at each other for awkward moments, Taekwoon noticing how Hongbin shifts under his staring, pursing his lips and making those dimples of his very clearly, almost inviting him to poke at them.

Since Hongbin seems to take all kinds of liberties with him, touching him carelessly, Taekwoon does just that; with his newly bandaged hand, he uses his index finger to poke at one of the holes on Hongbin’s face. Also, it’s satisfying to hear the squeak of surprise and feel the skin under his finger get warm as Hongbin blushes bright red, looking at him with what looks like bewilderment.

“What are you doing, hyung?” Hongbin asks.

Taekwoon blinks thrice, “Poking your dimple,” he says, obvious as it is.

“I can see that,” Hongbin says very slowly, eyes shifting from Taekwoon’s face to Taekwoon’s finger on his face. “Why are you doing it, though?”

In the few seconds that take Taekwoon to decide if he’s going to answer to the question, Hongbin’s phone chirps and the boy lowers his stare to the screen. Whatever he sees make his lips stretch into one delighted smile, and the dimple under Taekwoon’s finger deepens with it. A burbling sensation on the pit of his stomach turns his mouth sour at the obvious happiness the boy demonstrates.

Everything is a mess inside him; he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he thinks about the reasons why his whole body revolts against the image of Hongbin like… this, happy in a way he never seems to be near Taekwoon, whom he is always a little tense and awkward, either trying too much or not at all. Hongbin is proving himself to be a complication Taekwoon isn’t exactly sure he wants to have in his life. Even if he has dimples and is nice in a way most aren’t around him.

Annoyed at how divided he is, Taekwoon digs his finger deeper, pleased at the high pitched squeak the other makes.

.

.

Sanghyuk isn’t mad, his day is doing great; Sanghyuk isn’t mad, his day is doing great. Sanghy–

“–uk, yah, Han Sanghyuk!”

Sanghyuk snaps his eyes up, meeting the ridiculous figure of Lee Jaehwan, in all his mismatched, overly colorful form.

“What?” he growls under his breath, still repeating the same phrase on his mind. Sanghyuk isn’t mad, his day is doing great.

Jaehwan lifts his hand in mock surrender. “Just wanted to warn you to turn down your strength before this mug here,” he points to the mug full of black coffee – Taekwoon doesn’t have a shift today – on his hand, “bursts with the way you’re holding it.”

Sanghyuk looks down, and sees what Jaehwan’s talking about: his knuckles are white with the intensity he holds it, the mug shaking under his fingers. He quickly releases it, cursing when some of the hot coffee falls on the table and on his hand. “God-fucking-dammit!”

“Woah, calm down kid,” Jaehwan says, no hint of humor on his face, for once. “You’re wound up pretty tight, huh? Something happened in the… I don’t know, fifteen minutes it took up to come here?”

The tone Jaehwan uses irritates Sanghyuk even more, and yes, he is irritated, okay? Very irritated. “Even if it had, it’s none of your business.”

“So dry,” the other grumbles, sipping his cream frappe with nonchalance. “I might not like you, but seeing your constipated face is making this honestly delicious cream frappe bitter.”

“Deal with it.”

Jaehwan stares at him for a minute or two, before setting down his cup and sighing audibly. “Look, I’m not the type to meddle in things that don’t have to do with me–”

“Continue like this,” Sanghyuk groans, already imagining what kind of bullshit the older is going to spew. Something about how Sanghyuk lost – yeah, right – the discussion on who’s the most idiotic, useless character in One Piece? Or how the boy is just soooo stuck up that all his tension is going to freeze his features into a permanent scowl? He doesn’t put something that ridiculous behind someone ridiculous like Jaehwan.

“Dude, you’re no fun.”

“I don’t try to be.”

“All this because of your crush on Cha Hakyeon? Isn’t he like, 1/3 of the B1 Trio, together with you and Jung Taekwoon?”

W-What?

What?!

“WHAT,” his hands hit the table with violence, raising from his seat; Jaehwan almost jumps out of his chair, and he hears a shriek from somewhere in the cake shop; looking around, he sees two occupied tables, one with two girls, the other with one girl and two boys. All five are doing their best to stare inconspicuously, but all appear terrified to be on the same space as him, the girl with the boys covering her mouth, the probable owner of the shriek.

He remembers a time where people were blatantly terrified of him, a time which he didn’t have Taekwoon and specially Hakyeon with him.

So he slowly sits back, leaning his back against his chair in what he hopes is a non-threatening – within his standards – manner and picks his mug of coffee. Suddenly deciding that the dark liquid is much more interesting than Jaehwan or anyone there, Sanghyuk glares at it while trying to decide what to do next. He supposes he just gave himself up with the explosive reaction, and now the last person – excusing maybe Taekwoon and Hakyeon himself – he wanted to know about his feelings has a confirmation.

He could have handled everything a bit better.

Jaehwan seems to think the same. “That was so edgy, I feel like I’m in a bad soap opera.”

Sanghyuk isn’t in the mood to talk; he isn’t in the mood to be there anymore. “Your point?”

“I don’t want anything,” another sip, and a roll of eyes, “Just don’t want you to kill my friend or worse, break a few of his bones.”

“… Worse?”

“Wonshik is a pain in the ass when he scrapes his knees; I don’t want to know what would happen if he broke a bone.”

“I won’t do anything to your friend,” not that he doesn’t want to, but… “Hakyeon can do whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, and you’re so happy about it,” sarcasm drips down the words, and Sanghyuk wonders if it’s a good idea to beat the shit out of Jaehwan. The older boy is clearly more attentive than his looks suggest, and who knows what else he hides behind an open face and twinkling eyes. Sanghyuk has read Harry Potter, and he’s learned to not trust people with twinkling eyes, thank you very much Dumbledore. For all he knows, Jaehwan can be some secret MMA fighter and while Sanghyuk isn’t one to run from a fight, they kind of need to work together for the next months. “Sanghyuk-ah, what I tried to say before you went completely bonkers was that… I know how you feel. I’ve felt like this before and trust me, from hyung to dongsaeng, it sucks to keep pining. Why don’t you confess? Even if he rejects you, I can say that’s like lifting a weight from your shoulders.”

Sanghyuk closes his eyes for a moment; he won’t answer to that question.

Hakyeon is safety, is warmth and home and beauty and gentleness all into one. He’s the reason Sanghyuk is where he is today and if Sanghyuk one day detects feelings more than platonic coming his way, he won’t waste a minute in acting on them; in the meantime, with Hakyeon not considering him more than a protégé, a little brother, he will stay silent. He can’t bear thinking that one moment of lost control can cost him the single most important person to him. And how about Taekwoon? If things fell apart, who would he chose; his lifelong friend or the kid  that was almost imposed on him?

He can’t be alone, not again.

“My shoulders can handle the weight,” he simply says, drinking all his coffee in large gulps. It’s hot and bitter.

Jaehwan stares at him with something akin to pity reflecting in his eyes, and Sanghyuk hates him for making him admit so much.

Hates himself for feeling so much.

Chapter Text

When Hakyeon arrives home, a little past eight p.m. it’s to an empty house. He stops by the door and frowns, confused; it’s a Monday night, and Sanghyuk only has morning classes, Taekwoon doesn’t work. Why aren’t they home?

He closes and locks the door behind him, taking off his shoes afterwards. He sits on the ratty, uncomfortable couch and picks his phone, unlocking the screen – a picture of him with Taekwoon and Sanghyuk, the former using a bright pink hair clip to tie recently dyed hair in an apple like hairstyle while the latter tried to open a whole on the phone by glaring at it, aiming for intimidating and failing for his face was covered by an hydration mask – and calling Taekwoon first. Sanghyuk often gets lost on his projects, convincing just about anyone he wanted to be part of them, manipulating people to carry his stuff for him and so on; Taekwoon isn’t like that. He likes to have a schedule for everything, and is very diligent with texting.

When he doesn’t answer, Hakyeon tries Sanghyuk, with the same result. He attempts half a dozen times for each of them, without answer.

He starts to worry, chewing his bottom lip in a habit acquired from Taekwoon, tasting the remnants of his cherry chapstick; not one to do nothing, he goes to the kitchen to fix himself dinner. There’s Sunday’s leftovers on the fridge, and it’ll do. Putting it on the microwave, he waits. When it beeps, he picks his food and sits on the same place, mixing the contents in the bowl before starting to eat quietly.

Hakyeon startles a little when his phone dings chirpily; it’s a text from Wonshik.

srry couldn’t resist txtin u 2 say u made my day 2day

Oh, this boy is ridiculous. But cute, in a way.

Why’s that, Wontak?

hahaha ¬¬ dun act coy

You love it~~

yeah yeah w/e. u know what i’m talkin abt… thx 4 givin me another chance

Oh, Wonshik, so adorable Hakyeon smiles around a mouthful.

Ur welcome ;)

They continue to talk – as if they hadn’t spent a good couple of hours doing just that, during lunch and beginning of afternoon – even when Hakyeon’s food is ready. He eats absently, texting Wonshik and giggling every few minutes, inexplicably giddy with the attention bestowed upon him; not that he’s lonely or that there isn’t a dozen of people every block wanting him, but with the Literature student things feel a bit… different. It’s been a long time since Hakyeon has had a crush, and he can tell he’s starting to develop one towards the younger. Wonshik is handsome and earnest and funny and so damn strong Hakyeon wants to jump him so he can see for how long the other can hold him.

It isn’t a bad feeling, especially when he knows Wonshik is already interested on him. He will play difficult for a little longer and then… well, then they can do things. Who knows, maybe Hakyeon will finally get himself a boyfriend; one night stands and open relationships aren’t for him, at least, they stopped being after one more day waking up on a stranger’s bed alone. Being gay on South Korea is hard, and he’s grateful for Taekwoon’s clear lack of interest in any gender and Sanghyuk’s too menacing presence scaring away anyone interested. The youngest of their trio is exactly that, too young and too scarred – and too his, mind his supplies helpfully – to jump into a relationship with either a boy or a girl, not that Hakyeon can pinpoint which gender he seems to prefer. This way they won’t suffer on the hands of underserving people.

Taekwoon choses this moment to arrive, light blond hair messy and clothes disheveled. It isn’t a look he often sees on his lifelong friend.

“What happened to you Woonie? You’re looking like hell.”

A small glare is sent his way as Taekwoon takes off his shoes. “Ahn-seonsaeng-nim asked my help on a play.”

“Oooh, which one? Full House again?” Hakyeon rests his chin on his hands, smiling happily at the other. Honestly, he thinks Taekwoon would be an incredible musical actor, even better than he is as a compositor. A voice like his shouldn’t be wasted.

He sighs, shaking his head in negative. “Mata Hari.”

“Sounds foreign.”

A very small smile, and a nod.

“I bet you put those cocky actors on their places,” he wiggles his brows and is rewarded by the immediate warmth that melts all the icy façade Taekwoon wears daily, consciously or not. This, this is Hakyeon’s favorite Taekwoon expression: the soft curl of his lips, his shining eyes, his pink cheeks at being complimented. The only one that surpasses this is when he outright laughs, a rare, precious occurrence.

“I did,” Taekwoon agrees, never – too – shy of his talent. “What seonsaeng-nim didn’t tell me was that it was a real audition.”

With wide eyes, Hakyeon stands, walking towards him; he puts his hands on Taekwoon’s broad shoulders and squeezes lightly, reassuringly. Here comes the worry again, making itself presence in his gut. “A real audition, in like, you’re going to perform in a real theatre for a real paying audience?”

“Yes,” the younger leans on his touch, head dipping to hide in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. This close, he realizes the slight tremble of Taekwoon’s body, how his skin is a little too hot. Hakyeon suppresses a delighted squeal when it hits him: Taekwoonie is embarrassed!

Cute, cute, cute!

“Awn Woonie,” he coos at the younger, hugging his shoulders, bringing him closer to his body, “You said yourself you did well; besides, seonsaeng-nim would ever do something to harm you. The man wants you to change courses since your second year.”

“Still,” comes the muffled whine. Taekwoon’s hands on his waist tighten.

Going against all instincts that demand him to cuddle the crap out of him, Hakyeon gently puts some distance between their bodies, staring straight into Taekwoon’s dark, dark eyes, ignoring his flushed cheeks and eyes that look at everything but him.

“Stop, Taekwoon. Everything is gonna be alright, you’ll see. Calm down,” he bumps the other’s forehead, using his scolding voice. “If you really, really don’t want to be a part of the musical, talk to teacher tomorrow.”

Taekwoon finally lifts his eyes, and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, like he does every time he’s thinking hard or attempting to come up with words, before settling on a simple, “Okay.”

“Okay!” Hakyeon pinches his cheeks before kissing one of them, excited with the idea of seeing his lifelong friend on a stage, not to help a teacher, but as a real actor and singer. Taekwoon is so talented, so full of life when singing that despite his love for the songs he composes – sad, melancholy pieces and alluring, sexy melodies – Hakyeon would rather watch him on a stage. “Wait till Hyuk hears about it! He’ll be so excited!”

Taekwoon snorts. “Hm.”

“It’s true,” Hakyeon insists, before pausing. “Speaking of him, do you know where he is?”

Taekwoon blinks repeatedly, shaking his head. He looks at the clock above the kitchen’s sink, catching his bottom lip with his teeth again. There’s uneasiness on his eyes, and his shoulders are stiff underneath Hakyeon’s hands. Following his gaze, Hakyeon notices that is already a quarter to ten p.m. and that even for Sanghyuk, it’s too late. The boy has classes early in the morning, and he always complains when he doesn’t get as much sleep as he wants. For him to be taking so long…

Anxiety flips and turns the contents of his stomach, and he feels sick. Suddenly everything he ate is sour and his mouth is dry, his throat constricting around nothing as his eyes water. Here he is, home and doing nothing while Sanghyuk is out there, who knows how; maybe he is sprawled on some dingy alley after being mugged, maybe he fell and cracked his skull and is slowly bleeding out on an empty building. What if… What if…!

He doesn’t realize he’s breathing harshly before Taekwoon’s hands cup his neck, thumbs caressing his cheeks. There’s no enough air on his lungs, they burn. “Breathe with me Hakyeon, come on,” Taekwoon takes a deep breath, slow and exaggerated, signing for him to follow. “Count with me… One, two, three…”

Doing what he’s told, Hakyeon suck in air, letting it fill his lungs, releasing it through his mouth, counting to three mentally. Eventually his breathing regulates and the tears blurring his eyesight aren’t threatening to spill. A slight sense of embarrassment burns his neck and face – he’s grateful for having a darker skin than most; flushing is not exactly cool and is too giving of his true emotions when away from home – for having lost his composure so easily.

