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Somewhere in a remote country, just beyond the digital loop, in a corner of the world where it’s impossible to document, it’s Opposite Day. That’s why Jinyoung’s throat is tight and hot and uncomfortable. That’s why his hands are clammy. That’s why his head is so cluttered that he can barely process the words the teacher is saying as she leaves, and he feels like he might just pass out. That’s why he feels so overwhelmingly not like himself it’s almost painful.
It’s absolutely not because a sweet, soft, pretty boy named Youngjae is sitting in the back of the class, surely ignoring him politely in favor of drawing quietly in his pad, maybe chewing on some of the strawberry taffy he seems to be so fond of. It’s ridiculous that a grown boy is as infatuated by sugar as he is.
It’s immature, unreasonable...and completely endearing in a way that makes Jinyoung want to shake himself while screaming, “He’s a kid, Park! A goshdarn Freshman with a dumb, squishy, cute face. Get a grip, my dude.” But, if it were that easy Jinyoung wouldn’t be twitching in his shoes, absolutely whacked out.
“Hey, Mr. Class President.”
Jinyoung looks over at Mark, who’s fixing him the slyest look that makes Jinyoung want to punch in his aggravatingly handsome, smug face.
“What?” he says, bitter.
“Gonna ask him out?”
“Ask who out?”
“Like you don’t know.” Mark scoffs. “That fine piece of Freshman ass, Choi Youngjae. The one you’re about to wet your pants over.”
“Shove it, Tuan,” Jinyoung gripes, hands balling loosely at his sides.
“Not in a million years, Park,” Mark says as he gathers his jacket from its silently hung post on the back of his chair, surely getting ready to dazzle some poor, unsuspecting group of girls in the hallway. “Nothing of mine is being shoved into anything of yours. I’m just saying. If you’re really into the dude, your regular ‘hey, did it hurt...when you fell into my heart’ routine might not work on him. He seems like the type that requires actual pining.”
“What do you know about pining?” Jinyoung’s pissed at this point; not because Mark’s wrong, but because he’s probably right. “Your turnaround time for meet girl to get into girl’s pants is, what, a week at most?”
Mark laughs in that way that makes him seem like a thousand-year old monk with all of the knowledge of the cosmos compressed into a nineteen-year old. “That’s because I don’t really care about them. These googly-eyed, mini skirt-wearing clones are just so willing to give it all up.”
“You’re gonna give me that bullshit about it being a man’s duty to take it?” Jinyoung finally sits, hard, and he cusses under his breath at the enraging smirk that cracks over Mark’s lips.
“No, not a duty. But, it makes for one hell of a Saturday night.”
“He’s not that different.” But, even as he’s saying this, Jinyoung can feel the quiet neglect of the mentioned Freshman. Jinyoung is so used to being swaddled with admiration, especially by the lowerclassmen, that Youngjae’s gentle indifference had come as a shock at first. A challenge yet to conquered. A frustrating code to crack that he hasn’t the slightest clue where to start.
“Deny it if you want, Jinyoung. Just know that the kid’s not the regular means to an end in your psycho-wacked quest to make everyone like you. Try making an effort this time. You may just surprise yourself.”
And then he’s off to stop traffic.
It’s probably for the better. If Mark were to stick around, he’d witness first-hand how Jinyoung is going to embarrass himself. He hates that with every step he takes a little bit of confidence leaks out of him, creating an imaginary little trail that only Jinyoung can feel as it stains his descent into a state of complete and total internal chaos.
Before Jinyoung can abandon ship, he’s standing directly over Youngjae’s desk. The quiet boy is doing his usual business, listening to music and ignoring Jinyoung and looking so absolutely endearing in his way that makes Jinyoung wish he’d curl into a ball and stop living. He’s fucked. He’s fucked. He’s so fuck-
“Hyung.”
Jinyoung looks down to see Youngjae staring up at him, earbud held gingerly in one hand.
“Did you want something?” Nothing in the world ever sounded so lilting and pure, like bells ringing straight out of the Promise Land. “If you’re collecting the math homework, sorry, but I didn’t finish yet. I’ll be done in about ten minutes.”
