Work Text:
You and Jake have always been more casual than the rest of the group. You don’t know when it started, this daily exchange of touches with your best friend. You’ve both grown fond of it, therefore it’d be pointless to start questioning things now. No one else bothers in the group, so why should you?
On a school morning, he’ll throw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in so his warm breath hits your cheek, right after he laughs at a joke you’ve told him.
Your shoulders brush rhythmically when you walk, and it’s not long before you spot Dean at the end of the road, waiting with Eunchan who’s already on his heels. Dean waves frantically, “Let’s go you two! We’re already late enough.”
Jake turns to you and you’re already mimicking his grin. He’s eager to tug you forward as you yelp, catching his arm in an attempt to steady yourself, a poor one at that.
Timmy meets up with the rest somewhere halfway, and you all fall into pace once you pass the school gates. Jake keeps his arm steady over your shoulder even as you make it inside, he claims it’s for good measure, so you don’t get lost in the crowd of people pushing through to get to their classes. You laugh, knowing you weren’t going to tell him to let go anyway.
To say the lesson is boring is an understatement. You’re not huge on science, never really grasped the various concepts of the subject, but it’s secretly your favourite for one reason.
It’s the one of the fewer classes you actually share with Jake, where he sits next to you, and it’s the first cruel lesson on a Tuesday morning. He always complains how tired he is, so you’re quick as ever to lend your best friend a shoulder to lean on while he dozes off. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll even play with your hands under the desk when he’s losing the battle against sleep.
Lunch spoils the both of you, surely enough. You’ll share food with him because you always make enough for two, sitting so close that your thighs touch, but you’re too used to it to care. He’s the same, unbothered as he rambles to you about something he read in the latest Two piece chapter. You nod along, plopping a piece into your mouth. A small part of that piece is left behind, sitting at one corner of your mouth. Jake notices, like the caring best friend, he sweeps it off with his thumb and licks the remnant clean.
Your face goes blank, unable to process anything that just happened. That was new. You think Dean’s mirroring your expression when he raises both his brows at you. Jake looks at you confused, “Hey, are you having a stroke?”
“No,” you retort quickly. “What?”
He shrugs, “You looked like you were.”
You glance back at Dean, who’s no longer looking at you, listening in to the conversation Timmy and Eunchan are having. They’re talking on and on about something that happened over at another school, and to no surprise, Jake’s quickly immersed as well.
You sit there, lost in thought for a minute or two. You don’t even realise the smile that’s causing your lips to quirk up.
“What are you smiling at?” Jake teases, nudging your shoulder in an attempt to bring your attention back to the group.
You meet his gaze, warm as ever, thinking for just a second longer.
“Nothing.” you nudge back. Your attempt to mask that smile is downright awful, though he doesn’t seem to catch on when he’s chatting his way back into the conversation.
He welcomes you when you lean into him, your head tipping against his shoulder. He’s more than happy to return your touch, his own head falling atop of yours.
Okay. Maybe you didn’t bring yourself to mind the new, obviously friendly gesture he’s initiated. The only thing left to consider were your food options for the rest of the week, ensuring they were easy, up to Jake’s taste, and messy enough to stick at the corners of your mouth again.
The shelves at your local bookstore are almost drowning with books. Right to left, top to bottom. Some of them don’t even fit on the shelf, having to be discarded off to the side, or placed on top of currently displayed ones.
You like this place. You have since middle school, mostly because it was close by and a hidden gem you had both scouted in your area. Alternatively, because it meant you got to spend more time with Jake.
You don’t dwell on it for long. His voice snaps you out of that little flow of nostalgia. You don’t realise you’ve stopped skimming your finger over the spines of books on the shelf, reaching the very last one. However, you do realise, it’s a familiar pick.
“You’re gonna read that again?”
He’s already beside you. Then, his arm extends, brushing past your shoulder as his hand settles on a book you can’t quite make out when you’re staring ahead. He taps the spine before he hums, “This one’s a shonen, you’ll like it.”
You finally glance over to where his hand is, slightly surprised it’s a book not far from the one your finger has stopped on. Your finger falls limp, returning to where your hand is steadily holding the shelf.