It’s just that… Sanghyuk is one of the most important people to him. Has been since the day they met years ago, on a night of early January, when the streets were white with snow and red from Sanghyuk’s blood. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if something indeed happened to the youngest of their trio; just the idea causes his chest to squeeze painfully and only Taekwoon cold hands make him keep control.

“Sanghyuk is fine,” he affirms even with his worried eyes.

Hakyeon nods weakly, leaning forward to grip the back of Taekwoon’s sweater, hooking his chin on the other’s broad shoulder. Taekwoon sighs loudly against his hair, one hand holding his head in place while the other travels to his back. His arms are good to provide the comfort he normally can’t deliver with his words, and Hakyeon is grateful for having such a good friend.

“When he’s home I’m going to neck-chop him so hard he’ll get on crick on it for a week,” he attempts to lighten the mood, smiling feebly at Taekwoon’s snort.

“If you can reach him…”

“That damn kid is unfairly tall. I’m the oldest here, Hyuk is barely out of his teens.”

And speaking of the Devil, Sanghyuk opens the door to their apartment, backpack hanging from one shoulder and platinum hair – the roots are showing, he needs to redo the dye – covering his eyes, appearing perfectly fine. He pauses for a moment at seeing them – on the middle of the living room, hugging – and the rolls his eyes, continuing with the taking off of his shoes.

Irritation substitutes the worry and panic; Taekwoon holds him more tightly, caging him in to avoid a violent confrontation. Hakyeon is a second away from slapping Sanghyuk’s face bright red and his expression must show his intent, since Sanghyuk stops again, ever present frown becoming deeper.

“Where. Were. You?” he asks pointedly, pushing at Taekwoon’s chest, whom silently lets him go, but maintains a hand on his arm.

Sanghyuk opens his mouth to say something, closing it a second later, scowling. Then, “Out.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” Hakyeon mocks, crossing his arms, aiming for his most disappointed tone. “What was keeping you for so long, without answering your phone?”

Their youngest actually looks sheepish, glancing down. “The battery died and I didn’t have my charger.”

Okay, that’s something he can accept. One out of many. “But where were you?”

“It’s past ten,” Taekwoon’s prying is surprising; he’s not one to say anything when the oldest and youngest are arguing. Huh. He was more worried than Hakyeon imagined.

Sanghyuk thinks the same as him; he loses some of his defensive posture, his brow not that furrowed. “I was with a… friend.”

This time Hakyeon frowns; Sanghyuk, with a friend? By his side, Taekwoon’s eyes have widened slightly.

Sanghyuk doesn’t have friends, and as bad as it sounds, the three are perfectly fine with it, because the situation is the same for the other two. Or course, Hakyeon has colleagues whom he chats with and juniors he helps, but not other friend. Taekwoon is the same on a much greater scale; he avoids crowds as much as humanly possible – he ignores the image that pops on his mind, of an annoyingly pretty boy flashing cute dimples and big almond eyes to steal Taekwoon away – and Hakyeon’s sure there’s people on his class who haven’t heard his voice yet, despite studying with him for the past five years. Sanghyuk has minions, people he bosses around campus when working on something new, not friends. In fact, he’s the one who says he doesn’t need anyone else.

“A… friend?”

“Yes,” the defensive posture is back, setting Sanghyuk’s shoulder into a tense line, “a friend.”

“Doing what?” he realizes he’s being too intrusive, but he can’t help it; this situation is completely foreign to him, and he hates not having control of things. Sanghyuk is his.

For one long instant the boy looks ready to snarl a response; then he deflates. “We were working on an assignment.”

It clicks. “That boy you said you loathed?” his voice is more high-pitched than he planned, breaking on the word, “You’re all buddy-buddy with him now?” the though is abhorrent for some reason, and anger boils in his blood for Sanghyuk’s unusual fickle perspective.

“He’s… not that bad, really,” Sanghyuk doesn’t meet his gaze, hands behind his body and bouncing on his heels like a child. “A little eccentric and a lot infuriating, but… not exactly bad.”

While the words are painful for Sanghyuk to say, judging his scrunched up nose and resigned turn of lips, it can’t compare to the inner turmoil Hakyeon is in the middle of.

Who is this boy? He isn’t his Hyukkie, can’t be him. His Hyukkie is cocky and frown-y and insolent; he’s possessive and silently gentle when needed to be. The boy in front of him is non-confrontational, deflating instead of snarking when faced with a question he didn’t want to answer and actually answering to it; he’s uncannily juvenile when his Sanghyuk likes to think he’s the most mature of the three, and worse of all, he’s sharing about his feelings on something apparently very personal.

He needs to meet this boy Sanghyuk is meeting; who can he be to have this effect on Sanghyuk? The only information he has is that whoever this boy is, he’s an Arts student Sanghyuk has to work with in a project for a teacher he hates. Not a week ago he was complaining, mad and moody about this boy who didn’t fear him, who apparently had said some things to Sanghyuk’s face that displeased him. What such drastic change in mentality could mean?

Maybe… No, that’s not possible.

But perhaps… No, no, no.

Sanghyuk can’t like someone! No!

He won’t lose him or Taekwoon!

The world seems suspended to him, his ears listening to the soft chatter of the two boys as if he’s submerged, sounds distorted and distant.

“Go to bed, it’s late.”

“Yeah, yeah hyung. I’ll take a shower first and eat something, I’m starving.”

“I’ll make something quick.”

“Really?! Yes! You’re the best, Taekwoon-hyung!

“…”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

Hakyeon startles when a hand lands on his shoulder; Taekwoon worries his bottom lip with his teeth yet his gaze is steady. He has seen his inner turmoil, and wishes to know if he’s alright, if there’s anything he can do to make things better.

When he speaks, his voice is weak. “I’m fine,” the gaze upon him hardens, “for real. Sanghyuk simply caught me by surprise– Doesn’t it worry you, Taekwoon? This sudden friendship with someone he hated not a week ago?”

“Sanghyuk’s an adult.”

“Sanghyuk’s a kid.”

“Not anymore.”

He opens his mouth to refute – memories of a gangly wild boy, alone and angry pass through his eyes – but the words get stuck on his throat. He sighs instead, rubbing his temple to smooth the wrinkles of anxiety. The lurch of his stomach remains, like the tightening of his chest at the mere idea of Sanghyuk withdrawing from him.

Distraction. What he needs is a distraction.

For the corner of his eyes, he sees the screen of his phone light up as it lies on the kitchen’s counter, together with his forgotten, half-eaten meal. He picks it up, noticing a new message.

From Wonshik; perfect. Exactly the distraction he needs.

.

.

Jaehwan stares at the drawing beneath him where sad blue eyes, full of longing and dejection stare back at him from a beautiful, feminine face.

Her eyes are a lot like Sanghyuk’s, and their conversation earlier that day brings him an unexpected amount of sorrow.

After Sanghyuk’s mini freak-out – seriously, that boy needs to chill – and his oh so wise advice, they’d spend the rest of the day talking, not only about their project and anime, but about everything Jaehwan could come up with; the younger was… different, in a way, less confrontational and more pensive, his brown eyes hazed with he could assume were Hakyeon-oriented thoughts. At one point – he pretended not to notice the place was empty when it happened – Sanghyuk asked for a chocolate milk drink and for a piece of ice cream cake, pouting childishly when the ice cream melted quicker than he could eat it. Despite not being exactly happier, he definitely looked lighter when he started to talk about all the great and not-so-great things about Hakyeon.

Jaehwan can probably describe in detail all the shades of Hakyeon’s hair when the sun hits it just right in the morning and his annoying habit of leaving his chapsticks uncapped and all over their house; how Hakyeon has the warmest, gentlest hands and the fact that he totally watches the shopping channels when he thinks no one’s looking.

The kid clearly has no one to talk about his massive, mother of all crushes.

The worst part: Jaehwan doesn’t think Sanghyuk even noticed all the stuff he told him, too engrossed on his thoughts and on feelings that for him, were unrequired; sad, sad eyes Jaehwan can’t erase from his mind staring beyond him.

This bet is making him more and more uncomfortable. When he and Sanghyuk were in bad terms, his uneasiness came from all the work he would have to put in order to somehow win Sanghyuk over but now that they have found a semblance of balance, both working together and interacting mostly peacefully, Jaehwan feels foul, as if not telling Sanghyuk and his friends about the bet is slowly making a layer of grime cover his skin, burying him under it.

Damn it all to hell!

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Something’s not right,” Wonshik says as he looks around.

It’s not, at least, not right in their normal arrangements; only he sits on the couch watching TV – the ten p.m. rerun of a popular old drama about a typically spoiled rich boy falling for a typically golden-hearted poor girl – with a can of soda on one hand and phone in another. Hongbin is by the kitchen, attempting to cook of all things and Jaehwan has a sheet of paper on his lap where he sits on the fluffy carpet by Wonshik’s feet, staring blankly at it.

Hongbin doesn’t cook and Jaehwan can never maintain a paper unblemished for more than five minutes.

They don’t give him much attention; this is normal.

“YAH!”

Hongbin jumps at the exclamation; whatever he was making spilling on the counter and on his clothes. “What the hell, Wonshik?!”

Jaehwan continues staring at the paper on his lap, not showing any sign of having heard him. Wonshik is starting to get troubled with his hyung’s demeanor; he’s never that apathetic, that motionless. In fact, one of Jaehwan’s charming points is the almost constant stream of words tumbling through his mouth and the energetic way he… lives, really.

“Er…” he falters on his words, still closely observing the one near his feet, “I said that there’s something not right here.”

Even from where he sits, he can hear Hongbin’s scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Punk. “How about I start with you! You’re cooking, punk, cooking, for fuck’s sake! You who don’t even know the difference between fried egg and boiled egg!” Wonshik throws his hands up in a signal of frustration, barely avoiding spilling his soda all over himself and the couch. Then, he turns to a clueless Jaehwan. “Jaehwan-hyung isn’t paying any fucking attention to us or to his drawing! Something’s not fucking right!”

“The only thing not right is how goddamn loud you’re being,” Hongbin glares in his direction, before turning his back to him. He picks a couple of paper towels and starts to clean the mess he made, clearly giving off vibes of aggravation and indifference to whatever else Wonshik has to say, and oh, how he has things to say! It looks like the seven months and fourteen days they have apart serves for nothing; Hongbin has no respect for him, for Jaehwan, for the world! He’s a devil walking around wearing an angel’s clothing, blinking his almond eyes and flashing his dimples sheepishly only to pounce when people lower their walls, turning into a sarcastic little shit.

Jaehwan is a lot more comprehensive, a lot sweeter to him; he still teases him incessantly, but it’s different.

“Ken? Oi, Ken-hyung?” he puts his soda down, leaning forward so he can shake the other’s shoulder lightly; no answer, and Jaehwan is as blank as the sheet of paper he holds. A shiver runs through Wonshik’s back. “Hyung? Jaehwan?”

Jaehwan blinks slowly, as if waking up from a long slumber; even from where he is, Wonshik can see how some of the light comes back to the large brown eyes.

“Yes, Wonshik-ah?”

He finally, finally answers, but it’s wrong still. Jaehwan’s voice carries an almost airy tone, in a way that shows Wonshik he is only paying him a superficial type of attention.

Now he has his attention – as shallow as it is – Wonshik suddenly forgets the reasons why he had to obtain it from both boys, and he opens and closes his mouth three or four times before Jaehwan tires of waiting and turns fully to stare at him; his eyebrows pinch as his nose scrunches up, apparently seeing something on Wonshik that gains enough of his interest to make his eyes focus.

It’s kinda embarrassing; to take the brunt of Jaehwan’s focus so directly, so closely. His whole face and neck warms up, and he hopes that his blush can be confounded as the TV’s lights shining on his face; Jaehwan is undoubtedly cute on normal occasions, and this moment is not an exception, except maybe that beyond cute, he looks a bit pretty too and the thought of an attractive Jaehwan is such a shock that he leaps backwards, taking his hand away from Jaehwan’s shoulder and hiding both under his butt. He blinks repeatedly to expulse the thought of his head, only succeeding in making black spots dance on his line of sight.

“… So? Are you gonna keep lookin’ at me like some kind of creep?” the teasing question is a blessing and a curse, for now he’ll have something else to think of, but at the same time, he doesn’t know what he’ll say.

So he blurts the first topic that pops on his mind.

“Having trouble with the university’s Director? Judging by your face, you thinking of giving up and anticipating my victory?”

Jaehwan’s face loses all of its expression, the blank look coming back. A squeeze on his ribcage makes Wonshik want to reach out for the older boy, maybe tell a bad joke to make him smile goofily or stroke his hair and make him spit a thousand of curses at him. He rubs his neck and looks away to contain those weird urges.

“What makes you so confident?” an impertinent voice sounds from the kitchen, and it’s Wonshik’s time to ignore it. “We barely even started and from what I hear, you seem to be the one eating out of Cha Hakyeon’s hand.”

A flush rises to his face. “Lies and slander! You’ll see, in no time at all he will be declaring his love for me to anyone who’ll hear!”

“Yeah yeah, and you don’t know his reputation? Charming, amicable, talented and heartbreaker Hakyeon; what most people get from him is a night, if they’re lucky.”

“Well, I’m seeing other sides of him,” like his spoiled, diva-like personality, and the same time, his funny and forgiving nature, “and as if you can say anything, stupid bean. Found the Ice Prince yet?”

The smile Hongbin directs at him is positively wicked, and Wonshik scowls automatically. “Not only found him, but made him look out for me,” he singsongs.

He arches an eyebrow and snickers. “In your dreams, right?”

“Wrong,” Hongbin rolls his eyes. “Don’t believe me, ask around.”

Huffing – to hide how this possible information is completely terrifying – Wonshik returns to Jaehwan, who stares at them with his mouth slightly open.

“Managed to get close to the Director without having to worry about him biting your head off? Proving to be harder than you can handle?”

“Sanghyuk’s fine, at least, he is what he looks like.”

“A delinquent who wears too much black?”

“Yes,” Jaehwan says, the word strangely acid. “Different from Hakyeon, who saunters around pretending to be someone he’s not.”

A flare of indignation blooms on his chest. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I know more than you can possibly imagine,” Jaehwan smirks. His face isn’t made for it, and it irritates Wonshik that it’s there.

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

Jaehwan opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Hongbin, who plops down by Wonshik’s side on the couch, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That both of you are way too invested in the people we have to seduce,” he flips his hair out of his forehead, “not care about. Wonshik, you seemed ready to defend whatever honor you think Hakyeon has and Jaehwan-hyung, what about the ‘bratty, overly pretentious kid’ you were talking about to me?”