“Math.” Jinyoung gulps unsteadily. “Uh, yeah, math. No, it’s cool. I’ll just come back in a few. Well, do you need...need some help, with your, y-your math homework? I’m pretty decent at dividing myself.”
Jinyoung laughs for some reason. It’s not funny.
“It’s a little more complicated than that…” Youngjae shuffles his papers, looking uncomfortable. Jinyoung must be creeping him out. If he weren’t himself, he’d kick his ass for making Youngjae uncomfortable. He’d kick his ass anyway for being a douche that obviously hasn’t even popped his manhood yet because he’s stuttering and shaking like a child. Mark may have been onto something. Jinyoung might wet his pants after all.
“How complicated?”
“Derivatives,” Youngjae says.
“Hey, that’s what we’re doing.”
“I know.” Youngjae’s tone has dipped into confusion. “We’re in the same class.”
“Right. We are.” Jinyoung doesn’t deserve to live. He should just drop dead.
“I did notice you were pretty good with Literature,” Youngjae says. “I’m okay with numbers and junk. But, words aren’t my thing. Do you think you can tutor me after school? My little sister doesn’t bring around the peanut gallery until about 6:30. I can promise a solid hour of headache free work time.”
“Your house? Just the two of us?” As if Jinyoung needs another reason to feel like passing out. He has to get a grip, and fast.
“Or, if you’re uncomfortable, there’s always the library.”
“No!” Jinyoung blurts it out so fast that Youngjae scares, jolting slightly in his seat. “Sorry. Uh, your house is fine.”
“Cool.” Youngjae grins. Jinyoung is seconds away from losing consciousness and faceplanting.
“Meet me after school at the bus stop near the fieldhouse,” he says.
“Yeah, sure,” Jinyoung replies, but his head is already in another dimension. It’s sad how happy the thought of studying makes him. Jinyoung is no dunce; he gets decent grades (mostly a mix of A’s and B’s, an occasional C). However, he’s not the type that prefers a quiet night in studying over hitting up some house party. Although, Jinyoung figures, with an ounce of terror and stark realization, that he’d agree to anything Youngjae suggested.
❆ ❆ ❆
Youngjae’s bedroom is exactly what Jinyong expected: walls packed with posters from various animes and video games (some of them he actually knows), a little easel set up with watercolors and a half-finished face on thick paper, a moderately sloppy bed, and an oak armoire with drawers bursting with overflowing socks and a cluttered surface.
It’s actually very messy; which explains why Youngjae is apologizing quietly as he flutters here and there, clearing as much space as possible. Jinyoung should be deterred, he supposes. There’s a saying he picked up from somewhere that a messy room reflects a tangled psyche and a troubled personal life, and if there’s anything Jinyoung hates, it’s complication and drama. But, it can also be that whoever came up with that saying has never met or been a teenage boy and is ignorant to the fact that boys are messy in general, the only thing serving as a variant being how messy.
And while on the subject it’d be worthwhile to point out that Jinyoung is being overly observant and overly possessive for pairing him and Youngjae together when they’ve barely even talked. And the first time they will have to truly talk, even if about derivatives, is being spoilt as he stands silent, oddly so, analyzing the possible correlation between the mess in Youngjae’s room and his personal life.
Also, it’s been about thirty seconds since Youngjae has sat down and he’s been staring at Jinyoung’s stoic back, probably wondering why the other hasn’t moved or spoken yet.
Real time update: Jinyoung is being creepy, and things are not going swell.
“Would you like to sit?” Youngjae asks. Jinyoung isn’t sure how many times he’s asked that question, and so he walks over, nearly tripping over his own damn feet, and sits on Youngjae’s bed.
“Let’s, uh, we can start now. If that’s good with you?” Jinyoung’s voice breaks and he’s so close to crying after having embarrassed himself so irrevocably.
“It’s why I asked you over.” Youngjae smiles slightly, seemingly amused, and reaches into his backpack for the materials. The fact that he’s still treating Jinyoung like a classmate and not a wacko shows that maybe his whole staring off into space silently fiasco is behind them. He’s grateful.