“Don’t know,” you ponder, casually sliding it off the shelf while his hand remains on the spine. Your fingers graze in the action. His hand remains for a second longer, then it’s gone, handing you the whole thing.
“Why not?” Jake scowls immediately, wearing a silly pout on his face, “You love shonen.”
“Yeah, but,” you heave a sigh, tilting the book to get a good look at the blurb, “Doesn’t this have like over sixty volumes?”
“Two piece has more, and you like it, so?” he scoffs.
You grumble, fighting back a sour expression. You like Two piece, however that doesn’t automatically make you a fan of other shonens. You don’t tell Jake that, though. It’ll send a pang of guilt through your chest, knowing you haven’t really done anything wrong and he’s just assumed that you like the genre, but it’s better than being the cause of a true frown forming on his lovely face. Your best friend has always looked better with a smile, you know that, and you’re willing to do just about anything to see it more often. So you suck it up, prepare for an absurd amount of volumes to finish by next week, lifting your eyes from the book to meet his.
“So?” He tilts his head, observing the unreadable expression you’re wearing.
“Fine, but we’re gonna read it together,” you huff. He’s grinning when he hears you give in, smacking down another four volumes onto the one you’re already holding.
“Already read the first five. You have some catching up to do.”
“Hey!” you protest, trying to shove some off into his own hands.
He winks when he says, “I’ll quiz you next week, yeah?”
You can only afford to roll your eyes, expecting that your wallet will probably be filled with tumbleweeds after this.
Jake chuckles as he falls into step beside you on the way to the cashier, bumping your shoulder playfully. You bump back.
He props one elbow on the counter, watching you pay, wearing a smirk when he offers, “I’ll pay for food later.”
Your eyes gleam in response, and truly, you think that’s the best thing you’ve heard all day. You mirror his smirk when you both nod in contentment at the deal you’ve just established in a bookstore before the cashier desk, quick to mask your expressions, as if it were some drug deal.
The cashier stares, handing you the receipt awkwardly. Jake takes it instead, the both of you thanking the young man ever so sweetly before you’re out of there like the wind.
The walk to the convenience store is short. After all, it’s only a few corners you need to cut, an alleyway that heads straight down, and you’re there in just under twelve minutes. New record time, ten minutes and fifty seconds.
You share the same excitement when you push the door open, rushing inside to scan the aisles that are generously stocked up. You turn to Jake, who looks way too excited for someone who’s paying. Maybe he’s already forgotten, though you’re not content with giving into his petty little habits every time, so you nudge him as you remind, “You’re paying.”
He groans in response, waving you off defeatedly to the aisles before you, drifting away momentarily to scout something of his own. You chuckle, striding through each and every one until you’ve made your pick.
Payment is quick. He swipes his card, packs everything up in a bag, then you’re crinkling the receipt in your hand on the way out. You both agree to stop and sit at the chairs and tables conveniently in front of the store, thanking him as he hands you the bag with your half in it.
Jake has never been a quick eater, you think. It’s quite funny, how he takes his time with everything he eats. Not in a way where he stops, eats slowly, then carries on with his day. Not your best friend, not in a million years. He’ll insist on finding somewhere to sit, no matter where you are, he needs to be comfortable and able to relax while he’s eating. He takes the smallest bites, and then, he’ll chew for what feels like ages. Finally, he lingers. Even when he’s finished, he wants to stay in the same spot, claiming his stomach needs to rest before he moves again. However, you’ve grown immune to it. You snap out of your thoughts once you realise you’ve been staring at him this whole time, no surprise at all when he’s only just taken his first and smallest bite.
“What?”
Oh no, caught red handed. You shrug quickly, “Nothing.”
“Stop drooling over my food and eat yours. I paid for that, you know,” he emphasises the last part, taking another subtle bite.
The wrapper in your hand has remained untouched since you sat down. Well, he’s not wrong there. You grumble something about his awareness, then dig a bite in yourself. He raises a brow at your inaudible bitterness, his curiosity quickly masked by satisfaction, a faint smirk tugging at his lips when he’s seen you give in again.
You eat like that for a bit. Conversation dwindling to the occasional comment, more hums and half-formed replies than real words being tossed around. For a moment, there’s a brief pause. A pause only you experience, because Jake simply continues talking. You spot an opportunity that has made its way to the corner of his mouth, a sneaky remnant of what he was still eating.