“As if you can say anything,” Jaehwan stands up; he smiles like he is private to something they’re not. “I have friends in the B5, and while they’re not ones for gossip, no one can ask them to keep quiet when the university’s Ice Prince is snatched away by the vet’s pretty boy. Not very sneaky, eh?”

Actually, he is.

Wonshik doesn’t enjoy feeling out of the loop, but it’s pretty much what’s happening; he’s too damn confused by Jaehwan’s sudden incisiveness and his own mixed feelings about Hakyeon – yeah, he’s not a flower without thorns, but c’mon, he isn’t that bad; his bitchness is kinda charming, like dealing with a spiteful kitten or a Jaehwan when he’s in one of his trimonthly artist’s block – and now Hongbin’s more advanced than he ever thought. Personally, Wonshik had seen Jung Taekwoon up close twice, but never has heard his voice. For Hongbin to actually touch the Ice Prince, be sought after… He will have to up his game.

Hongbin blushes faintly, and tries to deviate, “Whatever. Now that I’m thinking about it, how are we going to know when we won? What will count? Some PDA? A public confession? A public break up?”

Jaehwan seems sick with the questions. “Never thought about it.”

Neither did Wonshik when he suggested the bet. “No idea.”

“Taekwoon won’t ever do any of these; he’s not found of attention.”

“Shouldn’t associate with the other two then,” Jaehwan mutters, biting his thumb nail in a nervous gesture; Wonshik always has to remind him to not do it and wishes he could do it now, but they are on an impasse and the atmosphere remains a little tense. “We cannot record them– We could get into trouble if word spreads out or the big guys receive a complaint.”

A light bulb lightens up on his head and Wonshik is impressed with his own cleverness. “It’ll be enough to just present them as our boyfriends to each other, kinda like a ‘meet my friends, significant other’. They, with the way they are, having no objections means they’re pretty whipped… and tcham! a win!”

Both Hongbin and Jaehwan do that annoying thing of looking him from head to toe and back; questioning his ability to have good ideas and simply function as a normal – slightly above average; his notes are the third highest in his class, and he’s a Literature student. He’s intelligent, okay? – human being. They should have learned their lesson a long time ago; Wonshik used to tutor Hongbin back in high school and he has helped Jaehwan a dozen of times in his essays. Despite that, they constantly treat him as stupid.

“Sounds good… surprisingly,” Hongbin admits.

With a nod, Jaehwan sighs. “‘suppose so.”

Wonshik can’t help his victorious smile or the smugness that colors his tone, “Prepare yourselves to meet Hakyeon very soon~”

Satisfied with the way he ended the discussion, Wonshik goes back to his TV. The drama has ended, and the news is on; with a grumble and a chop to Hongbin’s neck for sitting on the remote, he settles back on the couch. He picks his soda, flat after so long, and changes channel.

Jaehwan remains standing, his figure half blocking the screen. “Move.”

The oldest shakes his head, shoulders slumped; he sits back on the fluffy carpet, this time in between Hongbin’s legs. He seems to consider picking back his drawing stuff, but decides against it, settling more comfortably on the floor. He’s so petty, sitting away from Wonshik merely because they had the slightest of discussions; Wonshik wants to drop his soda on his head so he can see how petty he can be too. The sole reason he doesn’t follow with this is the memory of their last prank war and his lack of eyebrows. He knows to choose his battles.

Ten minutes or so pass before he hears Jaehwan whispering to Hongbin.

“Do you think is worth it? What we’re doing?”

And Hongbin’s answer:

“We have a lot on stake here, hyung, of course it’s worth it.”

Wonshik stops listening to them, deciding he has had enough of this subject for today.

Not before his chest constricts with a sentiment he cannot describe.

.

.

The temperature had changed again. The sun for yesterday is gone and dark grey clouds cover the sky by the time Taekwoon arrives in the B1’s theatre the next day.

Almost immediately, several faces turn to stare at him, and the familiar prickle of discomfort runs through his body, united with the regret of accepting a role on a real play, with payment and several weeks of presenting to all types of people, thousands of pairs of eyes fixed on his every move, every note to leave his mouth. Part of him wishes to go back in time, say no to the earnest eyes of his teacher and the excited countenance of the  real director of the real play in which he would be acting for real; another, growing part of him however, wants to participate, for he loves singing as much as he loves composing.

As he walks towards the stage, more and more heads turn – some actors sneer at him, others bitterly scan him from head to toe and one or other try to smile, awkwardly and fearful – in his direction; it’s being a circus animal over and over.

“Leo, you came! You don’t mind being called Leo, right? I can’t seem to pronounce your names correctly, tsk tsk,” the director exclaims as soon as he sees him, smile wide on his foreign face. He speaks English, and an interpreter follows him closely, keenly watching Taekwoon, to see if he has trouble understanding the man and waiting for an answer.

Taekwoon shakes his head, showing he doesn’t mind and that yes, he does understand. He can’t speak English very well, but understands almost all. “I don’t mind,” he adds, remembering that he can’t communicate with gestures and silence with this man.

After a quick translation, the director’s smile widens impossibly more. “Good! So, Leo, I was just saying to your teacher that this theater here is too small for our play, and that I already have everything set up to take everyone to a place where you can practice freely! Come, come I will present you to your colleagues so we can start! Professor Ahn said that he’ll talk to your other teachers and explain the situation, so don’t worry about missing class today!”

He nods, biting his bottom lip and warily searching for the translator, who skillfully summarizes the director’s words; Taekwoon follows the man to the stage, where two dozen people are reunited.

“Everybody! This is our third Armand, Jung Leo! Now, now, I want you all to be gentle and guide him through everything; it’s his first time acting on a play this big!”

A chorus of ‘yes sir’ echoes on the stage, and suddenly more eyes – so many, coming from all directions – are on him, measuring, calculating, trying to see how much he’s worth.

He does the polite thing; bows deeply and says, “Please take care of me.”

The crowd proceeds to present themselves to him, touching his shoulders and arms and hair; he bows to other students who were chosen together with him, and full-fledged actors with admirable careers. The attention is overwhelming this close.

Taekwoon does his best to be more open – Hakyeon said he has to try, they’re going to be his colleagues for many months, he can’t isolate himself completely –, but his heart hammers hard on his chest and his hands are sweaty; his face flushes bright red and his sight is covered in black dots, too much for him at once. His cool and composed façade is crumbling fast, and he can’t conjure enough force to put it back on; he doesn’t know how.

He doesn’t know how to deal with this, he doesn’t know what to say or how to act, he doesn’t–

“Hey guys, give the kid some space,” a hand lands on his shoulder, and turning his head a little to the side, he’s met with half a face; it’s unexpected. Normally he’s the tallest in the room, and even when not, the difference isn’t as staggering like now. “You okay?”

Taekwoon steps back, making the man release his shoulder; he swallows around a dry throat and glances up, finding two very dark eyes glancing back at him, in a mix of worry and amusement. He nods.

The man smiles, “Shin Sungrok,” he says.

Taekwoon bows. “Jung Taekwoon. I’ll be in your care, sumbaenim.”

.

.

Hongbin wants to eat whipped cream cake and maybe drink something sweet, all from the cake shop near the university, and he is kinda disappointed with the fact that he can’t.

Youngji walks by his side, her long hair up in a ponytail and the opportunity of seeing her slender neck is cut short with the scarf she wears, much to Hongbin’s contempt. She looks stunning as always, yet at the same time, there’s a different look on her face, drawn tight and distant, and Hongbin sneakily checks his clothes and hair on a shop’s window to guarantee he’s up to par with her.

They’re on a free period and had agreed to meet over the phone the day before, harmlessly flirting and chatting.

In fact, they had just talked about meeting when Taekwoon had–

Face burning, he remembers the soft notes Taekwoon sang, melodic and angelical, his sweet voice echoing in the room they were, separating them from the world. He seemed so satisfied, so content in singing, the expressionlessness of his face disappearing with each second that passed, easing into gentle eyes and the slight curve of his lips had captivated Hongbin more than he is comfortable in admitting.

To take his mind off of the older boy, Hongbin bumps Youngji lightly. “Distracted much, Youngji-ya? Careful not to worry too much; you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Uh? Oh,” she touches her forehead self-consciously, “it’s nothing.”

“Let’s do it like this then: we’ll find a place with nice cakes and you can talk about what’s bothering you. Promise I will do my best to help, if I can.”

Her cheeks blush adorably as she plays with the fringes of her scarf. “Okay.”  

He smiles – with lots of dimples, like Taekwoon seems to enj- – and offers his arm to her; she stares at it for a moment before presenting him a smile of her own, wrapping her hand around it. They make small-talk as they walk, commenting on the weather – as cliché as it sounds – and many assignments they procrastinated and don’t have enough time to make; eventually they find a mainstream coffee shop and decide to eat there.

They don’t have whipped cream cake, so Hongbin goes with Youngji’s flow and orders a piece of tiramisu.

Within seconds after their order is ready and they’re seated, Youngji blurts:

“I’m upset ‘cause they didn’t choose me!”

“Huh?”

She sighs. “Professor Ahn is friends with a famous foreign director and they were holding auditions for the Drama students, so we could try to get a role on a big musical he’s preparing. I was nervous, of course I was, that was a great opportunity and everyone wanted it, but I thought I had done well, my friends told me I did well…”

“… but?” Hongbin asks, sensing the word in her pause.

“But they didn’t! I know it means I’m not good enough and that I have to train harder, but I really really wanted a role! I’m happy for my other classmates, but it’s not fair that he got a role!”

“He who?”

“The Ice Prince!” she exclaims, and the tiramisu Hongbin’s eating almost misses his mouth with the shock he feels. His gawking is interpreted in another way, as she continues. “I told you about him some time ago, remember? Said that he was really private and didn’t acted cocky like the others in his trio; so, he’s not in the Drama course and while his singing voice is otherworldly, how about the acting, uh?”

Hongbin gulps and tries not to sound too interested in the boy. “What he was doing there?”

“Professor Ahn likes him,” seeing his widened eyes, Youngji quickly adds, “not in that way! He’s always asking the Prince to show us riffs and high notes and how not to get lost with the progression and probably called him there to try. It’s ridiculous how easy he got a role, a main one!”

She drops her head on the table, grumbling about life’s injustices and that despite her bitterness, to hear Taekwoon singing was a privilege, as always.

Youngji’s adorable, and after a moment of thought, Hongbin reaches out for her hand, squeezing it in solidarity. He ignores the ache in his chest at the idea of witnessing Taekwoon on a stage, pretty and ethereal and focuses in giving her his silent support.

Sweet brown eyes meet his in between her bangs and the only thing Hongbin can think of is Taekwoon’s orbs, darker, ice melting into hot gentleness.

Chapter Text

“You look like shit,” Sanghyuk states, gyrating a pencil with his fingers.

Jaehwan looks up, not really interested in dealing with the boy right now. All he can think of is Wonshik’s stupidly excited face as he suggested a way to verify the winner of this cursed bet; his goofy smile and emoji-like eyes, crinkled at the sides and so absolutely innocent; not the face of someone who was plotting someone’s heartbreak.

Oh, he can already imagine; Sanghyuk angry, betrayed eyes and his clenched fists, all the constant creases of his face deep as valleys. As little time as Jaehwan has spent with him, there’s no doubt the social problems he struggles with, from his over aggressiveness towards everyone to his difficulty in communicating clearly, and his animosity to the world, immediately imagining the worst of all around him. He is arrogant, but childish and out of place on his developing body, still searching for his identity. If he progressed with this bet, Jaehwan would be proving Sanghyuk right and who knows what kinds of issues the boy would carry with him. He’s sure that the other two-thirds of the trio are just as problematic as their Director, and he knows how deadly Wonshik’s charm is, how captivating Hongbin can be; they are willing to ruin people who never did anything to them.

How could Wonshik not see this? Was he really that bored with his life? Had Jaehwan misjudged both so wrongly? 

His Wonshik is shy, and kind. He’s very passionate about his books and writing, and can talk for hours about either of them, hands wildly gesticulating by his side. He doesn’t watch horror movies at night – or day, or any time – because he is a scaredy-cat, and also is quite the perv, as some of his more… salacious poems indicate – his search history too. What? Jaehwan gets bored too. He’s a charming dork, and his smile can make Jaehwan’s bad days better. Hongbin too; he’s sassy and awkward, but never rude. Neither is the type to go out of their ways to hurt others and honestly, neither is – or at least, was – Jaehwan. 

Two weeks ago, he would have never said they were capable of going through this bet without showing a single smudge of remorse. In fact, Wonshik seems to be having fun, while Hongbin is doing better than he could ever have thought considering how awkward he is when dealing with someone he’s interested in.

The Director’s eyes are still on him, surprisingly patient for his answer.

“I take offense in that,” he says as a distraction, words jumbled by the hand on his cheek, used to support his head. “I clearly am the cutest.”

Sanghyuk rolls his eyes, but a tiny thing – Jaehwan doesn’t dare call it smile, not yet – curves his mouth at the corners. “Hate to break it you, but dark circles stopped being cute in the 2000’s.”

“Weren’t you born in the 00’s?”

Predictably, Sanghyuk’s expression closes off with outrage, hating to be reminded he’s so much younger than him. “No, I wasn’t,” he grits out through his teeth.

“Awn, did I hurt your big, fragile ego?” he feels a genuine smile stretch his lips, appealed by the sight before him; who could imagine the Director was so easy to read once he lowered one of his walls? Sanghyuk has loads of hidden potential to be cute like Jaehwan – never more, no one can be cuter than him, okay? Damned his feelings of guilt, he wouldn’t commit such blasphemy upon himself – inside his giant body, all currently wasted because the boy seemed incapable of relax the muscles of his brows and act less grouchy.

“That’s more like you.”

This time, Sanghyuk actually smiles a little, a cocky thing that indicates victory.

Jaehwan gapes at the boy, stunned into speechlessness, hand falling limply by his side.

Said boy doesn’t seem impressed, but in his eyes a different kind of emotion appears: genuine enjoyment. “What? I can’t have my illustrator acting like his puppy died,” he stops at that, looking at Jaehwan with panic. “It didn’t, right?”

Oh, he’s so precious.

Laughter bursts through his mouth, slightly hysterical as guilt coils tightly on his insides, nauseating and oppressive. Underneath the table he twists his hands together, rubbing them until they’re red and his knuckles white, a habit he thought he had abandoned long ago. It’s disconcerting, to trick Sanghyuk like that when the boy, in his own weird way, cares about his feelings. 

Is it worth it? Manipulate someone’s heart for his own sake? For a bunch of things he wants, but does not need? 

He’s stopped laughing by now, and he only notices he’s staring into the void the moment Sanghyuk snaps his fingers in front of his face. “HEY!”

