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Jeongin is a fool.
He’s a fool for thinking a Ferris wheel would be fun. He’s honestly the clumsiest person he knows, even including his dad, and his heart is now hammering looking at the ground hundreds of feet below him, and all the tiny people walking around Lotte World. It’s a miracle he hasn’t lost a shoe already. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t slip out of his seat and go careening to his death before the ride is over.
Especially because Jeongin is sitting next to Jisung, who is apparently a thousand times more terrified.
“Why did I let you talk me into this oh my God Yang Jeongin this will be my death I’m peeing my pants!” Jisung rambles on and on, flailing a little bit every time he peeks from behind his hands at the ground beneath them. Every time he flails, the seat they’re sharing sways in midair, and fear thrums in Jeongin’s veins, ice cold and horrible.
“Please stop moving,” Jeongin moans, his hands wrapped tightly around the bar resting on their laps to protect them. As if a metal bar stands a chance against Yang Jeongin, world's clumsiest man. Jisung keeps opening his eyes, scaring himself, and squeezing his eyes shut again with a yelp. Jeongin is a fool.
He’s feeling particularly foolish for dragging Jisung up here because Jisung is not only scared of heights, but also rather clingy when he’s frightened. At least if it was Jeongin and Minho up here, Minho would be sitting as far away from Jeongin as possible, quietly seething, cursing Jeongin’s name and keeping his eyes shut until the ride was over.
Jisung, on the other hand, seems to be glued to Jeongin’s hoodie sleeve. It’s as if he doesn’t trust the metal bar—which, fair, because Jeongin doesn’t really trust it either, fingers trembling even as they try to grip it for stability. Jisung’s fingers are wrapped around Jeongin’s bicep, squeezing so tightly Jeongin feels like he’s getting a more painful version of one of Felix’s massages.
“I can’t do this I don’t wanna do this anymore, Iyennie let me down I wanna get down now,” Jisung whimpers, and he’d been kind of annoying before but now Jeongin just feels bad. He wants to wrap his arm around Jisung, but is kind of too scared to move right now. Jisung’s fear is contagious.
“Alright, it’s okay, we’ll get down soon, hyungie, it’ll be okay,” Jeongin soothes him. Jisung doesn’t remove his face from where it’s buried in the fabric of Jeongin’s hoodie, his forehead probably bruising against Jeongin's shoulder.
“I feel like I’ve been turned inside out,” Jisung goes on nonsensically. “My sense of equilibrium is all out of whack. It’s all fucked up. Humans weren’t meant to be this high up.”
“We just booked our flights to Japan.”
“That’s different!”
“Are you telling me you don’t wanna fly now? You don’t wanna see the Studio Ghibli Park?”
“That’s totally different!” Jisung finally looks up at Jeongin, indignant now. Blessedly distracted from the previously overwhelming fear. He just pouts harder when Jeongin laughs at him, feeling slightly more relaxed too. He feels brave enough now: he puts his arm around Jisung.
“How is it different?” Jeongin asks Jisung, pretending like being suspended eight hundred feet above the ground isn’t scaring the life out of him. Jisung’s focus seems to rest on him for now, which is all he needs.
“Being in an airplane involves seatbelts and aerospace engineering and pilots and their reassuring voices. Ferris wheels are monstrosities that were invented in the 1800s when people were bored enough without TV and internet to flirt with death.”
Jisung looks down, and seems to remember how high up they are again. His eyebrows crease.
“Their horrible, terrible deaths. Gruesome. Bloody. Disgus—”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” Jeongin interrupts him, feeling Jisung’s fingers get tighter around his bicep. “You think pilots have reassuring voices?” Jeongin supposes he could make a career change.
“I like that they seem confident in the aircraft,” Jisung says. “Ferris wheel operators are all high schoolers working summer jobs who hate me.”
“Why would they hate you?” Jeongin giggles.
“For making them work,” Jisung answers, as if it’s obvious.
“They don’t hate you,” Jeongin assures him quickly. “Stop feeling bad for existing.”
“Well, I hate you,” Jisung says. “I hope you feel bad for existing.”
He rests his head on Jeongin’s shoulder again, and butterflies flap their anxious wings in Jeongin’s belly. If he’s being honest with himself, it has nothing to do with a fear of heights.