“Can we start with Shakespeare?” Youngjae takes out their packet of plays, flipping pages. “He’s so confusing. I never know what’s going on. I looked up some stuff online, but the only thing I understood is that everyone dies in the end.”
Jinyoung laughs, chest loosening as something familiar settles in. “Well, that’s the gist. It’s called a tragedy. It’s generally not a happily ever after. The most important thing to remember is that Shakespeare is not your average dramatic playwright. His plays are based heavily upon Catholic dogma. Bad characters die, good characters prevail. They were intended to spread the ideas of the faith and not really for entertainment; although, the crazy plots were very entertaining…”
Jinyoung doesn’t realize he’s rambling until Youngjae makes a small sound and he snaps out of it. His cheeks warm as he looks down at his hands, rubbing them busily, nervously. He’s being so uncharacteristically himself, but he can’t help that Youngjae makes him feel this way.
“No!” Youngjae scoots closer on the bed, having folded his legs at some point, and leans toward Jinyoung who can’t help but shift back a little. “Don’t stop. You’re so good. Keep going, please?”
His sweet brown eyes blinking excitedly underneath deep auburn fringe makes Jinyoung’s heart leap into his chest and slam against it in frantic abandon. He stops breathing for a solid ten seconds, only remembering to exhale when Youngjae pouts cutely and he does everything not to melt.
He’s failing.
“Sure.” Jinyoung smiles shyly back. “Well, to start, Shakespeare is known for utilizing the tragic hero often, probably because it highlights the fact that it doesn’t take a maniacal villain to cause mass destruction. Just a few bad decisions with no reparation. A tragic hero is dubbed such because of some sort of flaw that is dispositional…”
❆ ❆ ❆
Turns out that Jinyoung is halfway decent as a tutor. Youngjae is a great pupil. It’s advantageous for both. Youngjae enthusiastically shows Jinyoung his B+ on a Lit exam two weeks after that and even goes farther to ask for help in World History as well. Jinyoung isn’t much better, but two heads are better than one, and so he gladly agrees. Jinyoung has an excuse to see Youngjae and be close to him without being seen as creepy.
Some more good news is that Jinyoung no longer needs to pee his pants from nerves whenever the Freshman is around. Sure, his palms are swimming in his own sweat and his heart refuses to quit quivering like an excited schoolgirl whenever he’s so much as in the same vicinity, but he can make a few jokes without imploding (and sometimes Youngjae actually laughs). Needless to say, things are going pretty damn well.
What Jinyoung is not fond of, however, is that while Youngjae is warming up to him, he also has taken a liking to Mark. It doesn’t sound like the worst thing. But, it’s Mark. The only one in the Junior class, other than Jinyoung, who could chat the skirt off of an amoeba. That Mark.
Jinyoung had taken the liberty to sit right next to Youngjae in class, and naturally Mark followed.
As Jinyoung is recalling these developments, Mark is engaging Youngjae in what looks like a pretty intense conversation on what anime deserves the title of ‘Best of 2016’. Jinyoung, being only somewhat verse in anime, is pissed and alienated.
❆ ❆ ❆
“I love you, dude. Like, in a really intense hetero sense. I mean, I swear on my brother’s dead parakeet’s grave, I’m straight. But, say one day you were super horny and there wasn’t any decent snatch around, I’d let you-”
“Mark!” Jinyoung interjects before his idiotic friend can say anything he’ll regret.
“Point is, you’re my bro. But if you even try to play Youngjae I’ll sock you in the dick.” He looks so serious Jinyoung would laugh, if they weren’t talking about Youngjae; in which case, Jinyoung gets it immediately. He’s beautiful, sweet, and full of boundless youth so unperverted and infectious it burns his chest to think that anyone would have the balls to do such a thing as “play Youngjae”.
“Whatever,” is all Jinyoung says. It hurts to think how much he likes Youngjae. He may even love him; which is ridiculous because what does Jinyoung know about love besides what the shitty 90’s romcoms his sister has stacked in her room taught him? It’s usually popular boy ignores nerdy girl, falls in love with her after having to do a project together or some other dumb, transparent crap (but, save the cinematical critique for later), and then they slobber on each other in the back seat of his car before the camera pans upward after an allusion to some pretty awkward sex.