“Huh?”

“Let’s leave this meeting for another day,” Sanghyuk says as he gathers his things, tucking his pencil behind his ear. “I don’t know what the hell happened, but you’re clearly in a mood and not interested in telling why,” he huffs.

Unexpectedly, shame burns his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Sanghyuk says, face hard but voice slightly softer. “I’ll send you a text later; you better answer.”

He leaves after that, Jaehwan observing his tall, dark silhouette not mingling with others, but opening space as he walks, no one having the courage to stand too close.

A sigh escapes his lips, and he buries his head on his arms, counting to ten.

Jaehwan snaps his eyes opens, and scrambles away from the table. Sanghyuk’s still close, walking slowly and deliberately, students tripping out of his way in fear; Jaehwan feels the familiar itch in his fingers, to pick up a pencil, even better, charcoal, and draw this: Sanghyuk’s broad back, covered in black like a Death God, close, yet untouchable. 

“HEY, HYUK-AH! WAIT FOR ME!”

He doesn’t deny the satisfaction of seeing shocked stares he receives from the divided crowd when Sanghyuk actually stops and turns his head slightly in his direction, that same cocky smirk on his lips.

.
.

1, 2, 3, 4. 5, 6, 7, 8.

1, 2, 3, 4. 5, 6, 7, 8.

“Posture, Hakyeon! You’re putting all your weight on your knees! Do it again!”

He grumbles in agreement, music stopping as he stops his routine. Sweat drops from his bangs and jaw, falling on the floor in perfect little circles; someone he doesn’t bother to look at offers him his water bottle, and he chugs half of it without thought. The cool water helps cooling down his frustration at himself for making a mistake, and distracts him from the pain on his feet and legs. He stopped feeling his arms a long time ago, the drapes of fabric around them wrinkled by his grip.

His eyes find the teacher’s, blue and steely and he automatically straightens. Despite being one who preferred to charm his way into most people’s heart with a smile and fake cheer, teachers included, Hakyeon didn’t dare anything false with the woman. Her fiery red hair mirrored her personality, and the retired Ukrainian Prima-Donna saw through everything, his lies included.

“I’m sure you already know, and yet I feel the need to emphasize it; that was disgraceful, Hakyeon. Are you injured?”

“No, Mrs. Pribula.”

“Someone died in your family?”

“No, Mrs. Pribula.”

“Are you an amateur?”

Shame threatens to obstruct his throat, and it’s with great difficulty his voice does not waver. “No, Mrs. Pribula.”

Her unexpressive face twitches minutely, and years of coexisting with Taekwoon have taught Hakyeon that so little can mean too much, “Then why are you acting like one?”

Snickers echo on the classroom, and he breathes slowly through his nose, blocking it. He rarely commits mistakes, especially in front of such kind of people, who thrive in seeing others fail. So he holds his head high, not turning to see who is mocking him, showing just how much he cares about their inferiority. Call him conceited all you want, but never accuse him of acting like that.

Mrs. Pribula seems to think the same as him, since one look she throws above his shoulder is enough to silence the room. “What are you still doing here? Class dismissed.”

No one dares to make a noise as the classroom empties, Hakyeon never once looking back despite feeling the pressure on his nape from too many eyes fixed on it.

For a second, he blames his shame on that goddamn brat Sanghyuk, for always making him feel out of his depth, for closing his hand around his heart and for monopolizing his thoughts. His recent rebellious attitude is costing Hakyeon his sanity. There’s not a person in the world beyond Sanghyuk that can do this to him, not even Taekwoon, not Wonshik and much less all those people he’s obligated to deal with on a daily basis.

He can’t say this to Mrs. Pribula. This is a problem he’ll have to keep for himself.

So as soon as the door closes, he speaks.

“I have no tolerable excuses to give you, Mrs. Pribula,” he bows slightly, “but I can promise I’ll give my everything next time.”

Her heels click on the floorboards; a finger gently, yet commanding, lifts his head. “You never give me excuses Hakyeon, and that’s what I like about you,” she says with a cold smile. “That doesn’t mean I will allow anymore of this.”

Resisting the urge to gulp, Hakyeon nods, trying not to look directly into the two pools of frozen water she calls eyes; they feel aggressive, like they’re scavenging his soul in search of weakness, ready to tear him down at the minimal sight of them.

“Good. Now go.”

He tries – as smoothly as he can – to gather his things fast and without seeming intimidated. 

“Oh, and Hakyeon?”

“... Yes?”

“I’ll be waiting for you later.”

Nodding, he leaves. Breathing deeply for a short moment, he walks away from the building, knowing Sanghyuk doesn’t have any classes.

They need to resolve their problems now.

Two girls pass by him, smiling and waving and Hakyeon quickly plasters a smile on his face, waving back. Sighing, he stands straighter and texts Sanghyuk, starting to walk towards the places the boy is most likely to be at a time. Having lunch at one of the trailers near the B3 or filming something in the gardens of the B5, ordering someone around.

A traitorous part of his brain reminds him of a new figure, a faceless, nameless being that put his hands on his Sanghyuk. Someone who easily broke down several of his barriers, someone he considered enough to mention, to call a friend. Hakyeon doesn’t remember a time which Hyuk had friends, simply because such time never existed.

He needs to know who this is. The person trying to corrupt Sanghyuk.

His phone beeps with an incoming message, and he eagerly looks it up, hoping to hear an answer from Sanghyuk; he clicks his tongue in displeasure when he sees the message is from Wonshik, asking him out for a late lunch. He rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to answer, too focused in his mission to pay attention to his new shiny toy. Later he’ll give him an excuse and play difficult some more, just to see if Wonshik is really as interested as he claims to be; he’s been refreshingly persistent, Hakyeon thinks fondly.

But since he’s using his phone anyway, he sends one last message to Sanghyuk. Five minutes and no answer later, Hakyeon caves and calls Sanghyuk.

He’s still walking as he waits, checking the B3 food trailers, and politely greeting everyone who waves at him or smiles in his direction. 

“Owiiiiiiiee! Spicy, too spicy!” he hears an annoying squealing voice above the thuds of his phone.

“Oie, Ken, stop shrieking like a girl.”

Hakyeon stops on his track.

“Aie, Hyuk-ah! You didn’t tell me this kimchi was made in hell!”

“Maybe I wanted you to choke to death.”

Turning slowly, convincing his mind he’s hearing things, Hakyeon finds Sanghyuk. He and a boy he has never seen before – wearing an honest to God purple with yellow dots sweater and white ripped jeans – sat at one lone table on Sanghyuk’s favorite food trailer, no one daring to get close to him, as usual. The boy has floppy brown hair, cheeks full of food and big features all around. He’s cute.

His phone disconnects and Hakyeon can’t resist the urge to try once more, even if he’s just a few meters away from Sanghyuk. Something dark coils in the pit of his stomach, not nausea, but a mix of anger, jealousy, and possessiveness as Sanghyuk’s phone chirps with the incoming call. He sees as Sanghyuk picks his phone, watches as he mutes it and tucks it back into his pocket. 

His feet move on its own, leading him away from the place before he can do anything he’ll regret later. Like ruin his hard-earned image of loveliest on campus by kicking whoever is this… intruder far away from Sanghyuk, maybe slapping the younger’s face just to teach him a lesson while he’s at it. His racing heart turns his breathing shallow and small spots of black invade his face, like the miasma dominating his body every second he spends thinking about the scene he has just witnessed, this dirty little secret of Sanghyuk’s. From afar the relaxed state of his shoulders, how the forever creases marring his forehead looked softer and the teasing. It had taken Hakyeon months to make Sanghyuk – too skinny, too jaded, too angry with the world – crack a smile, accept that no, he didn’t want anything from him; he can’t, simply can’t tolerate anyone else doing the same. Call him egoistic, dissimulated, manipulating, he doesn’t fucking care.

Each breath he takes burns; in rage, in jealousy, in barely suppressed sadness.

If Taekwoon were free, he would go do him, lay his head on his broad shoulder and let himself be enveloped in the soft wool of his sweater and the smell of baked goods and their brand of detergent. Taekwoon would hum something under his breath and that would have been enough to soothe him temporarily, decide what to do with Sanhyuk. 

But Hakyeon has no one right now.

Like he did earlier, he straightens himself and puts a welcoming smile on his face. Turns on his heels and walks back from where he came from. 

Ms. Pribula will be satisfied in seeing him early.

.
.

Taekwoon watches blankly at the empty table in front of him, panting harshly and sweat stinging his eyes as it falls copiously from the hair plastered on his forehead.

He can hear someone snickering near him, and closes his eyes momentarily, pushing his hair back. He wishes people wouldn’t do this, but he knows some of them feel wronged with his casting as a main character; yet, to act so pettily…

“Here, take mine,” he opens his eyes to see a bottle of water being offered to him, Shin Sungrok smiling down at him. “I’ll let some assistant know that there’s not enough water for everyone.”

Taekwoon doesn’t bother to tell him there is enough water, accepting the bottle with two hands and rapidly gulping down all of its content. He breathes in through his nose and breathes out heavily through his mouth. His face burns hotly as Shin Sungrok’s unwavering gaze shines with amusement, a giggle echoing loudly to his ears, no sign of mockery. He’s not as pretty as Hongbin, yet he has a magnetic energy that attracts people, puts them on ease on his presence. Reminds him that he’s the younger one between the two of them.

Making small talk was never his forte – you don’t say, a mental Sanghyuk scoffs – so he remains silent, hoping that the rest of his body language is enough for Shin Sungrok to understand how grateful he is. 

Apparently it is, as his smile grows. A big hand descends upon his head, lightly messing his bangs. 

“Eeek!” An embarrassing noise escapes his mouth and his face immediately heats up even more; he covers his mouth with one hand and does his best to scan the room to guarantee no one saw or heard him. Shin Sungrok’s hand feels weird in his sweaty hair, not exactly unpleasant, but weird. Makes him remember his childhood and the way his dad would sometimes do the same. A gesture of comfort, if nothing else.

“You’re cute Taekwoon-ah,” Shin Sungrok says, “a bit quiet, but it’s okay, everyone’s different.”

One blink. Two. 

Had he heard him wrong? 

Very few people in his entire life have accepted his long silences so readily. Words never came easily for him, always coming out wrong or jumbled; as a child, Taekwoon learned that the teasing he suffered when quiet was better than the humiliation of stuttering his phrases. Hakyeon had been the first one to take a shine on him when both were young and Sanghyuk himself was a boy of few words most of the time. His mother was just as quiet as him, and his father was a man who preferred actions to words, but had no problem chattering away with his friends. His sisters were all something in between his mother and father, Taekwoon being the sole one to live most of his life living through gestures and meaningful looks, the scrutiny of everyone around him never diminishing his resolve.

For someone that had just met him, to accept this so readily is… unusual.

“… Thank you,” he whispers, looking up at Shin Sungrok from underneath his lashes.

“Just being honest. Now,” he leans towards him, his breathing hitting Taekwoon’s cheek, the hair on his nape standing out, “don’t be bothered by these people. You have potential to become bigger than all of them, and they’re afraid you’ll figure this out.”

Taekwoon doesn’t exactly know how to take his jaw of the floor, for he is sure it fell at Shin Sungrok’s words. The man in front of him never stopped smiling, his posture relaxed and nonchalant, as if he wasn’t warning him to be careful with basically everyone around them – they keep looking, why are they still looking?

Twisting the empty water bottle on his hands, he nods minutely, catching his bottom lip with his teeth.

By the corner of his eyes, he sees Shin Sungrok smiling wider, and like in the beginning, a hand ruffles his hair. “Good dongsaeng.”

For some reason, he almost smiles.

.
.

They’re holding hands as they walk; hers is much smaller than his, soft and warm compared with his own callused one. Her hair flows with the wind and her eyes sparkle as they discuss what they should go now.

“Not that I don’t wanna see cute puppies,” Hongbin uses his free hand to rub his neck sheepishly, “but I already see too many of them like, four out five days.”

Youngji mock glares at him, “Puppies are never enough.”

“Say this after they’ve chewed your phone charger and peed on your shoes.”

She scrunches her nose cutely. “Ew. They did this to you?”

“Like, a few dozens of times?” Hongbin laughs at her horrified face. “They’re little fluffy hellions. The kitties though, they are much more obedient once they stop jumping around.”

“I’m not a fan of cats,” Youngji’s mouth curls in distaste, “they are egoistic and diabolical.”

Hongbin holds down the instinctual scolding he tends to do when faced with an ignorant, prejudiced and inaccurate view of cats from people who obviously never stood with one of them longer than a few minutes. Cats are independent, of course, and it can be a little hard to gain their favor; that doesn’t mean someone should immediately write them off as egoistic and diabolical. 

For some reason, a scene passes through his mind: Taekwoon sitting on the floor, happily humming a soft tune, arms cradling a sleeping Caramel, an excited Sangsan doing its best to chew his hair off.

“Don’t say that,” he says instead, “they’re very cute too.”

“I don’t think so,” she crosses her arms, appearing to be annoyed at his insistence. “My aunt had a devil cat who never liked anyone! It would scratch anyone who tried, including me!”

Hongbin smiles with forced cheer. “My sister rejected every guy who confessed to her during high school, that doesn’t mean she’s a frigid bitch, right?”

“Of course not!”

“And it doesn’t mean that every girl who rejects a guy is a frigid bitch?”

“No, Hongbin-oppa, that doesn’t even make any sense!” Youngji exclaims, shaking his jacket in indignation. “How can you say something like that?!”

“It’s the same, silly,” he shrugs, smiling in a way he knows will emphasize his dimples and his innocent look. “Don’t judge an action without understanding the reason behind it; and do not condone an entire species just because you had a bad experience once.”

Youngji pouts, turning her body slightly away from him. “You’re just like Jackson, saying things that don’t make sense.”

“Say that again?”

“Nothing!” even turned from him, Hongbin can see the way her ear and cheek redden at being caught muttering; her skin is clear and smooth, a lot like Taekwoon’s, but her blush doesn’t quite makes him feel like he accomplished something important, nor doesn’t make her face that much more beautiful. “There a cinema three blocks from here… Do you want to go?”

Hongbin blinks confusedly for a second; he got lost in his head remembering the Ice Prince. “Sure, any suggestions?”

.
.

Taekwoon arrives at home to find Hakyeon on the couch, surrounded by a thick blanket, blatantly watching the shopping channel – something he denies watching fervently but obviously adores – and nibbling on a plate of rice cakes, which Taekwoon knows it’s strictly forbidden by his teachers.

Immediately his body tenses in preparation for bad news. While he does hide his more sarcastic, frivolous being from the world, Hakyeon is indeed an unredeemable optimist, and he never does this unless a bad, bad thing has happened.