You don’t even think, you just move. Leaning forward, your hand reaches out, successfully swiping it with your thumb, then retracting only to lick the evidence off.
Jake stills for half a second. He looks at your thumb, then he looks at you. His expression is unreadable, and you’re about to crumble apart under his gaze, drowning in the aftermath of your own actions. Horrifically, he resumes eating. He casually finishes everything within a few bites, leaning back into his chair with a content sigh. You know this is where he’ll linger, which you never mind, but you’d probably be better off walking home now, especially after what’s happened. You can’t wrap your head around it, why you did it, how he reacted, anything at all.
A few moments of silence pass. The air is stiffening enough, that you don’t feel like eating anymore. You think Jake is probably the opposite, observing how laid back he currently looks.
You’re not afraid to hold eye contact when he speaks, “Are you gonna finish that?”
“Not hungry anymore, you can have it if you want,” you respond, acknowledging the slight concern in his voice.
“You sure?”
“Mhm.”
He scolds you mockingly when he says, “You’re the worst, making me buy food you can’t even finish.”
You scoff, hitting his shoulder playfully as he slips the leftovers into the plastic bag. He’s just as quick to get back at you, going for your arm to grip at with little to no force. You yelp dramatically, which only eggs him on more. He stands, hauling you up with him, already making a beeline for the way home. You giggle at his eagerness, and in response, he slips that knowing arm over your shoulder, letting you embrace his warmth.
Normally, the wind pushing your heels forward would piss you off, but that’s not an issue right now. You’re actually, really grateful the wind has decided to make an appearance. You and Jake brush closer with almost every step, not to mention the unwavering arm that’s still slung over your shoulder. The sidewalk narrows at some point, and this is where you realise your journey with him is going to come to an end. It’s evident just as he releases his hold on you.
You take a glance through the window when you reach your front porch. Luckily, the lights are on, meaning someone’s already home, but it’s also unlucky. You could’ve spent more time with Jake, knowing he would be more than happy to keep you company while you waited. It worked a few times, that pitiful excuse, though some things just can’t always go your way. The thought is shrugged off quickly as he follows behind you, then you turn to face him.
You want to say something. You want to rush into an apology of some sort, for making things awkward, except you know he doesn’t think much of what happened earlier at the store. It’s nothing more than a friendly gesture, you reassure. He’s done it once, and you wanted to return the favour, looking out for your best friend.
Instead, you don’t say anything. Or rather, you can’t. Not once you lift your head, meeting those familiar, bronze eyes that pierce right through your own. His gaze is warm and unguarded, which invites you to reach out, fingers brushing the fabric of his jacket as you zip it up. The moment lingers because you don’t remove your fingers from the collar, hoping he’ll be just as eager to hold it out with you. Still, he doesn’t, catching your wrist as he guides it back down with ease.
He releases you just as easily, though you feel his reluctance when his thumb brushes against your wrist before he actually drops his hand. Jake meets your gaze again, this time, he smiles briefly. It’s such a heartwarming smile. One that makes you want to pull his zipper back down, only to pull it back up, met with his hands guiding yours off his collar.
You move first, waving him off, and he quickly returns it. It’s definitely warmer inside your house, a pleased sigh leaving your lips at the rush of warmth enveloping your body. You’re thankful to be inside now.
Nonetheless, you still think to prefer the warmth that settles in your stomach, gradually spreading through your body, the kind that Jake always manages to leave behind.
You don’t have any plans for the upcoming weekend. And honestly, you don’t want to make any. You’re just thankful the few exams you had to sit through this week are done and dusted, leaving you with the pleasant opportunity of sleeping in tomorrow. Ordering some takeout wouldn’t hurt, treating it as an extra reward in honour of completing those pesky exams, and because you had practically tucked away the entirety of your leftovers from the day before.
The couch is way too comfortable as you wait, thinking you’ll fall asleep if you remain on the furniture a little longer. You wouldn’t want to miss your delivery driver, then the food would get cold, all soggy and unpleasant, and you’d end the day on a crappy note. So, you attempt to push off the lethargy that’s weighing you down, leaning up as you prop yourself on the edge of the armrest.