Done.
They also usually include the girl first having to take off her glasses and let down her hair because all teenage dudes are shallow, sex demons.
Thank you, Hollywood.
He’s never watched a scenario where the male lead is uncontrollably and irrevocably ensnared by his love interest from the very beginning. There’s always some type of gradual model, however rushed. But, what if Jinyoung is so captured by everything about Youngjae from his sweet smile to his pretty eyes that crinkle whenever a character in his book has just made some greatly clever joke to the way he bites his lips during a particularly hard math question?
What then?
Maybe he’s just fucked.
The optimistic side of him could say he’s positively fucked. He’s so engrossed in Choi Youngjae that there’s no room for any argument. He’s not confused. Just at a loss for what to about it. The only thing he’s really sure of is that Mark saying this grates on his already frenzied nerves. It should be Jinyoung who’s threatening his sexually curious friend to keep all personal items, hands, overactive johnson, and all else, away from Youngjae.
But, it’s not him, and he feels like shit about it.
❆ ❆ ❆
Things only get worse after that. Youngjae gradually stops asking Jinyoung to tutor him. He gives the boy the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s just busy or something. That wishful thinking is shredded to bits when Jinyoung just walking out of school from a talk with his homeroom teacher and sees Youngjae and Mark laughing and being irritatingly familiar as they get on the bus and drive somewhere far, far away where Jinyoung can’t possibly rain on their parade.
Youngjae doesn’t even look up when Jinyoung comes in today, but he’s all gung ho when Mark skips in, taking the initiative to call him over and strike up a conversation about something. Whatever it is Jinyoung is obviously not wanted.
If Jinyoung's mood isn’t pissy enough, he just has to round the corner after lunch on his way back to class and see Mark and Youngjae yucking up their newfound best friendship next to Mark’s locker. He’s ready to put his foot through a door when Youngjae pushes Mark’s shoulder so intimately and full of his regular sunshine that the pocket of bitter emotion swelling deep in Jinyoung’s gut bursts and he’s flooded with acute anger.
His skull is stuffed to its limit when Mark swaggers his way over after having waved Youngjae who is now walking in the opposite direction toward their homeroom with his lunch pail swinging happily by his side. He looks absolutely content.
The notion that Mark truly makes him that happy crushes his spirit more than it can take.
“Jinyoung, my main dude.” Mark throws a hand up, waiting for Jinyoung to initiate their handshake. When Jinyoung doesn’t move, instead opting to glare so intensely it actually hurts, Mark’s hand floats back down to his side, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
“Fuck you, Mark.” It comes out all chokey and weak like he’s going to cry. He might.
“I’d usually make some lewd joke and laugh by myself, but you seem really serious right now. What’s wrong, Jin?”
“Like you don’t know.” The voice sounds so nasty and venomous that Jinyoung almost doesn’t recognize what it is. Then he feels the low vibrations in the back of his throat and is reminded that, oh yeah, it’s him.
“Don’t know what?” Mark asks frustratedly.
“Don’t know that I like Youngjae and you’re over there acting all chummy right in front of my face.” Jinyoung slams his locker closed with an unnecessary roughness and glares at a hopelessly lost Mark. “I’m borderline in love with him and you know that. I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” Mark says, giving Jinyoung’s upper arm a friendly slap. The touch burns in the worst way. “Best friends. You’re my bro.”
“Yeah, well you have a funny way of showing it,” he bites back.
“Jinyoung-”
“Whatever, Mark.” Jinyoung waves his hands in defeat. “It’s honestly just whatever. You can keep chatting up Youngjae and I’ll just make myself scarce. That’s what you want, right?”
“Jinyoung-”
“Just don’t forget to call when Youngjae needs a threshold to wipe his feet on after the marriage, yeah? I’m available. It isn’t like you see me as anything else but a doormat anyway.”