“Hakyeonie..?” he mutters, taking off his shoes and putting his bag on a corner.

Hakyeon startles, turning to look at him guiltily, grains of rice stuck on his face. “T-Taekwoonie! How are you?”

Simply sighing, Taekwoon plops himself by Hakyeon’s side on the couch, raising a hand to softly push the hair of the other’s forehead. “How are you?” he emphasizes the last word, pining Hakyeon his eyes.

“Geez Taekwoonie, I’m super-duper great!”

“Hakyeon…”

“You know I hate you call me using this reproachful tone! I told you I am fine so why you don’t believe me? What reason in the world could I have to be any less than fine? Everyone is green with envy at my part on the class’ presentation for the end of semester, my new boy toy is wrapped around my little finger and me and Sanghyuk are well a–” 

"Hakyeon.”

“…gain and no one is keeping secrets from anyone and, and–“

“Hakyeon.” The moment the Hakyeon’s face starts to break with incoming panic he shuts him up, grabbing his wrists firmly and holding him in place as the older refuses to look at him and tries to wriggle away from the couch. “Hakyeon, snap out of it.”

“Let me go, Taekwoon,” his voice trembles. “Please… I don’t want to talk about it.”

It takes him a space of one deep breath to loosen his hold on Hakyeon’s wrists, his own shoulders tensing at the distress that thickens the room’s air. Before Hakyeon can leave though, he wraps an arm around his waist, pushing him until Hakyeon goes careening into his chest, a surprised ‘oof’ being stuffed on his chest. While he’s not one for many words, the man pressed against him needs more than comfort through touch.

“It’s okay to cry, Hakyeon. No one will know about it but me, I won’t tell anyone,” Taekwoon says. His sweater is abused as Hakyeon clenches his hand on it, fingers digging harshly on the soft fabric; he lets him do it, more worried with his lifelong friend’s state of mind. It’s the second meltdown related to Sanghyuk in too little time, and yes, Hakyeon is overly protective and possessive, but this has to end. “I won’t tell Sanghyuk.”

A part of him, the ugly part he tries to keep under wraps wants for the rift between his friends to continue. For Hakyeon to cling to him like this, reminiscent of a time before Sanghyuk in which they only had the other. For Sanghyuk to be the same kid he was back in the beginning, fearful of being without the two of them, following him around simply because he couldn’t bear to be alone. At those times he felt needed, like Hakyeon and Sanghyuk wouldn’t be able to live without him, not even if they had each other. Now all can see is Hakyeon despondently cry for Sanghyuk, love and care for him passionately, so much more than he does Taekwoon. Hongbin’s words echo in his head – are they together? AretheytogetheraretheyaretogetherwithouthimwithouthimhesalonealoneALONE – like a taut, pointing at him just how stupid he is to believe they all stand on the same ground, his naivety when seeing their relationship. 

Sanghyuk’s lingering touches, Hakyeon’s possessiveness, the way they simply fit together, soft skin and lithe curves fitting into lean muscle and ridged scars.

Sanghyuk has this way of looking at Hakyeon as if he’s the one who chose each star in the sky and placed it in there, as if the moon rotates for him and each flower blooms inspired by his beauty. Taekwoon may be mostly silent, which for some reason people tend to confuse with unawareness; he’s not stupid, it’s difficult to not see the tension that permeates his best-friends’ relationship.

He only wishes that in the aftermath of whatever happens in between the two of them, they can remember him and what he hopes he means to them.

.
.

The eight unanswered SNS’ mock at him, and he frowns.

Everything was doing so well, Hakyeon had forgiven him; they ate together and had some serious sexual tension going on the previous day, casual touches lingering on bare skin and eyes often straying to lips. 

Hakyeon really had very inviting lips, glossy with the lip-balm-thing he applied every few minutes, which didn’t help Wonshik focus on whatever was going on around him – had almost gotten familiar with a tree bark while distracted, and thank fuck the dancer had thought it cute, considering his giggles – when he smacked them together. It smelt faintly of strawberry; it took a lot of Wonshik to stop from kissing him right there, in front of everybody.

To go from that to ignored – once again – sours his mood.

He can admit that… Hakyeon is fascinating, okay? Wonshik kind of likes how feisty he is and he wears arrogance well; he knows he’s good, he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. The fact that he seems to forget his fake, polite persona near him is an unexpected bonus and while complicating his life by not being cute and easy-going, Wonshik prefers things like this. 

Hakyeon is also beautiful; Wonshik has not been this trilled in a long time.

Now, there’s something bothering him. A very, very, very small part of him screams at him that this is not right, that this is not him and that playing with someone else’s feelings for a bet is ridiculous and gross. He wonders what his younger sister would think of him if she discovered what he is doing; shudders just to imagine her normally adoring eyes turning cold with loathing.

“Honey, I’m home~”

An unconscious smile blooms on his face as Jaehwan’s happy voice echoes through the apartment; for a moment, he forgets.

Chapter Text

“Honey, I’m home~” Jaehwan singsongs as he enters the apartment, taking off his shoes and leaving his bag on the floor. Only Wonshik is home, since his shoes are on the foyer. Hongbin is out for his shoes are not and he’s a neat freak incapable of leaving a mess; he’s been gone a lot these past days. It has come as a surprise that the youngest of their group is so invested in this bet.

No, enough thinking about this bet. His skin is stretched too tight and his mind is a whirlwind of betbetheartbreakbetit’snotworthitbetheshouldbetstop. It’s affecting him beyond limits, like he’ll explode at any minute.

Obviously suggesting the end of it won’t work; they will think he’s giving up because Sanghyuk the Director is too much to him, not because he’s starting to form a genuine bond with the boy and does not agree with what they’re doing anymore – he is a bad, bad person, who didn’t care about hurting someone until he started to care for them.

“Wonshikkie, where are you?!”

Wonshik swerves from his bedroom on his ergonomic chair – which Jaehwan steals when he’s on a binge – and shoots him a smile. “Here, sweetie~.” His voice sounds strained, though.

“What are you doing home so early? Weren’t you like, having lunch almost every day with alluring Hakyeon?” Jaehwan doesn’t need to be a genius to know something went wrong with precious, please I’m so beautiful and false Hakyeon.

No one in the B1 can say Hakyeon has ever done something to them directly, not with the constant façade of gentleness and helpfulness he kept on most of the time. Jaehwan though, he knows who the beautiful dancer truly is, with how he practically reeks of condescension, the shine in his eyes putting everyone around him on a position below him. Each and every smile he gave away so carelessly was fake, so fucking fake he wondered why no one could see it, Wonshik included. Wonshik, who is unexpectedly insightful and attentive.

Wonshik isn’t one to be fooled by such acts. Wonshik shouldn’t be falling for it; even worse, shouldn’t be seeing parts of the real Hakyeon and liking it.

“’Was supposed to, before he stood me up.”

“Poor baby Wonshikkie.”

He tries not to sound so satisfied by the situation and if Wonshik’s face is anything to say, he fails pretty badly at it.

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Wonshik complains, crossing his arms, “you still got no chance of winning, bitch.”

Oh yes, the fucking bet. For a second he had forgotten about it.

“Watch me, bitch.”

.

.

Like he had thought, Jaehwan always makes things better.

Just this small exchange is enough to take his head off the frustration of having waited for forty minutes for Hakyeon to answer his goddamn phone, instead simply firing up his competitive spirit, make him want to try harder.

Honestly, he expected this bet to have progressed more than it has. When he took Hakyeon’s name two or something weeks ago, he thought as an already won situation; the friendly dancer, compared to the cocky director and the unreachable composer? Easiest thing ever; up his game, take him on a few dates, make out a little, have Hakyeon do the whole confession thing and voilà!, bet won.

He didn’t expect the dancer to play so hard to get, or for Jaehwan and Hongbin to manage the unmanageable, Hongbin especially; hell, he had never even seen the Ice Prince from close, never mind heard his so famed voice. How the hell he had made the dude search for him in the B5 – he asked around like Hongbin told him to do and shit, was he surprised – defied the laws of the universe.

“Since you’re doing oh so well with the brat, leave us losers to plan another strategy.”

A shadow crosses over Jaehwan’s face for a second, it comes and goes, yet he sees it. “Humpf, good luck with that guy, I guess.”

“Who needs luck when I have these,” he flexes his arms, “and this?” he touches his face, “Hakyeon will be begging for a piece of this,” and finally, he points to himself.

He fights a blush when Jaehwan’s eyes scan the whole expanse of his body, taking his sweet time on his arms, shirt-covered abs and… uhum... crotch.

Opening his mouth to hide the way he suddenly feels hot all over, Wonshik is taken aback when Jaehwan seems to notice what he is doing and turns to the right, entering his room and shutting the door with a little too much force.

This is something he does not understand; his hyung is someone who can lift any of his bad moods and brighten any room. He’s a bit hard to truly open up and tends to hide his bad moods from people around him, yet…

Wonshik thought they had gotten over that years ago. He and Hongbin moved to their apartment in their sophomore year, and were welcomed by a bowl-haired, glasses wearing Jaehwan who wore a shark onesie and neon pink socks. The oldest of the three had showed them the place and told them about the rules: no eating what’s not yours – something Jaehwan still didn’t follow – no mess on the common area – another thing Jaehwan didn’t oblige – and no bringing sex friends, girl or boyfriends or one night stands during the weekdays. Back then, Wonshik had been charmed by Jaehwan’s bright smile, waving hands and maybe, just maybe, had tried to initiate something… more, with the other boy.

It took Jaehwan an hour to notice his intentions, and another four to corner him against a wall and threaten to destroy his life beyond repairing; while Wonshik was sure he could handle him, the look on Jaehwan’s eyes convinced him to stop. It was months before they could be called roommates – Jaehwan always played with him and they went out as a group to drink after tests, yet Wonshik wouldn’t be able to say anything about Jaehwan past his happy-go-lucky persona and weird taste in clothing. They only became friends after Jaehwan thrashed his whole room after failing an important subject and Wonshik spent three days at his door with food and words of comfort. At that point in life, Wonshik had done his best to be seen as someone with no second intentions beyond the lines of friendship.

Slowly, Jaehwan began to open up to him. He spent hours by his side using that brilliantly creative mind of his to help him with his essays and took care of him when he got a nasty case of flu. He taught him how to act cute – there’s no such a thing as not having cute features, Ravi-yah – and gods, taught him how to hold his liquor.

This feeling of something amiss bothers him. Jaehwan is bothering him with his way of acting!

Grumbling in frustration, Wonshik heads to his own room. He has readings to do.

.

.

He thought the loud bang of the door would satisfy him, but it only makes him feel bad for suddenly flipping his shit on Wonshik.

He needs to put himself straight; doesn’t matter if he’s having an inner debate with himself. Wonshik has nothing to do… No, he has everything to do with all the shit that’s happening.

Argh, Wonshik is so goddamn infuriating. Why did he have to start this bet? Why had he agreed to it?

He’s never drinking again, even though he had already broken this promise by getting drunk few days after they made the bet. Of course he didn’t expect to, like, truthfully get involved with Sanghyuk. It’s not every day one gets to talk with the fearsome – ah! What a load of bullshit, the boy is like a giant chihuahua, a lot of bark and some bite – Director without the thought of all the nasty rumors that come with him. Even if they were true, who doesn’t have a skeleton or two in their closet? Jaehwan certainly has his fair share of them.

Everything makes him remember the past; the intrigues of love, the wickedness of people… Oh, those were the turbulent times of his life.

He glances at his end table, where a mirror lies disdainfully; his contorted expression stares back at him.

“This, Jaehwan, is the past catching up on you.”

.

.

A week passes and Hongbin is ready to throw the towel and accept his loss.

One entire week and no sign of Taekwoon, none, nada.

A week ago Hongbin felt that victory was knocking on his door, with the whole Ice Prince appearing on his building in search for him, but now? He can feel the hole on his wallet and the snarky smirks of his hyungs.

His luck was faded to end; no one had ever done – and partly succeeded, may he add – what he did. He approached the unapproachable compositor, talked to him, listened to his voice and had the amazing opportunity of hearing his angelic singing; seeing his beautiful face wearing something different blankness, the true and intense care he had for all the small kittens and puppies. For all that’s sacred, he got to touch Jung Taekwoon, more than once.

Not only he had done all that, he still managed to get close to wonderful Youngji, had gone on a date with her.

But now, seven days later, all felt like a fever dream. While he still talks to Youngji on the phone, the texts are few and far in between. He keeps waiting for her to give him a tip – girls are so complicated, they have too many unnecessary enigmas,’ nos’ that mean ‘yeses’ and he always trusted his face for the wooing part, not his ability – that she’s inclined to go on another date.

Most of all, he waits for a sign of platinum hair and cat-like eyes, plush lips and long limbs. He stays behind every day to wait for Taekwoon, Caramel in his arms, eyeing the door for the college’s makeshift pet daycare expectantly.

Maybe he’d forgotten Hongbin’s available days? He could have searched for him and failed to find him– No, it couldn’t have been this, last time he had waited and caused a huge commotion on the B5.

Had he gotten tired of Hongbin and decided it wasn’t worth it? It’s not like they had developed a beautiful, intense relationship in the very few meetings they had, despite what Hongbin thought.

“Mwrrooow~” Caramel meows, as if agreeing. She’s getting bigger as the days pass.

“That’s some weird meow you have here, little Mel,” he runs his hand over the length of her body, chuckling when she sprawls all over his lap, a mop of orange and white fur, belly up. “Our Ice Prince is missing quality time with you.”

Caramel simply purrs like a mini truck, yawning.

“Don’t you miss him?” it’s not weird, okay? Everyone talks to an animal or two “me too, you know? Our Ice Prince is very hard to find.”

The kitten doesn’t seem to bother with his confession, rising to her paws to walk in circles on his lap; she kneads her little knife-like nails on his jeans and lays down to curl on it, closing her eyes. Hongbin watches her with a smile on his face.

Yet his mind is far from there, thoughts spinning around Taekwoon.

.

.

“I’m thinking of changing my hair, wanna come with me?”

Taekwoon lifts his eyes from the book he’s reading to meet Hakyeon’s. Then they move to Hakyeon’s bangs, the well-kept light brown and the light green highlights; it’s a pretty recent hairstyle, and he doesn’t see any need for it to change. His own hair is another story. Keeping the blond almost white is troublesome and expensive, and frankly, its length is starting to bother him. He’ll have to eventually change it anyway, with his role on the musical and so this is a good opportunity.

“Ok.”

