Dirty Little Freak
Title: Dirty Little Freaks
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Kihyuk
Rating: PG13
Summary: Hyukjae knew his life had changed the moment the exchange student walked into his first period gym class. A songfic based on P!nk’s “Raise Your Glass,” and this week’s episode of Glee.
---
A/N: The best moment in Glee history. Also, references to the most angsty.
---
Right, right, turn off the lights. We gonna lose our minds tonight.
Hyukjae knew exactly what he was doing. Not that it was something he’d ever done before. At seventeen years old, there weren’t a lot of choices out there for a guy who happened to like guys. So maybe he didn’t know what he was doing, but his body definitely felt like it did. On that front, at least, he knew exactly what he wanted.
But his inexperience twisted in his stomach like sickness. Should he turn off the lights? It was still the afternoon, with mottled sunlight streaming in through the window, so what could it do?
“Leave it on,” Kibum said. He was already reclined on his bed, his eyes intense and knowing. As always. “You should always know what you’re getting into. Turning out the lights, closing your eyes - that won’t make it go away.”
Hyukjae didn’t want any of it to disappear. This was what he’d been waiting for, and if the rug was pulled out from under him again, he didn’t know if he’d ever work up the courage to keep trying.
---
When Lee Hyukjae imagined his first time, he always saw it with a woman. Even if he knew they terrified him, that he didn’t want them, that he didn’t find them attractive, the thought of his parents’ disapproval usually terrified him more. It was a phase he was going through - a really long phase that had started with him wanting to hold other boys’ hands in kindergarten and lasted up through high school when his friends would score porn magazines and Hyukjae did his best to seem interested in the because he was supposed to be.
And, well. He could think of a few guys who he wanted to do some of those things to him. So the stash under his bed continued to grow, and though his reputation took a hit from this discovery, no one ever questioned his sexuality.
Hyukjae didn’t question it, either. He knew the moment he’d been placed in gym class with one Kim Kibum that there was no questioning it.
Physical education was not Hyukjae’s worst class, but it certainly wasn’t his best. He might have been quick, but he wasn’t competitive, and if a ball was hurled his way, he was more likely to dodge it than to try to catch it. His concentration took a hit, too, when Kibum was transferred in.
The boy was from America - his Korean accented, but understandable. And the accent was kind of hot, and so were his arms, and the way his gym shirt clung to his chest, and whenever he brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. All these things were perfect, and then he would catch sight of Hyukjae, distracted, getting hit by a dodgeball when he wasn’t paying attention. The hit didn’t even hurt, even if Hyukjae had to be sent to the nurse.
Kibum had smiled, an expression that stayed with him for the rest of the day. He didn’t know if it made him want to laugh or cry, but the feeling shivered through him for a moment, and that was when Hyukjae knew he was completely and totally screwed.
Whenever he saw Kibum next, it really did feel like something had gotten stuck in his throat. He was sort of glad, because he knew if he tried to speak he would probably end up saying something stupid, thus ruining already astronomically low chances.
But all of his well-laid plans of staying well away from Kibum never quite worked out. They always ended up being on the same team in phys. ed., because his friends all had to be nice to the new kid. The same thing happened in literature, and pre-calculus, and in English. But he was sort of thankful for being paired with him in that class. Kibum had the very best grade, and he hadn’t even been there for two weeks. Hyukjae had the absolute worst.
So Hyukjae was excited. School-enforced Kibum-interaction time meant that no matter what Hyukjae did that was stupid, he could blame it on his piss-poor knowledge of the English language.
But Kibum, apparently, was not so excited. They broke up into their groups, the chatter in the class drowning out everything else, nearly covering up Kibum’s words.
“Listen, I don’t know what I did, but whatever it was, I didn’t mean it.”
Hyukjae’s brain froze halfway through trying to remember a stupid English pickup line that Donghae once taught him. “What?”
“You stare at me all the time like you want to throw me on the ground, and you’re really bad at hiding it.”
Hyukjae’s mind had stopped at throw me on the ground, but he got the basic idea and went immediately into defensive mode. “No, no, no, no, no! That’s not it at all. It’s. Um.”