“Fuck, Park Jinyoung. If you’d just listen-”
“Later.”
Jinyoung has never fumed so much in his life. He practically sprints down the hall in search of a utility closet to stuff himself into until the tears stop running down his inflamed cheeks.
❆ ❆ ❆
Somewhere, hidden deeply under thick layers of his subconscious, there’s guilt. But, it's so small and untraceable that Jinyoung is able to seethe for a good hour alone in his room before the regret starts to set in and gnaw at him, silently growing in strength and relevance the longer he bathes in isolated misery.
He overreacted, and now he feels like a douche.
His finger is just about to press call when someone knocks on his door. It immediately strikes him as odd because no one knocks around here. Which is Jinyoung is both appeased and panicked beyond belief when Youngjae’s voice comes through the door.
“Hyung, are you in there?” Youngjae’s voice sounds so sweet and full of apology that Jinyoung is willing to rehash his earlier thought of kicking his own ass. He gets up, crossing his bedroom floor in slow-fast motion, and opens the door hesitantly.
Youngjae is standing there, looking all cute and disheveled in his crumpled uniform and messily tossed hair. Jinyoung, without preamble, reaches out and smoothes it back on his forehead. It’s instinctual, the way he feels the need to be near him. He’s never acted on it, though. And he just did. Mortification can’t describe how he feels as he steps back, silently offering.
The second Jinyoung closes the door and turns around, fully facing Youngjae, the boy calls him an idiot. It’s deserved, yet so completely out of character that Jinyoung blinks stupidly in response, unsure of how to react, proving his assertion properly.
“I’m, I’m sorry,” he finally squeaks out.
“Do you know why you’re an idiot?” Youngjae asks.
“Because...I yelled at Mark?”
“And?” Youngjae nods in anticipation.
“And, because I always leave the toilet seat up?”
“What?” Youngjae groans. “God, no. Hyung. Come here.”
Youngjae yanks Jinyoung by his wrist over to the bed and sits them both down. His hand transfers from a loose grip on Jinyoung’s wrist to his hands, interlocking their fingers, and Jinyoung’s stomach does a nosedive.
“You’re an idiot because you didn’t bother to talk to me about anything before you went flying off on an angry rampage,” Youngjae says.
“You, you stopped talking to me...a-and you stopped asking me over to your house to study,” Jinyoung chokes out pathetically. “I thought—Youngjae, I thought you didn’t like me anymore. I thought you liked Mark more than me. And I-I thought-”
Before Jinyoung can finish his choppy sentence Youngjae leans forward and presses his mouth firmly against Jinyoung’s. After an awkward pause of Jinyoung staring wide-eyed at Youngjae’s closed eyes, his own shut in bliss as he savors the soft, warm lips sliding against his own. He may be a nervous wreck around Youngjae, but he’s no novice to this whole thing. In that moment where’s all heat and slick skin and instinct, Jinyoung slides his hands around to Youngjae’s lower back, settling near his waist and anchoring there, sure and content.
Whatever has been coiling in silent suspense deep in his throat breaks free, drenching his senses in dizzying pleasure. By the time Youngjae pulls back, Jinyoung is deeply saturated, a little winded, but ensnared so wholly in the euphoria Youngjae holds in his body that he can only gape as Youngjae smiles at him in his own way.
“The reason I haven’t invited you over,” Youngjae stresses with a slight annoyance heavily overshadowed by affection, “is because I like you. I was going to confess with a painting and I have nowhere in my room to hide the evidence. I didn’t want you to see it.”
“Confess?”
“Yes, confess.” Youngjae giggles, full of bubbly spirit and overt happiness so intense it leaves Jinyoung winded once again. He takes Jinyoung’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks and staring deeply. “I like you, hyung. I’m taking your terribly misguided yet oddly flattering wrath against Mark that the feeling is mutual.”
“You can.” Jinyoung barely has the words out before Youngjae climbs fully into his lap.
“Perfect.” Youngjae smiles brightly.
“Yeah.” Jinyoung slides his arms tighter around Youngjae’s waist, trapping him against his body and smiling back up at him. “Perfect.”