Chapter Text
It was a regular Wednesday afternoon like any other for Kim Hongjoong. He was sitting on the bleachers by the college soccer field, not exactly the usual hangout place for photography students with a book or notebook in hand.
Hongjoong could say he had thoughtful and productive reasons to be there, like wanting more contact with nature, making friends outside his usual social circles, or finding inspiration by spending time away from the quiet of his bedroom, but that would all be a lie. The real reason he was there was pretty simple: medical recommendation or, better said, medical obligation.
Apparently, staying indoors most of the time and avoiding the sun like the plague was the perfect recipe for developing a vitamin D deficiency. Normally, Hongjoong would have ignored his doctor telling him he needed more sunlight, but apparently he needed it badly, and the constant fatigue he felt might have been a symptom of that.
With nowhere else to go, the boy decided to watch the weekly soccer practices in the campus’ obnoxiously big soccer field. Not that he liked the sport — he couldn’t care less. The closest he got to soccer was playing FIFA with Mingi. But, well, the practices happened at 4:30 p.m., which was, apparently, a very good time to get sunlight. Hongjoong had tried other spots before, but it was always hard to find a place where nobody bothered him or where noisy students weren’t constantly passing by.
It seemed counterintuitive that the place he chose was next to a field, but by sitting on the more distant bleachers, the shouts and scattered conversations became indistinct enough to not annoy him. Actually, he’d even grown to like it, like white noise in the background of his reading sessions.
He spent that one hour there, three times a week, drawing, writing a bit, reading, and sometimes taking photos. It had become a relaxing little part of his day that he’d learned to appreciate, after getting used to the heat.
However, as all good things are short-lived, it only took a few weeks of peace before an accident happened. Hongjoong honestly figured something like that could happen - after all, he was hanging out in the middle of soccer practice - but he definitely didn’t expect it to happen the way it did: with a ball hitting him square in the face.
Everything happened too fast. First, he heard a particularly loud shout, but nothing unusual, so he didn’t even bother lifting his eyes from the notebook he was drawing in. Then, he saw a blur in his peripheral vision, and when he looked up he had no time to react. He only had time to watch the ball get closer and closer before it slammed into his face. Still disoriented, he was trying to understand what just happened when one of the players apparently materialized in front of him. How did he get here so fast? Hongjoong wondered while staring at the stranger.
“Are you okay?” the guy asked, sounding desperate.
“I think so? Who are you?” The stranger stared at him intently, eyes darting all over Hongjoong’s face, analyzing every little inch, looking for injuries. Naturally, Hongjoong stared right back.
“Choi San, the guy who… You know, kicked the ball at you. My bad, seriously. We were practicing penalty shots and I somehow tripped and missed the target. Badly. I’m really sorry, I should’ve been more careful, I knew you were here. Are you sure you are okay…”
Hongjoong quickly stopped listening to whatever “Choi San” was rambling about, more worried about checking what had happened to his belongings. His glasses had fallen, but luckily were in his lap. They looked a little crooked, but nothing he couldn’t fix. He pushed his platinum blond hair back and put them on. Yep, definitely crooked, but that could wait. He started gathering the items that were scattered around, which finally snapped the soccer player out of his endless stream of apologies.
“Hongjoong-ssi, let me help you!”
How did he know his name? Was he hit so hard they had met before and he forgot? Even confused, he let San help collect the books and pens that had rolled onto the bleachers floor after falling out of his pencil case. Even after everything was gathered from around them, Hongjoong kept looking around, searching for something.
“Is there something you haven’t found yet? I can help look for it!”
“My notebook… I had it in my hand. It must’ve flown somewhere. I think I’m missing a couple pens too.” He re-counted the ones he had and silently thanked the universe that he wasn’t holding his camera at that moment. Who knows what could’ve happened to it.
After a moment of searching, they spotted the lost notebook. It had fallen through one of the gaps in the bleachers and was lying on the ground several meters below. Hongjoong made a move to stand and go get it, but San stopped him and, before he could say anything, the player took off running, climbing down to fetch the lost items.
Before Hongjoong could even double-check everything again, the other guy was already back. For the second time that day, Hongjoong wondered if this man was capable of teleporting.
The platinum blond extended his arm to grab his notebook back, but the black-haired one didn’t return it. Hongjoong finally looked at him — really looked at him. Choi San stared intensely at one of the open pages, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead, an orange vest thrown over the university’s blue uniform. But what really caught Hongjoong’s attention was the upset expression on his face. He was practically pouting as he stared at the page.
“What is it?”
“It’s just… your drawing…”
“What about it?”
“It’s ruined…” San finally turned the notebook so its owner could see it. The drawing was simple, a man dressed in all black, with a fedora, mask, and several accessories around his neck, something Hongjoong vaguely remembered seeing in a random music video. But now the sketch also featured a big line across most of it. Trying to erase it would ruin half of what Hongjoong had drawn. If it was even erasable. The photographer sighed. Even though he was enjoying that sketch, it wasn’t some masterpiece. Just something to pass the time. He felt a little disappointed, of course, but in his opinion, San seemed heartbroken. Like he was about to cry.
“I’m sorry…” San said for what felt like the millionth time. “It looked really nice and I ruined it…”
“It’s okay, San. These things happen. I’ve ruined plenty myself.”
Why was Hongjoong consoling him? Wasn’t he the one who got hit in the face?
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. I can draw another. It’s just one more among all the others in here.” He flipped a few pages while San curiously peeked at the sketches appearing and disappearing before he could fully see them. San seemed a little relieved seeing that the drawing’s owner wasn’t that upset, but the guilt of ruining something cool still weighed heavily on his heart.
“And you… did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
Actually, there was a dull ache on his cheekbone and the side of his nose. His cheek, where the ball had hit; and his nose, where his glasses smacked into his face. Nothing serious, though. Nothing some ice wouldn’t fix. And definitely nothing he’d tell the soccer player, unless he wanted to trigger another endless stream of apologies.
San’s coach called him back to the field, and he shouted back that he’d return soon. However, when he turned back around, he noticed something he hadn’t before: a spilled cup of coffee on the row in front of them. Coffee that he correctly assumed, belonged to Hongjoong.
The photography student sighed the moment San noticed said coffee, already wanting to get rid of him. There was nothing wrong, no serious injury, no broken materials, no monetary loss except for the half-finished coffee that had already gone cold. He was fine, truly, and he’d already understood it was an accident. What else did San want from him?
“Your coffee…”
“San, it’s fine, it was already…”
“It’s not fine, I knocked over your coffee!”
“Seriously, man. It’s not a problem, I promise.”
“I’ll buy you another one!”
“Oh my god! You don’t have to. You actually did me a favor. I shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late anyway. You helped me take care of my health, see?”
“Then I’ll buy you one in the morning.”
“I already said you don’t have to!”
“I have to! I ruined your coffee, ruined your drawing, and I even bent your glasses.”
“My glasses aren’t even bent.”
“What do you mean? This side is clearly lower than the other.” San basically shoved his hand in Hongjoong’s face pointing at the undeniably crooked frame.
“CHOI SAN! STOP STALLING AND GET BACK HERE!” One of San’s teammates yelled, and Hongjoong silently thanked the heavens for finally being freed from this guy.
“We’ll talk later!” San called before running back to the field.
“I really hope not,” Hongjoong muttered to himself, gathering his things so he could leave before practice ended.