Hakyeon claps his hands excitedly. “Great! I was thinking of doing something new, extravagant! Maybe dye it silver or blue! What do you think? Wouldn’t hyung look sexy with silver hair?” he bats his eyes in an attempt to look sexy, and fails miserably. “Like a vampire people will beg to suck their blood?”

“No,” Taekwoon rolls his eyes. He can be objective and admit Hakyeon is pretty in an exotic way, but he’d never feel attraction for him; just the thought of it makes him nauseous. Hakyeon is his brother.

So it’s because Hakyeon is his brother that Taekwoon knows something isn’t quite right. Years of being by his side made him an expert in all things Hakyeon and one of the oldest more prominent characteristics is without a doubt his perfectionism. He always wants to do his best and be the best among others. He was born to dance, but that never meant anything for Hakyeon: if he wanted to be the best, he had to work harder than everyone else.

Never to this extent, in which bags make themselves visible underneath his eyes and his complexion seems washed out, sickly. He’s never home anymore, and all he talks about is how he had to dance better, better, better.

“Is Hyuk-ah coming with us?” he asks, knowing it will hit a nerve.

As always, he’s right; Hakyeon loses some of his over the top – fake – enthusiasm, his smile going wan. “Hyukkie is… busy with a project.”

Oh, what will he do with those two? Seems like all they can do is fight and make up, fight and make up again. This time not even he is aware of what made the oldest and youngest of their little group fight, yet it is as obvious as the sky is blue that it is affecting Hakyeon the most.

Jealousy burns hot in his gut; is he Hakyeon’s second choice, the one who’s left? Why every time he feels like he’s in the middle of a lovers spat, the one friend that is used as a comforting shoulder or a willing ear? Neither of them comes to look for him anymore, not until they have a problem they need to complain about. He’s no fool, Taekwoon is counting down the minutes it’ll take for Hakyeon to start talking nonstop about Sanghyuk. Before he understood Hakyeon; Sanghyuk was indeed someone in need for all the attention he could spare, but now?

Now he doesn’t feel like he belongs with them. Not in the way they promised each other years ago: till the end of days.

“Oi, Earth to Woonie!” he startles when Hakyeon claps his hands in front of his face, “where were you, my prince?”

Taekwoon doesn’t answer, simply closing his book and getting up. He goes to his room to pick a coat and when he goes back to the living room, Hakyeon is already at the door, waiting for him.

He sighs, walking towards him; in his mind, he thinks of Hongbin and his undivided attention, and how he misses being the sole focus of someone’s eyes. It’s been a week since they’ve seen each other, and maybe the other boy has already forgotten him. With how things are, he doesn’t doubt it.

.

.

“Hey, Sanghyuk-ah, can I ask you a question?”

The boy’s eyes bear into his, intense, but without aggression. “You’re already asking, dumb Ken.”

“Are we friends?”

Sanghyuk splutters and starts to cough after probably choking on his own saliva; he’d think it funny, but he’s in an especially somber mood today.

Jaehwan looks up, watching as leaves shake with the blowing wind. It’s been colder these days, and he regrets putting on just a light jacket over his sweater.

“W-What kind of question is this?!”

At Sanghyuk’s spluttering, Jaehwan feels a light smile stretch his lips. “Answer the fucking question, Hyuk-ah, don’t be a coward.”

Sanghyuk leans back on his seat, crossing his arms in front of his body and putting on one of his more menacing scowls; it’s a very clear defensive posture. “’Suppose so.”

Coming from Sanghyuk, it’s almost like being given a friendship bracelet, Jaehwan imagines. At the same time the terse words warm something deep down inside of him, they twist his gut. Nausea crawls up his body and suddenly the cold wind doesn’t bother him that much anymore, grounding him to the moment, keeping his head clear.

This is monumental. No, it’s fucking monumental, okay? This is the Director from the B1 trio, a group of people considered untouchable, surrounded by outrageous rumors, and their own distant ways. This is a menacing boy who can make both his seniors and juniors do whatever he wants with merely a glare thrown in their way, someone that has barriers erected all over him.

Him, Lee Jaehwan, has just broken into one of them.

“O-Oi, don’t let that go over your head, dipshit,” Sanghyuk seems to think that offending him is going to distract Jaehwan from the way his cheeks are ever so slightly pink. Boy, is he wrong, “What?! Stop looking at me like that!”

Jaehwan can’t stop the smile that stretches his lips, despite the pain in his chest. “You’re cute, Hyuk-ah.”

Sanghyuk splutters in indignation, losing his defensive posture to bang his hands on the table; from the corner of his eyes, Jaehwan sees some people flinching and getting up, too intimidated to know Sanghyuk is a drama queen over every minor thing.

“Am not.”

“Is too.”

“Am not.”

“Is too~”

The younger boy growls at him, and Jaehwan adjusts his glasses with his middle finger, showing him his tongue.

Chapter Text

BEFORE

He breathes in and out, letting the cold wall he leans on soothe his erratic heart. His busted lip hurts like a bitch, and his right eye throbs with what will certainly become an ugly bruise. His scrapped knuckles are the least of his problems considering this; it’s almost dawn, and he has to go back home soon if he wants to avoid seeing his parents leaving for work.

Han Sanghyuk was born into a common household, from common parents. As a child, he wasn’t much, a common kid with average looks and average grades. He didn’t show interest in anything in particular and wasn’t particularly good at anything either. He also wasn’t one to give his parents headache, because despite being an average person, Sanghyuk did try his best.

The catch is, you don’t get to be average in a house in which lived his older brother. Brilliant hyung, hyung who got the best grades and succeeded into everything he put his mind into; swimming? He had been the county’s winner for the past four years. Track? Fastest in his category. Class President, Student Council Treasurer, Voted by the students as Most Handsome in Third Year. In a house with his brother, being mediocre meant being invisible.

At fourteen, Sanghyuk did his best to be like his brother; he studied until he had migraines, he woke up at 4a.m to run around the neighborhood and used up all his allowance to keep his appearance as close to his brother as he could. He forgot about his interests – reading mangas and comic books and taking pictures – to go for more approachable, sociable ones, so maybe he could achieve a third of his brother’s popularity.

For some time, it worked; his grades went up, he started to lose some of his baby-fat, he had more friends than ever and a girl even confessed to him. At the first signal of being noticed by his parents, his brother did him a favor and entered the most prestigious university in South Korea. It didn’t matter that Sanghyuk had done his best, for his best was nothing compared to the sheer amazingness that was his older brother.

At fifteen, Sanghyuk stopped trying; he was once again the average boy, another faceless student in his school. His supposed friends vanished one by one; girls didn’t spare him a second look.

With the sudden free time in his hands, Sanghyuk dedicated it to go back to his hobbies. He bought all the late issues for his favorite mangas and spent everything he had on a new phone.

It’s just coincidence he met a bunch of kids looking for trouble; they saw his bags of shopping and decided he’d be the one they’re going to steal them from, and not before roughing him up a bit against a wall in an alley. They shove him against the wall and mock him, take his bags from him and slap his face.

Years after this day, Sanghyuk will still remember what he felt; the loathing for those horrible people, the frustration from having failed at being like his brother, revolt from even having tried to be like him. He was his own person, why should he be different? The fault was his parents’ that never bothered to love him like he was; who couldn’t accept him as simply Sanghyuk, their youngest child. He hated them, hated his brother who didn’t do anything for him, hated his fake friends and especially, hated himself for trying to mold to fit in with them. What good had this done him?

All this hate morphed into rage when he saw the smirking faces of his assailants. His fist connected with a nose in a resounding crack and Sanghyuk’s memories blur after that beyond the pain, adrenaline and waves upon waves of pent up aggression.

He went back home with a swollen eye, a split lip and aching ribs. Unexpectedly, his body was light, his mind clear.

From that day onwards, Sanghyuk found a way to deal with all of his feelings.

.

.

In the end, Hakyeon ends up merely taking the discolored green off his bangs and trimming the edges, despite having talked the entire bus ride from their apartment to the hair saloon about wanting to innovate and go beyond. Years ago, Taekwoon would have been very annoyed by this. He comes from a naturally quiet family, and too much noise and mindless chatter is something that to this day, makes him uncomfortable.

Hakyeon is an exception in some cases; his lifelong friend is going through a rough phase, with his incoming dance presentation, his new conquest – from what he tells him, a handsome boy he wraps tighter around his finger day after day – and the intense, sudden strain with Sanghyuk. For the past week at least, Hakyeon has avoided the youngest of their little group with fervor, leaving a room as soon as Sanghyuk enters it, leaving the boy confused and hurt. He still hasn’t said anything to Taekwoon, which is unexpected. Hakyeon can bottle up his emotions, yet he never does so with him.

It leaves a foul taste on his mouth, to be in the dark when his friend is so obviously suffering, and not for the first time, Taekwoon wishes he could be better at communicating his thoughts. He wouldn’t hesitate to comfort Hakyeon if he knew what words to use. Now he offers his time and his ears, not complaining when Hakyeon drags him to do his nails or spend forty minutes at a clothes shop and not buy anything. He bears with Hakyeon’s whims, following him silently.

They’ve rarely fought like this, Taekwoon and Hakyeon; the first years of their friendship was difficult, to say the least. Taekwoon and Sanghyuk never fought to a point of one ignoring the other.

Hakyeon and Sanghyuk fight a lot; some of it is thanks to their very clashing personalities, some thanks to Hakyeon’s actions and some… thanks to a tension that increases as years pass, something that permeates the air when the two are in the same room, too close to each other.

“This would look great on you, Taekwoonie! Try it, try it!”

Hakyeon snaps him out of his thoughts by waving a stripped black and red shirt on his face. He puts it on his chest, checking the size.

Greyish, slightly wavy hair falls around his eyes, obscuring his vision; it fells weird to push the hydrated strands back, away from his face. He had kept the dyed blonde, after being scolded by the hairdresser that he should take more care of it. It’s not as blonde as it was before though, this time greyish, which accordingly to the person doing it, would not damage it as much. Hakyeon, as he expected, had trimmed his bangs and taken the green off, his sudden courage in changing drastically leaving as soon as they had gotten to the beauty parlor.

Sighing, Taekwoon obeys, picking the shirt. He reminds himself he’s doing this to distract Hakyeon of his miserable moping. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Images of spending time in a room full of baby animals, playing with them as he hums softly cross his head. A week has passed since he last visited Caramel and the other animals, and he misses her. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone – not even to himself – but he also feels some longing for seeing the dimples in Hongbin’s chiseled face. The other boy doesn’t mean anything to him, but he also isn’t like the people around the campus; he doesn’t stare at Taekwoon like he is a rare animal in a fair, despite the way he eyes his face and body. Taekwoon knows he ranks high on appearance – Hakyeon is sure to update him on the ever growing rumor mill that circles the ‘B1 trio’ – even if he isn’t exactly sure why. Maybe because he walks with both Hakyeon and Sanghyuk, who are beautiful and handsome; an illusion people believe in.

Hongbin is someone people look twice at, yet he looks Taekwoon like he’s the one who should be looked at, at the same time he sees how uncomfortable that makes him. Outside Hakyeon and Sanghyuk, he’s the only one who can bear to stay by his side in silence, not bothered by his ways. He listens to Park Hyoshin and talks about his music as passionately as Taekwoon feels for them. As expected for someone in the vet course, he holds the animals with immerse care, looks at them with so much fondness.

Taekwoon doesn’t understand why his chest tightens when he spends time thinking about the younger boy. Must be the loneliness finding forms of distraction to the ache in his heart every time he witnesses the building tension between his two friends, the stares he receives at practice that scream ‘unworthy’ at the cracks on his voice.

Either way, it’s not an unpleasant feeling.

.

.

Jaehwan knows when to shut up and be quiet when the situation calls for it.

Right now, he wonders what would happen if he cracked a joke at Sanghyuk.

If murderous is his normal, everyday look, today Sanghyuk looks like he’s about to commit a massacre. There’s this tension set on his hunched shoulders and a maniac gleam in his eyes that bothers even he, the king of nonchalance. They are sat on the library, supposedly to work on their assignment together, but since he’d arrived, Sanghyuk hasn’t said anything. He ignored Jaehwan’s hello and glared at the world from then on. Everyone on the library is giving them a wide berth, the sound of whispers loud in the otherwise quiet place.

He knows Sanghyuk is being ignored by Hakyeon for reasons the boy doesn’t know, and that that is fucking the boy up; he’s someone who is in like, a crazy-dependent threesome and is also in love with 1/3 of said threesome, so Jaehwan kind of understands.

Kind of; he’s not an emotionally-constipated brat with anger issues.

Speaking of anger issues, Sanghyuk has a lot of issues in general; the psychology students would have a field day with him. With the entirety of the B1 trio, to be honest, but especially Sanghyuk.

As if feeling his eyes on him, Sanghyuk glares, baring his teeth at him like a beast.

Like said before, Jaehwan knows when to be quiet.

.

.

When Hakyeon invited him to go see a movie, Wonshik had mentally fist bumped himself. Till that moment, he had been the one to go after Hakyeon like a – ugh, this is what bothered him the most – lovesick puppy, and to be sought after certainly felt like a victory, a step closer to win the bet.

He should have known it was too easy, and to this point, nothing related to the dancer had been so.

As soon as Hakyeon sees him, he turns his back and walks towards the cinema, leaving Wonshik to once again trail after him, and if that doesn’t deflate Wonshik’s recently acquired ego, he doesn’t know what will. Hakyeon acts like he knows what is going on through his head, and continues to thoroughly act in that indifferent manner that he doesn’t really show anyone. He buys his own ticket to a – fuck, fuck, fuck, is there still time to cancel this mistake? – psychological horror and proceeds to cross his arms, as if annoyed by the time Wonshik’s taking.

Cursing his past drunk self, Wonshik also buys his ticket, stuffing it on his jeans’ pockets to try to forget its existence until the time comes. He was ready to see the melodramatic movie couples are making a line to wait for – girls giggling at the begrudging faces their boyfriends make – or with luck, the new Marvel movie groups are gathering to wait. Fuck, he’s sure that he and Hakyeon are the only ones who bought tickets to see a horror movie.

Wonshik is not afraid, nope, he’s not. It’s just that horror movie tend to have bugs, which he hates… and ghosts, that be pretty fucking scary… Fuck, okay, he’s a little afraid.

The fact that Hakyeon doesn’t seem at all fazed by the title makes it worse; what if he screams and embarrasses himself to the point he’ll never want anything to do with Wonshik ever again?

“I didn’t know you liked horror movies, hyung,” he tries to break the silence, since Hakyeon hasn’t really said anything for the past fifteen minutes.

“I don’t.”

The answer is flat, tone emotionless. Kind of pisses him off, a little – or a lot.