Your mind wanders to Jake, thinking if you should text your best friend, check in on him. What could he be doing right now? Is he home, and if he is, is he asleep? You don’t trust your body anymore, but you don’t care, letting your eyes close as those thoughts trail.
There’s a brief knock at your door, causing your eyes to shoot open. It doesn’t wake you up fully though, your lethargic state very obvious as you fumble towards the cause of the sound, twisting the handle wearily.
You’re quick to thank the delivery man right as you open the door. Something’s off though, he’s not handing you the plastic bag that usually contains your steaming goods inside. Your hand hovers in the air awkwardly, like you’re asking the guy to spare some change.
“I don’t have any change,” he chuckles, “Sorry.”
Your hand falls back to your side, agitated when you speak, “Look, can you just give me my order?”
“Your order?”
“I’m not in the mood for this,” you warn.
Delivery guy chuckles again, and surely enough, that gets your attention. You’re tempted to punch this guy now. Your brows furrow and you finally look up, being met with a very familiar face instead, bloodied and bruised at your doorstep.
You blink once, then twice. Oh. Well, this certainly wasn’t the delivery man. It was Jake, with a certainly messed up face. You slowly pieced two and two. If that didn’t shake you awake, you don’t know what did.
He’s wearing a grin when he says, “You look rough,” then he adds, “Did something happen?”
You shoot him a deadpan look as you cross your arms, clearly unamused by the fact that he’s joking right now. “Are you serious?”
His grin falters, easing into a small, sheepish smile instead. He lets out a quiet, awkward chuckle, scratching at the back of his head as if that might smooth things over. “Sorry.”
“What even happened to you?”
“Had a little bit of an accident,” he breathes, “I guess.”
You can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it, brushing it off like it’s nothing, but you’re not buying it. Honestly, you don’t even know if you want to. It would usually take a lot for Jake to end up like this, considering he isn’t known for being reckless unless there’s a reason behind it. You’re not sure you’re ready to hear it.
He winces when you step closer, attempting to examine his face, and you take that as your cue.
Two uneven bruises bloom along his cheeks, smaller ones scattered across his jaw and forehead, and on top of everything, there’s a bloody nose. You sigh softly. This definitely wasn’t how you planned to spend your evening, but there’s no world where you’d turn him away.
You tug him inside, and he follows without much resistance as you guide him toward the couch. He drops onto it with a quiet hiss when he shifts the wrong way. The sound makes your chest tighten, which pushes aside all the scoldings you had simmering for him at the tip of your tongue. That can come later, when he thinks it’s time to smile like a puppy again, wagging his tail for you.
The coffee table is sturdy enough when you sit on its edge, already rummaging through your first aid kit. He leans forward slightly to give you better access, reassuring you when he huskily whispers, “I’ll be still.”
You think your heart just did a somersault. It doesn’t help that he’s completely focused on you too, his gaze unwavering as you carefully swipe the drying blood off his nose. Despite that, you manage a nod in response.
The bruises are harder to tend to, although there are two, they’re even bigger up close, almost taking up the entirety of both his cheeks. You’re struggling to be gentle with every feverish touch because Jake clenches his jaw. He should’ve gone to a professional really, you know that, and it’s not the first time he’s come to you like this. There were a few times where he’d show up unannounced with a few scratches and cuts, maybe a small bruise from what you would assume to be caused by a punch, but it was never this bad. You knew about the Union, you knew Jake was in it, and you knew why he was in it. The question was, if this was something he had gotten caught up in on his own accord, or that he had no choice.
You can’t help but frown the next time he winces as your fingers graze his cheek, holding him steadily by the chin.
“I’ve looked worse,” he admits. It’s probably another one of his attempts to soothe you.
That certainly was not comforting. Your frown deepens when you reply, “That’s not something to brag about.”
He chuckles warmly, which causes him to shift slightly in your hold.
“I thought you said you would be still.”
“Sorry, Doc, can’t help it,” he teases.
“Focus.”
“Your hands are cold.”
