Chapter Text
Martin Edward’s bored.
Not just regular boredom. Not the type of boredom where he can rawdog it for hours and get it over with. It's “April 1st at school bored”, the only day where Martin hates April Fools; it’s where everyone’s either trying too hard to be funny or too scared to fall for anything.
So when he spots his best friend, Kim Juhoon, by the lockers, something in him lights up. A stupid idea, sure, but unexpected and funny indeed. Or so he thinks.
“Hey, Juhoonie!” Martin says casually while approaching Juhoon, as if he wasn’t going to do something ridiculous. “Wanna see something funny?”
Juhoon eyes him playfully, his eyebrow slightly raised. “I think I’ll pass. Everyone here keeps pulling these terrible April Fools' pranks.”
His answer, obviously, makes Martin want to do it more. He giggles and steps closer anyway. Close enough that Juhoon has to look up, and Martin looks down at his big, brown eyes. Close enough that the hallway noise starts to blur at the edges, where he ignores all of his surroundings at that moment. Martin grins daringly and leans down, tilting his head like he’s actually going to—
—and Juhoon jerks back with a slight flinch, his entire demeanour shifting within a second. He doesn’t lean, or give a confused response, or even a hard shove that would’ve stung less.
He basically flinched. As if Martin just tried to hit him instead of kiss him. Something in Martin’s chest drops.
He finally pulls back, forcing out a laugh even though, for some reason, it feels like his heart has shattered into a million pieces. Because that’s what he’s supposed to do, right? “Relax, Juhoonie, it’s April Fools!”
Though Juhoon doesn’t laugh.
He just mutters something like, “Don’t do that,” and turns back to his locker, his shoulders a little too stiff.
Alright, noted…
For some reason, something ugly and tight curls in Martin’s chest. Not embarrassment, he’d deal with that fine. Not even rejection, because it wasn’t real in the first place.
So why did Juhoon react like that? Since when did he flinch around Martin?
“Uh… sorry…” Martin mutters, scratching the back of his head. “See you later.”
Juhoon doesn’t reply; instead, he fiddles with his lock. Martin’s throat tightens. An awkward beat of silence, then the bell rings, loud and jarring. He hurries off to his next class without looking back.
Martin now seriously hates April Fools.
︵︵☆
“...And he didn’t even like… back off or whatever. He basically flinched!” The hurt Martin felt from the incident has faded slightly, and now he’s left confused. He spins in Ahn Keonho’s office chair, words spilling out faster than his thoughts can catch them. The chair squeaks in protest as he abruptly stops, turning to face Keonho, who’s sprawled across the bed, lazily nodding along.
“Isn’t that absurd!?” Martin demands, absolutely flabbergasted.
“Sure, sure,” Keonho says, distracted, as he plays with a mini bouncy basketball he seems to find under one of his pillows.
“Are you even listening?!” Martin says, exasperated. He jumps up from the chair and begins pacing around the small room, hands moving everywhere in quick, frantic gestures. “This—I—he!” The words tangle and fall apart mid-air. With a loud groan, he flops onto the bed beside Keonho, covering his eyes with the backs of his hands as if he can physically block out the memory. “What do I do now?” he mutters. “Shit, he’s… he’s my best friend. At least, I think he is. Does he even consider me his best friend? Probably not now, after—”
“Hyung.” Keonho cuts in, finally rolling over to face him. He catches the ball one-handed without even looking. He pauses and carefully chooses his words. “Have you thought… maybe you just like him? Romantically?”
Martin doesn’t reply. A beat, and he lowers his hands just enough to peek at him.
“That’s not—no, that’s not the point,” he sputters, sitting up a little. “It was a joke. Yeah. I wasn’t serious.”
Keonho raises an eyebrow. “You leaned in.”
“Yeah, for the bit!”
“You closed your eyes?”
“…Maybe.”
“You tilted your head?”
Martin hesitates. “…Um.”
Keonho lets out a quiet, knowing hum, sitting up and throwing the ball across the room, landing with a soft thump. “Riiiiiight. A joke.”
Martin grabs the pillow from under his head and slaps it over his face, letting out a muffled scream into the fabric. The tips of his ears are flushed red.
“I hate you,” he says after a solid five seconds of screaming his lungs out, his voice still buried in the pillow.
“But you came to me!”
“I regret it.”
Keonho snorts, then nudges Martin’s shoulder. “You really sure you don’t have a crush on Juhoon-hyung?”
Martin bolts upright, tossing the pillow into his lap as he turns to face him. His mouth opens—then closes. Then opens again. Nothing comes out.
“So that’s a yes, th—”
“No! No, no, no—” Martin tosses the pillow aside and claps both hands over Keonho’s mouth. But it’s too late, the words he never wanted to face are already out, hanging in the air.
Keonho just raises his eyebrows, unimpressed, and gently pulls Martin’s hands away.
“Hyung,” he says, a little more serious now, “be real with me. This whole ‘prank’? Come on, I know you! You don’t just go around trying to kiss people for no reason and calling it a joke. That’s an excuse. You like Juhoon-hyung.”
Martin listens quietly. Even if he tried to speak, words wouldn’t come out.
Keonho’s expression softens. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” he adds. “I promise.”
Martin flops back down onto the bed. “Do I… do I really have a crush on Juhoon?”
Keonho pushes himself up. “Ask yourself that,” he says simply, heading for the door. “Be right back. I’ll grab some food for us. Oh, and if the door opens, it’s probably just my roommate Ohyul.” He smiles, and the door shuts behind him with a thud.
Once he leaves, Martin stares up at the ceiling. He thinks about it.
He’s sprawled across Keonho’s bed like an octopus, limbs everywhere, tossing and turning with his thoughts. He’s torn—he doesn’t know if he likes Juhoon or not, and it’s messing with him way more than it should.
I mean, I tried to kiss him… so do I? Maybe? No? Yes? I don’t kn—!
“Ow!”
He rolls straight off the bed with a loud bang, the sound echoing against the floor. Pain shoots up his upper arm and shoulder.
Ugh. That’s definitely going to bruise. Though he doesn’t get up. He just lies there on the floor, staring blankly at nothing, his slow and heavy thoughts swirling in his muddled brain. And he stays there like that for a long time. Long enough for the question to stop feeling like a joke.