“Then why–”

“Are you going to buy snacks or..?” Hakyeon interrupts him, not even looking in his direction. Wonshik sees that the people around them are starting to move towards their movie’s doors.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he admits, counting how much more money he had to spend on this… “Do you want me to buy you anything?”

Hakyeon doesn’t answer, instead choosing to grab him by his hand, the act so surprising Wonshik lets himself be guided by the other, as engrossed as he is in staring at their linked fingers – Hakyeon’s hands are impossibly soft and warm, no roughness or callus that he can identify. He hands his ticket over to the guy at the entrance without paying attention; a little behind Hakyeon as he is, he has this great view of his jeans cladded ass, and Wonshik is just a weak, weak man. He doesn’t protest or attempts to say anything else, some of his irritation vanishing after his privileged view and the feeling of Hakyeon’s hand on his.

He is all but thrown on his sit, a bit too distant from the screen that he prefers – in this case, might be perfect, he doesn’t want to be any closer to the movie than he already is – with Hakyeon taking place by his side. Like he imagined, there’s almost no one with them on the room. Before the lights go dim, he counts a small group of four heads far from them and another single head, and who in the world goes to see a horror movie by themselves?, six rows beneath them.

Mentally preparing his body to not embarrass himself, in the beginning Wonshik doesn’t notice what is going on. The hand that holds his suddenly isn’t there anymore, instead softly lying on his thigh. It stays there during the trailers, and during the first fifteen minutes of movie, enough that Wonshik forgets about it.

That is, forgets it until deft fingers start to run through his thigh, short nails scratching at his jeans teasingly. A shiver runs through his whole body.

“Hakyeon-hyung?” he whispers to Hakyeon, struggling to keep his eyes on the movie in front of him in an attempt to focus on the few minutes of peace it has to offer. “What are you doing?”

At first, Hakyeon doesn’t say anything, merely humming to show he’s listened; Wonshik’s heart beats so loudly he wonders if the other can’t hear it from his place, and the room wasn’t so hot like this before, was it?

“What do you think I’m doing, hmm, Wonshik-ah?” Hakyeon leans over his seat, saying it directly into his ear. His breath is hot and the hairs on Wonshik’s nape stand on attention.

Before he can answer properly, lips touch his face, robbing him of any word he would have conjured. Instead he turns his face, meeting Hakyeon’s half obscured face. Even with minimum light his lips look shiny and tempting and his eyes are half-lidded, fixed on Wonshik’s. All he can focus on is the blatant invitation coming from the man he’s supposed to seduce; he feels as if he’s the one being seduced, going after a beautiful butterfly only to fall on a spider’s net. Hakyeon is the spider, weaving his silky web around him, watching him struggle with a broad smile.

He remembers their dance. Their bodies had fit well and Hakyeon’s body was hot like a furnace, his dark skin unblemished and as alluring as the swaying of his hips. Somehow, Wonshik knows this moment is different from this one; Hakyeon is a predator too, not a prey he’ll feast on. Adrenaline rushes through his blood, exhalation at the development. He wants this, to play this dangerous game so he can ultimately win it, and victory will be sweet.

Hakyeon willingly lets himself be pushed into his lap, falling on top of it with grace. Hot hands touch his face for a brief moment; he can still feel their warmth before fingers grab his hair and lips crash into his.

They taste like peach, and are soft and velvety as one. Wonshik doesn’t lose time with keeping the kiss chaste, not with the way Hakyeon sighs and grips his hair tighter. His own grip tightens on Hakyeon’s waist, the fabric bunching up in his hands, closing the already non-existent space between their bodies. A scream echoes inside the theater, probably someone being murdered, as horror movies usually go. Easily ignored, with teeth nipping at his bottom lip and hot body pressed to his.

Wonshik kisses Hakyeon with everything he has and receives equal passion back from the other. On his tongue, Hakyeon’s peach chapstick starts to taste like victory.

.

.

Chapter Text

Hakyeon holds a moan as Wonshik pushes the collar of his shirt down to suck his neck, teeth slightly scrapping at the sensitive skin. His hips involuntarily move to press down Wonshik’s lap, smirking to himself when he feels the growing bulge beneath him and the hands around his waist tightening, possibly leaving marks of fingers in their wake. While he’s normally not one to enjoy the marks left behind by his lovers – he refuses to think of judgmental eyes and disgusted scowls – he’s in a mission here.

His life has been a mess for the past week and he could use the distraction. Especially after finding out of Sanghyuk’s betrayal – why didn’t he tell him about that other boy, Ken? Why is he making new friends? Aren’t Hakyeon and Taekwoon enough? Is Sanghyuk hiding something else?

Wonshik is just perfect to provide this distraction; he’s clearly interested in Hakyeon and is very handsome. Very skilled too, once Hakyeon got him going, if a little too chatty.

As if knowing his thoughts are straying from the moment, Wonshik bites down the junction between his neck and shoulder; the sound that escapes his mouth is completely involuntary and too loud for a public space. Thank whatever inspiration had come to him when buying his ticket – he hated horror movies, with all their gore and nastiness and a great amount of nooope – for this movie in particular.

Sanghyuk is the one who loves scary movies and has the time of his life when the trio decides to watch one; Taekwoon is little more than a scaredy cat in these moments, and Hakyeon makes good use of his vocal chords at every other noise, which to Sanghyuk seemed to be the perfect opportunity to laugh his ass off, the bastard. Those are one of the few moments that some of the perpetual frown – he’ll get wrinkly so young – that mars his face softens and he shows the childish side of him. As much as Hakyeon hates horror movies, he’s learnt to appreciate them.

Here he goes again, thinking of the person he’s trying to forget; Hakyeon really needs to stop. He’s on top of a very handsome man, being thoroughly ravished by said man’s talented mouth and yet, he’s still thinking of Sanghyuk.

Goddamnit.

Call him an obsessive control freak, a dependent asshole, it’s not like he doesn’t know it himself. Hakyeon keeps a tight control of his life, and he maintains such control by having 3 constants:

One: having Sanghyuk by his side.

Two: having Taekwoon by his side.

Three: dancing.

…

Wait.

Wonshik’s kisses don’t burn hot on his skin, not anymore. In fact, he can’t feel anything other than the frantic thudding of his heart beating against his ears. It’s like his entire body went numb with the thought.

Hakyeon thinks of his constants again, and comes back with the same order; first Sanghyuk, followed shortly by Taekwoon and his dancing. Then he thinks of it again, and again, in seconds that feel more like hours. He can’t remember the last time the order was any different. Taekwoon came first in his life, that is true, but Sanghyuk always seemed to need him more, from that time where he fought with fists a pain that came from the heart to now. Taekwoon is his lifelong friend, his brother in all but blood, and Sanghyuk?

Calling Sanghyuk a friend is… weird. They are playful and supportive with each other, yet… Doesn’t feel right to call him a mere friend. His dongsaeng? In a way yes, Sanghyuk is younger than him, even if his constant frown and height are misleading. They have petty fights like siblings too, so why when he thinks of Sanghyuk as a younger brother – like Taekwoon, who is so frail, who needs protecting in a totally different way – his whole being revolts against it?

.

.

It is the first day he has free since the beginning of rehearsals; in all his life, Taekwoon never imagined those plays took so much effort out of someone, especially considering the way the actors perform, swift and effortlessly when onstage. His throat hurts and never in his life has he used his voice quite as much. He’s thankful that no one quite expects him to talk – a part of him knows that they don’t want to talk to him –, for he isn’t sure he’s capable of doing so.

For some reason, despite the throbbing pain and the tiredness, Taekwoon has never felt as… complete.

From as long as he can remember, Taekwoon has had problems with communicating. As a child he had no friends, and only his abilities with sports avoided the bullying that certainly would have come; yet, for many years it was considered a game for the other children to do their best in making him talk. Being the youngest of four and the only male, he was used by his sisters; a pretty doll for their playhouse. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded, yet... Taekwoon got used to be quiet. After meeting Hakyeon, someone who could see and interpret every twitch in his features, he didn’t have to worry constantly about being misinterpreted. The slightly older boy didn’t have such qualms either, talking anyone’s ears off at every given opportunity, carrying a conversation by himself.

Life in the theatre is a 180° turn. He doesn’t have much – or at all – experience in acting, which makes communicating with his seniors unavoidable if he wants to do his best. No one there is watching the way his lips press in exertion, or if he blinks a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ after a question asked. They all talk over themselves during breaks, and have no patience for insecurities. Their eyes follow him, the acting students measuring his every step, waiting for the moment he’ll fail, the experienced actors amusingly following those interactions. His head seems to be in a constant state of hurting and yet, it’s a good pain.

He’d always loved singing, music the balm which soothed his anxieties. Studying it had been obvious at a point in his life, and focusing in composition meant he wasn’t forced to deal with the same judging eyes that follow him now. He could spend hours on his piano, playing softly. It didn’t matter he felt like there was a piece of his self missing, he was content, and that was enough. Now, the exhilaration of performing is feeling this empty space.

.

.

Somewhere in the campus, Hongbin hears a group of girls gushing about how much they missed seeing the Ice Prince’s pretty face and immediately heads to the B1.

.

.

One moment the sun is shining above Taekwoon; on the other, it’s gone.

He opens one eye begrudgingly, wondering why it suddenly vanished.

Hongbin’s head is covering the sun, face shadowed as it is framed by a halo of light, all-encompassing beauty making the sight angelical; if Sanghyuk were here, the boy would have immediately wiped out his phone to record it.

“Hongbin-ah,” his voice sounds raspy, smaller than normally.

“Hyung!” a pair of dimples make themselves known, in a bright smile that overshadows the shiny sun behind him. “It’s been so long since I saw you! How are you? Is it true that you got a role in a famous play? Are you eating well? How about your throat, does it hurt?”

The rapid influx of questions isn’t normal coming from Hongbin, but it’s been some time since he last saw the younger man and admittedly, he is in a way happy that Hongbin seems to have been thinking about him, worrying even.

“Just tired.”

Hongbin snorts, and how even that can make him handsome is a mystery. Beautiful people are scary in that way… “Having to deal with a bunch of dramatic stuck up assholes it’s no wonder you’re tired. If it were me, I’d have already poisoned their sparkly water.”

An unexpected guffaw bursts through Taekwoon’s throat; he covers his mouth in embarrassment at the weird noise, feeling his cheeks redden.

The smile in Hongbin’s face widens, and he sits by Taekwoon’s side, hugging his knees. “I have a friend in the theatre department, and they said the gossips are running rampage; how you’re an intruder, how you seduced the professor’s daughter and she begged him to help you get the role, that you are in fact a chaebol that bought your place into the play…”

He can’t help but groan at the younger’s words. It’s not like he wasn’t aware there were rumors floating around; for some reason everything he, Hakyeon and Sanghyuk did was enough motive for gossip. People seemed to look at them like an exotic exhibit. To some point, he understood people’s uncertainty when dealing with Sanghyuk – the boy had a past reputation, and probably someone from his old school went to this University as well – and Hakyeon’s fame – he has been winning dance competitions since elementary school – but him? Silent, shy, dull Taekwoon? Made no sense in his head.

Ice Prince. Angel Voice. The Compositor.

Teacher’s Whore. Arrogant Bastard. Retarded.

His face must denounce his unhappiness, because in one moment Hongbin is smiling and in the other, he’s above Taekwoon, legs on each side of his hips, hands on each side of his face.

“Those rumors are all bullshit, okay?! Hyung is talented and deserves to be in this play, no matter what the stuck-up, delusional gossipers say!”

Hongbin speaks with vehemence, a frown on his forehead and pursued lips – his dimples are also visible like this, and Taekwoon finds it funny, as he had to that moment associated their presence with a smiling Hongbin. He covers the sun completely with his body and the fuzzy fabric of his jacket brushes slightly over one of Taekwoon’s cheekbones, prickling at his skin. From this close, Hongbin’s eyes are slit like a cat’s and his unblemished skin almost calls for Taekwoon to touch. Weirdly, Taekwoon’s heart starts to beat frantically against his ribcage as he notices all these small details, and a sensation akin to anxiety gurgles in his stomach. It’s nothing like he ever felt before, not when playing, not when composing or singing. It leaves him panting for breath.

Cat-like eyes trace a path from his heaving chest to his mouth, dry and open to gasp for air. It could be his imagination or a change of light, but Taekwoon, in that one second, sees as those eyes sharpen and dilate, like a predator who is preparing to pounce.

The moment is gone when Hongbin notices what he’s done, all but throwing himself away from Taekwoon; the sun is sudden and merciless in his eyes, and the wind is colder than before.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry hyung!” Hongbin apologizes, clasping hands in front of his face. “Fuck, I swear I don’t go around climbing on top of people when they don’t want me to! Shit, what the hell am I saying…? I mean, I just wanted to emphasize a point to you! Yes, you had this sad, awful look on your face and I know I can say shit sometimes, so I had to be sure you didn’t think that I believed any of those rumors!” he rambles.

Like this, Taekwoon can see the blush that spreads all the way from Hongbin’s cheeks to the tips of his ears. In any other time, maybe he would have found it cute, yet he hasn’t quite recovered himself, heart still beating furiously. He lifts to a seating position, a hand on his chest. Is Hongbin able to see his heart from his position? It sure beats like it’s trying to break free from its place. As always, the right words are lost to him.

“Language,” he whispers, sounding breathy to his own ears, “Hongbin-ah, you don’t know me.”

.

.

Hongbin looks at Taekwoon, the Ice Prince, to see pale skin flushed brilliantly and red lips open slightly, wisps of platinum hair falling around his face like threads of gold that reflect the sun, and he feels a tug on his heart. Something akin to hunger boils in his blood, a deep possessiveness settling on his bones. This man who is as beautiful as an angel and as tempting as sin incarnate, untouched by the common, vulgar crowd, is looking at him like this: Confused and flushed, hand on his heart as if to keep it from jumping out.

Hongbin isn’t the romantic or clinging type, or even the jealous, possessive type, so all this influx of feelings is new to him.  His past relationships had, in fact, ended because his past partners had considered him too negligent on maintaining the relationship, too cold towards someone he was supposed to feel deeply for. They were always insecure – again, it’s not arrogance, it’s just how people react to him – about their position in his life, and in the end, apparently didn’t find what they needed in him.

Some break-ups made him sad for a week, others he couldn’t say he cared much; he stopped doing relationships when those became too complicated, instead preferring casual outings and sometimes a hookup. He isn’t by far a man whore like Wonshik – who he just knows wants to be courted and dined like in he novels he refuses to admit to liking – or a cryptid like Jaehwan, with his mysterious, existent(?) relationships.