“Sorry, hyung,” he murmurs. “I wish I could help you feel better.”
“Nothing will make me feel better until we’re back on solid ground,” Jisung whines.
Jeongin considers their options. He considers his sweating palms, and the lovely proximity of his best friend, and how he’s about to lose it the second their feet touch the ground again.
“What if I give you something that you want from me?”
It’s an age-old debate between them. It all stemmed from an afternoon in an empty classroom when they were still in middle school, Jeongin and Jisung both awkward and dorky and curious, sharing their first kiss before dissolving into giggles and deciding to never do it again, because kissing wasn’t really all that. Their teeth had clacked together and Jisung was visibly sweating into his school uniform—there were a million reasons why that kiss was worth forgetting. A fluke. A blip between otherwise platonic friends. There were a million reasons to stay platonic. And one reason not to.
Jeongin’s massive yet confidential crush on Jisung that developed over the years, plus Jisung’s natural ability to make people laugh, turned the kiss from a secret to a big inside joke. Jisung has spent the decade since that kiss shamelessly begging Jeongin for another, while Jeongin has spent it vehemently denying it ever happened, all for their friends’ amusement. It’s just a joke. It’s a bit they do. It doesn’t mean anything.
Now, Jisung’s head shoots up from Jeongin’s shoulder faster than lightning.
“Really?” he whispers, shocked. Jeongin has to look away from his wide eyes, afraid he’ll get lost in Jisung’s gaze.
“You can kiss my cheek,” he says firmly, with a little bit of a grimace on his face, one that’s clearly put-on, as fake as the rest of his facade is. He does love teasing Jisung, and he loves this bit they do, along with the rest of the bits and inside jokes they’ve picked up over the years. But he loves Jisung more.
“I’ll take it!” Jisung gasps, scooching impossibly closer in the tiny bench they’re sharing. The whole thing swings in the air again, and Jeongin’s stomach swoops. Jisung doesn’t even seem to notice it.
“Okay. Fine. Go ahead.” Jeongin steels himself, staring straight ahead, as serious as a soldier standing at attention. Jisung coos at him, and laughs a little, breathy, anticipation sparking alight in Jeongin’s chest.
When he feels Jisung just a hair away, his pink pout nearly touching Jeongin’s cheek, he moves. At the very last millisecond, he turns his face, and catches Jisung’s lips with his own.
Jisung gasps a little, and then melts into it easier than soft serve ice cream under the summer sun. He’s still clinging onto Jeongin, and it’s wonderfully welcome, his hands clutching onto Jeongin’s arms, his lips softening under Jeongin’s, as sweet as Jeongin remembers. He’s as lovely to kiss as Jeongin has imagined.
Jeongin cups Jisung’s jaw, beckoning him closer, sweeping his thumb in long arcs over the soft, plush apple of Jisung’s cheek, and the touch makes Jisung sigh, pleased. Jeongin feels giddy, head spinning with glee and his brain and heart all screaming finally. He’s exhilarated, yet relieved. It’s so different from their first kiss but has every bit of comfort and safety it held. But this one has confidence, and certainty, and tongues, teasing and swiping against lips that are curving into soft smiles. This one is heavier, carrying the weight of intention, now that the initial surprise has worn off. It’s hotter, better, especially with Jisung’s teeth nipping at Jeongin’s lips, both of them angling themselves to take the kiss further, quickly needing more and more of each other, falling deeper and deeper into the kiss. Jeongin’s never had a kiss like this. It feels so much like falling.
With a jolt, the ride comes to a stop. They break apart, Jeongin gasping and Jisung shouting out, both of them grabbing onto each other for dear life, fearing the deadly plummet between them and the distant ground beneath them—
Oh.
The ride is over.
Their feet dangle a couple inches above the ground. The ride attendant is looking expectantly at them, a little impatient as Jeongin and Jisung hurry to raise their arms, allowing the metal bar to be lifted so they can be free.
Jeongin gets up on shaky legs, hurrying away from the ride with flushed cheeks and Jisung on his arm, both of them a little unsteady.
They flee the Ferris wheel giggling and buzzing with excitement, hand in hand.