Chapter Text
The desk by the window had always been Yeosang's.
Until it wasn't.
____
Kang Yeosang—
[Woo (five minutes ago, friday)—
I won't be back in Seoul until atleast next Thursday.]
Yeosang didn't bother responding before he shoved his phone in his pocket, gently slamming his locker shut. The blue and green, bright posters of the upcoming music fest were everywhere, a banner mockingly hanging over his head as he pitifully dragged his feet down the hallway.
He didn't have any friends in school besides Wooyoung, who was in a different class and was absent half the time because of his father's overseas business.
As much as Yeosang hated crowds, a music festival sounded like fun.
The bell chimed faintly above his head as he stepped into the convenience store just outside the school campus, wandering down the snack isle and immediately getting his hands on anything sweet(unhealthy) that came in a flashy packaging.
He shuffled to the counter with a packet of blueberry ade and a melon cream bread, letting the middle-aged woman scan them while he pulled his bag to the front, digging into it for his wallet.
"Keep the change,"
Yeosang paused.
Jongho's familiar voice soothed his ears as the other boy leaned over from behind him, pressing against his back in just a lingering distant contact, sliding a few bills on the counter along with his own 'stuff'– just a single, sad can of coke zero.
Yeosang froze like the socially awkward person he was, staring at Jongho's side profile with big, lost eyes. Jongho's chin only a few inches away from his awaiting shoulder.
He didn't blink– as if Jongho would engulf him if he didn't look hard enough, his fingers clutching the sides of his open bag while Jongho grabbed their stuff off the counter and stared at Yeosang with a raised brow.
Too close too close too close.
Yeosang internally screamed, looking away fast enough to almost give himself a whiplash. "Thanks," the word somehow made it past his lips, the tip of his ears tinted red.
Even after sharing a desk with Jongho since the start of the semister, the other boy still effortlessly managed to make Yeosang flustered at every other interaction.
Outside the store, Jongho popped his soda can open and handed Yeosang's treats back to him. Yeosang watched with barely concealed interest as Jongho tilted his head up for a slow sip.
'His throat is pretty.'
What the hell is wrong with me?!
"Jongho?"
"Mhm?"
"Are you coming to the fest?" Yeosang asked, looking up at Jongho with anticipative eyes. "It's this weekend."
Jongho leisurely took another few slow sips, finally sparing Yeosang a glance. He was always so unbothered and stoic– an iceberg, as Yeosang liked to call him in his head.
"Are you?"
Yeosang didn't expect a question for a question.
He fiddled with the plastic edge of his bread wrapper, nibbling onto his lower lip, the ade packet cold in his other hand. A light breeze curled past them, ruffling Yeosang's golden brown hairs to the side.
Jongho's eyes met his, not as intimidating as they were with everyone else.
"Do you want to maybe... go together?" Yeosang asked, his nerve endings on fire as he held Jongho's gaze. He swore Jongho looked pleased in a indistinct way, as if he wanted to be asked that.
The realisation of his words hit Yeosang before his regret did, and when the two struck together, he clutched the bread tight enough to feel it smush together inside the wrapper. "I mean, if you want to and if you don't already have plans and--"
"Sure." Jongho responded with a uncharacteristic, veiled tenderness to his voice.
"Pardon?" Air clogged Yeosang's lungs as he spoke, extremely shy all of a sudden.
"Let's go." Jongho nodded slowly, tossing the now empty red can into a nearby trashbin. "Together," he added for a better blow to Yeosang's heart.
"Yeah," Yeosang spoke barely above a whisper, his eyes suddenly fragile against Jongho's amused, interested ones. "Yeah. Together." He looked down, kicking the tip of his shoe against the pavement. "It starts at 6."
"I'll be there by 7."
"Sure." Yeosang tore the little designated corner off his ade, taking a big gulp just to open his airways and to be able to speak like a normal person and not a nervous mouse.
"Give me your number," the choking was instantaneous, one moment the flavour of saccharine blueberry was flush in his mouth, the other it was all lodged in his throat.
Jongho's eyes widened just a fraction as he closed the distance between them and patted Yeosang's back with one hand, the other holding his arm for support. "You okay?"
I'm not.
Please stop talking.
The warmth of Jongho's voice, his hands, his eyes– it was all foreign to a touch starved Yeosang. Jongho's palm stilled at the curve of his spin, the touch tethering Yeosang back to reality.
"It's just...too sweet." Yeosang rasped out, cringing at his own clogged voice. He narrowed his eyes at the ade packet, imagining Jongho's face replacing the blueberry illustration.
Jongho stepped away and Yeosang almost pouted.
Not because he missed the warmth(he kinda did), but because he had just wasted a big gulp of his favorite drink because of a certain iceberg who could've kept quiet.
Barely a minute later, Jongho was holding the rustled bread packet and the open ade carefully while Yeosang dialled his number into Jongho's phone, erasing and pausing way too many times.
Yeosang, halfway to giving up, wanted the ground to swallow him whole because what kind of a 17 year old couldn't remember his own contact number.
However, in his defence, it wasn't completely his fault that Jongho was staring him down like he'd take off with his phone if he didn't keep his eyes on him.
"See you on Sunday then," Jongho said, saving the contact information while Yeosang latched onto the ade again just so he wouldn't have to speak anymore, nodding like a child.
Back at home, Yeosang threw himself on the bed– bag, shoes and all– and screamed into the pillow. How come he couldn't muster up a single, sensible conversation with Jongho without looking like a complete fool.
He then face timed Wooyoung for emotional support and to pick out his clothes for the fest. He didn't sleep until late that night, making faces.
He was stupid. So stupid.
》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《
Choi Jongho—
Yeosang was the prettiest, most graceful person Jongho knew. Soft-spoken and shy, with wide expressive doe eyes and a low voice that Jongho would love to fall asleep to.
When Jongho had transferred schools for the final year of high school, he had expected to be casted aside and didn't mind. He disliked people anyways, but he had unknowingly hijacked Yeosang's beloved desk while the other boy had been absent for nearly a week due to fever.
Months ago on a Monday, Jongho had been minding his own business on his desk with earphones in and fingers tapping softly against the wooden surface.
What Jongho hadn't expected however was to be met with the most devasted pair of pretty caramel brown eyes when he raised his gaze.
Yeosang stood infront of the desk, gaping at Jongho like an offended forest fairy with his then blonde hairs tugged back by silver, dainty clips and a few strands let loose before his eyes.
"What?" Jongho's voice had been unintentionally clipped.
Barely a minute into the interaction and Yeosang had already known Jongho was an asshole.
That was a few months ago.
Now they sat together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jongho still unintentionally intimidating and Yeosang still shy and adorable.
Now all Jongho had to wait for was the weekend to come.
—Tbc—