Yet, he is affected by him. “I’m trying to, dumb hyung.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Taekwoon’s face continues bright red.

“Why?”

The question is unexpected, loaded with more than Taekwoon can possibly know. It causes an internal struggle inside Hongbin as he tries to come up with an answer that won’t immediately tell his true intentions. He doesn’t want to say sappy stuff – the thought makes him gag – but if it’s the way to Taekwoon’s heart, he’ll have to cook something up, and fast. It doesn’t help that Taekwoon’s cute, confused, embarrassed face is distracting him from thinking.

“Caramel loves you, and I believe animals are good character judges,” he finally says, not heaving from disgust at the corniness, “I thought that you couldn’t be a bad guy, even if you walk around with that guy who always looks like he’s constipated or just murdered someone.”

Wow, really smooth Hongbin. Way to go. Go and offend 1/3 of the tight-knit trio like an asshole, bravo.

A new sound takes him mind out of its self-flagellation moment.

Taekwoon holds one hand over his mouth to cover it, but that doesn’t stop the giggles that escape through it. Soft looking grayish hair falls all around his face, sunlight making the strands glow like sparkling glass, a sharp contrast to his flushed skin. His giggles transform his entire face, breaking the normally blank face to show a perfect – if a little silly – smile, eyes clenching like small moons.

This, right here, at this moment, is like finding gold at the end of the rainbow; an oasis after walking on the scorching sun.

It is probably the single most beautiful thing Hongbin has ever seen.

.

.

Chapter Text

“Want to go out with me?”

The question startles Taekwoon so much he stops his fit of giggles, turning wide eyes to Hongbin.

The younger man is staring directly back at him, no sign of the words being a joke. His face is red but serious, and his eyes unwavering.

“H-Huh?” Taekwoon can’t help the quiver in his voice. The day’s pleasant weather feels stuffy now, too hot for the sweater he wears; he can feel the burn in his ears and the perspiration on the back of his neck, the gentle breeze not doing much to help with his increasing body temperature. He looks down, too embarrassed to confront Hongbin’s steady gaze, choosing instead to play with the rings on his fingers.

“I want to take hyung on a date,” he hears rustling, and then Hongbin’s hands are on his, cradling them on his lap, “and then on another and another, like boyfriends.”

Taekwoon doesn’t dare blink, fixated on their joined hands, his fingers longer and thinner and Hongbin’s warm and very soft. It’s… not a bad feeling. He holds Hakyeon’s hands pretty often, and Sanghyuk likes to pull him around by intertwining their fingers, and he likes the contact from both of his friends. Others have tried to do the same to call for his attention and he has always hated it. Other than family, only Hakyeon and Sanghyuk were permitted to touch him with any degree of intimacy.

Hongbin is the first person whom he accepts being touched by, not only today, but on several different occasions. He has fallen asleep on the younger’s shoulder, had small scratches be tended by him, let Hongbin pull him from scrutinizing eyes before. Every time it happened, his stomach curled weirdly, and his heart beat a little faster. Taekwoon considered it weird for lack of custom… Now he’s not so sure. He had never had a relationship, never even had a crush in his middle and high school years. Everything about this whole development is new to him, and he finds himself lost.

“I…” he breathes, peaking at Hongbin through his lashes. He is there, real and serious and bright red. The world seems to turn on its axis; he almost feels faint with how hard his heart beats against his chest. “I, I… I– Yes, okay.”

They flood his entire mouth, his words, so he spews them, immediately overwhelmed. He tries to turn away, hide himself from Hongbin and all this embarrassment that is consuming every cell of his body, but Hongbin’s hands fly to his face, cupping his cheeks, making Taekwoon look straight at him. He really is the most beautiful person Taekwoon has seen, and he’s angelical, smiling so big like he is.

“Really?! Will you really go out with me?!”

He sounds so excited; Taekwoon has to nod weakly, sinking into Hongbin’s touch and closing his eyes. The thrumming of his heart is a loud beat against his ears, his veins boil with hot mortification, but the touch feels so good and gentle. Again, Hakyeon has given him the same sort of touch, and yet again, it is different. Reminds him a lot of the honeyed tea he drinks after singing for a long time, a wisp of comfort that slowly sinks into his belly and warms his entire self, not like the feverish heat of just a minute ago. He thinks if this is what composers write about so obsessively, with so much longing and devotion. His own pieces are melancholic and he expresses his longing for something which he cannot name, and for the first time, this warmth seems to fit with the theme. There hasn’t been much time at all, and Taekwoon is starting to dread getting too attached to this touch only to lose it later.

As if reading his mind, Hongbin starts to lightly caress his face with his thumbs. The pads are calloused and rasp against his soft skin, gooseflesh erupts on his nape, and he involuntarily shivers, curling inwards. The movement stops – he bites his bottom lip to not whimper, so confused for liking the unfamiliar contact – so Hongbin can lean down and touch his forehead with Taekwoon’s.

“You dictate the pace, hyung,” he says, so close their breaths mix in the space between them, “and I’ll follow you.”

Taekwoon risks looking up to find Hongbin’s beautiful  so close he almost goes cross-eyed at it; from this distance able to see his dimples in startlingly detail, begging to be poked. So with trembling hands he cups the younger’s face, thumbs pressing slightly on the small holes. Hongbin presses his lips together, purposefully turning the dimples more pronounced to Taekwoon’s now not so secret delight. Once more, he nods softly, showing Hongbin he understands and trusts him. The fingers cradling his head tighten a little, going back to normal a beat later. Taekwoon cups the hands on his face, carefully taking them away, joining their fingers together on his lap. Immediately Hongbin’s fingers start moving, this time playing with the rings Taekwoon has on. The boy seems unable to stop touching him, and for once, Taekwoon decides he’ll indulge him. It’s absolutely not because of his fluttering heart and the softness of those touches.

They continue like this as time passes, neither knowing for how long.

Eventually Taekwoon’s heart settles into its normal beating pace, the burn of his cheeks, ears and neck subside, leaving behind only the poetic butterflies in his belly.

.

.

Jaehwan is painstakingly working on his and Sanghyuk’s assignment when he hears the apartments door bang shut with a deafening sound. He jumps on his chair, spooked to hell and back. His first instinct is to pick up something – his room is a mess, he used to have a baseball bat somewhere, so his desk lamp will have to do the job – to defend, or attack the source of the noise, before realizing that if it were a robber, they wouldn’t be barging in carelessly, banging the door like it stole their cat.

His second instinct is to ignore it. The only two other people who have a key to this apartment are Wonshik and Hongbin, and to be fair, he’s fucking tired of both of them.

Really, he fucking wants to say fuck it and go to the trio of codependent assholes their university for some reason idolizes and spew the beans. Tattle-tales die early, but he guesses that whatever Wonshik or Hongbin have stored for him in case he does just that is going to be a lot better than what Hakyeon – someone notorious for being gentle and helpful as long as people don’t look at Taekwoon and Sanghyuk – or Sanghyuk – who is notorious on his own right, with rumors of being a past-delinquent who beat a guy to death, not that Jaehwan believes this particular one – or both will do to him in case this whole scheme plays out like it currently is.

If it’s Wonshik, great; him being angry is a great signal that Hakyeon is being his brand of self and is making the other’s life miserable. If it’s Hongbin… It’s definitely not; Hongbin is the type to curse up a storm and then sulk for entire days when things aren’t going his way, displays of angery testosterone not really his M.O. Also, the Ice Prince is not someone to grate on anyone’s nerves; he’s just an introvert – admittedly, one of the prettiest and people Jaehwan has seen – with talent in a building full of drama queens and narcissistic, egocentric personalities. People covet for his attention exactly because it is so hard to catch it.

Hakyeon on the other hand can drive someone to madness with a single look. Jaehwan had seen it before, passing by a corridor a couple of years back. The dancer had been helping another student, consoling him about a performance in front of a teacher that had gone wrong, and while his words were sweet and encouraging, the dark shine on his eyes clearly mocked the other, condescending and just so fake it made Jaehwan gag. Hakyeon had seen him that day and had smiled in his direction, before turning back to the student who trembled feebly at his side, tugging on his sleeve like he needed Hakyeon’s attention to survive; Hakyeon had looked too pleased with the result for it to not be intentional. Jaehwan had known previously to that day that the Dance Department was a den crawling with snakes, but from that day on, he had crowned Hakyeon its’ king.

It made sense that the one banging the door shut would be Wonshik. For all that was sacred, Jaehwan couldn’t understand the appeal he saw in the dancer, when Jaehwan himself saw all of his flaws right there, stamped on his face. In the beginning, the idea of seducing – ha! This sounds so ridiculous now, hilarious, he cannot – Han Sanghyuk had been jarring, yet within his realm of possibility. He was sure that Jung Taekwoon would never tolerate his babbling and that he would never be enough of an actor to deal with Hakyeon. No, Sanghyuk has been and still is the best option, especially since they started to get along, and Jaehwan truly enjoys spending time with him.

But for Wonshik to get so involved by Hakyeon’s spinning web? He was starting to think he had read the younger man all wrong this entire time. Wonshik is a romantic, silly man with simple tastes; he’s not made for drama and games, or that’s what Jaehwan used to think. Frankly, out of the three of them, he is the capricious one, full of manias and peculiarities…

And going nowhere with this train of thought.

Frustrated, Jaehwan gets up from his chair and jumps on the bed, hiding his face on the pillow and kicking the soft mattress into submission.

.

.

The sky is bright today, which doesn’t match Sanghyuk’s mood.

It’s surprisingly difficult to be by himself after Jaehwan decided to leave him glaring – Hakyeon is being cold n’ hot all over again, making Sanghyuk crazy to the point of wanting to rip his hair off his skull – at the library, saying that he was being a stuck-up asshole and that if he wanted to fail his class, he should do it by himself.

Jaehwan is way too catty for someone with his temper, but Sanghyuk finds it refreshing; he enjoys the power he has over people by merely standing next to them, but it can get aggravating when he can’t even order food without the attendant looking like they’re talking to the Antichrist. Rumors have made his past as a delinquent be blown into a proportion quite absurd, if not funny. Apparently to some people, he’s a mob boss’ son, a serial-killer-in-the-making or a megalomaniac chaebol. He never thought his past as a delinquent would turn almost into a university urban legend, and most importantly, never shied away from acting tempestuously, only reinforcing it.

Hakyeon and Taekwoon had been all he needed for years, true friends that embraced him in his hardest moments. Their tight-knitted group didn’t need or want anyone else.

Sanghyuk is starting to think they might have dug themselves a hole too deep to crawl back of. Their dependency on each other is a known but untouched subject in their relationship. Sanghyuk has seen Taekwoon’s panic the times Hakyeon had gone on dance competitions for a few days, retreating inside himself even more than normal, and Hakyeon come back of these competitions with a manic glint in his eyes. Both of them had been friends for many years before they found him, alone in his own misery.

The thing is, when you are treated like the center of someone’s universe, like they did to him, Sanghyuk quickly took that dependency to himself. It didn’t help that he, for just as many years now, has struggled with… with ever growing feelings towards Hakyeon, those he really avoided thinking about, with names like lust, possessiveness, protectiveness, and that cursed four letter word called love.

Jaehwan is the catalyst. The older, eccentric guy that bomb dropped on top of Sanghyuk and carved his way into his daily life easily, in fact, so easily it’s a little scary; with him, came the realization that maybe he can’t continue living on this bubble together with Hakyeon and Taekwoon, as much as he wants to. Surprisingly, Sanghyuk considers Jaehwan a friend now, and he hopes he’ll be able to learn how to be a friend to him. At the same time, he wants – craves, yearns for – to have Hakyeon as more than he is, their current arrangement making it impossible for him to push further with his intentions.

As if in cue, his phone rings.

.

.

Sanghyuk answers on the second ring, one too many in Hakyeon’s admittedly frayed state.

He’s been hiding – from who or what exactly he can’t pinpoint – for the past hour inside a janitor’s closet on the theatre, after jumping out of Wonshik’s lap during their make out session and scrambling to leave the place as quickly as he could. The small space is filled to the brim with cleaning products, and the sharp smell of detergent is what’s been keeping Hakyeon somehow grounded. His phone had rung eleven times before finally stopping, leaving Hakyeon by himself, hugging his knees close to his chest and willing his heart to stop beating as if it were being chased.

“What,” Sanghyuk’s voice holds no inflection, reminding Hakyeon of their ongoing strife.

“Sanghyuk–”

His distress must show through his voice somehow, for Sanghyuk interrupts him immediately. “What happened?! Where are you?!”

Ah, his Sanghyukkie, doesn’t matter that they’re passive-agressively fighting, he’s always been able to identify when he’s distressed. It’s like a switch is turned on inside the younger, making him abandon anything anywhere, softening his sharp edges as he does his best to make the situation better. Hakyeon has always thought of how cute that was, and maybe had exaggerated things once or twice – or twenty – to elicit this reaction; one of his pleasures was being embraced by long arms, crushed against a firm torso and wide shoulders, and when exactly had Sanghyuk turned from a gangly teenager to a man?

“…ung! Hyung!”

Hakyeon snaps out of his trance, Sanghyuk growing impatient on the other side of the line.

“Sorry… Can you come pick me up?”

“Where are you,” again, there’s no intonation in Sanghyuk’s voice, this time for a completely different reason. Hakyeon can imagine how agitated the younger man is, he knows he would be ripping the hair out of his head by now.

It is not the first time Hakyeon shivers from the Sanghyuk’s possessiveness; he thrills to get them, guards each one on his heart, and perhaps he should have been more aware of himself and their relationship before, considering all this.

He succinctly explains he is at the theater closer to their university, and where he is inside of it. It takes a full ten minutes of calming Sanghyuk when he tells him that he is inside a janitor’s closet, the other going absolutely ballistic – Hakyeon can hear the squeaking of Sanghyuk’s shoes, how he is taking shorter breaths as he runs towards him – thinking Hakyeon was hurt in some way.

It is no surprise the door is slamming open fifteen minutes after that, shoving bright, obnoxious light into Hakyeon’s eyes, obscuring his view of Sanghyuk. Blinking repeatedly to adjust to the sudden brightness, all Hakyeon can focus on is Sanghyuk dropping to his knees in front of him, pulling his towards his, grip crushing as he pants.

“Fuck you for making me worry so much,” Sanghyuk curses despite tightening his hold, “stupid ass diva. What the fuck hyung, do you want to kill me?”

On any other day, Hakyeon would neck chop him into oblivion. Today though, he giggles, wrapping his arms around Sanghyuk’s neck, noticing the sweat at his nape, proof he ran the entire way there.

He looks up, into Sanghyuk’s eyes.

“Nah, just kiss you.”

And he does. Kiss him.