He really shouldn’t test you right now. You still, then, you apply just a little bit of pressure to where you’re holding him. He hisses, cursing under his breath softly. That alone makes your lips quirk up. It’s quickly hidden however to avoid Jake’s nagging about you teasing him in this situation, even though he obviously started it.
It’s not long before you fully patch him up, your fingers lingering on his face longer than intended. His gaze doesn’t drop then, and it certainly doesn’t help when you absentmindedly start to move your fingers against his cheek, almost in a caress, because you’re only as lost as him in this moment. Except in your case, it’s his eyes that have you cornered, while he seems to be caught up in the way your fingers feel on his tender skin.
You think you hear his breath hitch, though it’s only a hunch. You think, it’s also only a hunch, when you feel the proximity between you closing in. You don’t feel very aware in this moment, maybe because it all feels too good to be true, to have Jake right where you want him. It can’t be true, and you expect someone to pop out of the space in the living room soon, claiming it’s all a prank. Or maybe it’s not true, because it’s Jake, who is your best friend, that you’re about to give up everything for in this very moment.
The knock at the door, which you suspect to be the actual delivery man this time, interrupts you both and snaps the trance. You’re the first to move, the only one, because Jake remains on the couch, right where you left him as he’s trying to piece himself together. Maybe he froze, you don’t know, but you can only internally chuckle at his expression. His brows faintly knit, before he drags a hand down his face, the softest exhale leaving his lips. However, you also find yourself feeling a little disappointed, so he’s not alone there.
This is what you have been waiting for all night, so you don’t know why you’re so reluctant to open the door, a quick exchange between you and the driver taking place, successfully sweeping your steaming goods inside. You’re searching inside the bag, checking everything over, when you notice Jake shifting and eventually rising from the couch in the corner of your eye. You don’t pay him any focus though, because you’re way too enticed with the smell that’s practically hitting you in the face,
as you gradually make your way back.
You manage to get three more steps in, before he’s making his way over to you. Two steps, then he’s in front of you. The last step, which causes you to bump into him, and you’re looking up, meeting that familiar gaze. Jake looks hungry. You were basically going all in tonight, but you don’t mind sharing with your best friend, that’s a given, especially after the unsaid beatdown he’s been through.
Your voice is warm when you offer, “We can share-“
He doesn’t seem too fond of the idea when his brows furrow slightly, which you pick up on immediately. “Okay then. We won’t share,” you disregard.
“Screw the food.”
His hands are already on your shoulders, pulling you in. You look puzzled but you realise what he’s doing when his breath fans over your face, each and every thought about the food, being completely thrown out the window.
You’re not sure who initiates the kiss first, but you don’t care, because you’re just as eager to move your mouth against his, taking in this part of him which you have yet to explore.
You grip the front of his hoodie, right over his heart, which pounds hard enough to fall out of his chest. It excites you, since your heartbeat is probably the same, maybe even worse. Or you’re both just as bad, when it comes to each other. Someone needed to set off the fuse eventually, you justify.
Jake’s hands drift down, settling at your waist as he practically devours your mouth. You attempt to keep up, humming when his tongue finds its way in. Only then do you realise the plastic bag is awkwardly held between you both, which you quickly move to your side to accommodate for his body, that he’s currently pressing against you.
He smirks at the small movement, pressing forward once, then suddenly pulling away. You groan softly in response, forced to take in the breathless boy above you. Your eyes dart to the cuts and bruises tainting his lovely face as he pants. You wonder, if this is the same view the person fighting him got, given he looks totally frenzied.
You can’t help but smile, both of you panting helplessly in the hallway, as you’ve got a takeaway bag in your hands that’s begging to be eaten.
“That was not me being friendly,” he clarifies. You’re honestly grateful that he spoke up first, as you don’t think you would’ve even found the ability to after that intense kiss. It was not friendly to say the least, yet alone did you want to consider it an option. You were whipped, so was he, which certainly left no more room for pretending.
All this time your feelings have been bottled up, chasing one another’s touch and the need to brush it off as something best friends would do. Correction, something that only you and Jake would do. You feel like an idiot thinking about it, while his hands glide up and down your waist, only adding more fuel to the fire. It does not help the warmth spreading inside your stomach again, huffing knowingly when you manage to form the words.
“I know.”