Hyukjae didn’t know that he had actually ever spoken to Kibum. In fact, he was pretty sure he always did his best to stop talking and disappear whenever he approached, smiling that perfect smile. And oh, when you put it that way, Hyukjae was the biggest idiot in the history of idiots.
Kibum was looking at him like he was waiting for an explanation. I’m totally in love with you, even though it makes me a freak, so don’t mind me, somehow managed to sound really stupid. “It just isn’t,” Hyukjae finished lamely.
And Kibum smiled his perfect smile, and Hyukjae did his best to smile back without looking like a total dork.
---
From that point, Hyukjae was nearly glued to Kibum’s side. Maybe not directly to his side, because he still imposed a distance of at least one person between them. They were friends, which was more than Hyukjae thought was possible before. And in Hyukjae’s mind, nothing else was possible. There was such a disconnect between what he wanted and what reality was, and at the same time, Kibum was right there, in arms reach. It was just safer to keep his distance.
But even that didn’t last long, because wouldn’t it be too suspicious if he jumped away the moment Kibum threw an arm around his shoulder? And it was impossible not to walk close enough to jostle each other in the hallway.
Every precaution Hyukjae tried to take crumbled away, while the world stayed whole. The four horsemen were not riding a swath of destruction across the continents. Demons hadn’t possessed anyone he knew recently, except his math teacher, but he was pretty sure the man had it out for him even before Kibum appeared.
So it was the most natural next step, inviting Kibum to his house to work on a project for English. “So, yeah, my parent’s aren’t home yet.” Not that Kibum needed to know that or anything. “Um. We have food. And Coke, I think, if you want anything?”
“I’m fine,” Kibum said, shaking his head. He held onto his books and things for a moment, looking as uncertain as Hyukjae had ever seen him, before he let his backpack slide off onto the floor beside Hyukjae’s, while the other boy tried his best not to imagine what his shirt would look like, sliding off of those arms.
And time passed quickly enough. They could forgo the English dictionary, Kibum dictating most of the words, laid back about that part even if he was a dictator with pronunciation.
“Where is the bus station, bus - it’s more of a ‘buh’ sound, no, keep moving your lips like that. ‘Buh,’ not ‘puh.’”
What might have been hobbling Hyukjae’s abilities was the fact that he felt like Kibum was asking him to make stupid kissy faces at him. He turned away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate as long as Kibum was staring at him as he tried to make the sound again.
He figured he must have daydreamed the brush of fingers against his chin, but he didn’t try to dream away the pressure in them that made him turn his head toward Kibum.
And the kiss, well . . . it was just a kiss. Just everything he could have every wanted in the simple brush of skin on skin. Kibum. Acknowledgement. Contact with another human, a human he wanted, found attractive, and could have kept kissing if surprise hadn’t frozen him in place.
And it felt like it was over in less than a second. Kibum pulled away, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - we should get back to practicing.”
“I thought we were.” Hyukjae could feel his face go red the moment he said it. But it wasn’t like it mattered. In a moment, Kibum was too close to be able to tell.
---
They’d made it half way to the stairs, in full view of the front door when it opened. Frozen in place, hair mussed, Kibum’s shirt finally gone, there could be no mistaking their intentions. His father stared at him, eyebrows raised. It felt like forever before he finally spoke. “I think you should probably leave.”
Hyukjae tried to shrink into the wall as Kibum stepped back slowly, glaring at Hyukjae’s father like he might say something, might fight. One step, hands still on Hyukjae’s shoulders. Another, and the first one fell away. Kibum looked at Hyukjae then, as his other hand squeezed his shoulder, and slid down his arm as he turned to pick up his shirt, and pulled it on. One last smoldering look, maybe expecting him to do something, say something.
And then he was gone, the door pulled quietly shut. No trace he had ever been there except a fast pulse and a disapproving stare. But after a moment, his father went to the living room and turned on the television. “If I ever see him here again-”
Hyukjae nodded quickly, grabbing his backpack and running up the stairs to his room.
---
Hyukjae didn’t even have the chance to scuttle away in embarrassment the next day at school. In gym, Kibum volunteered for the other side’s captain in three-on-three basketball, on the other side of the gymnasium. They didn’t have any group work that day in literature or pre-calculus. He completely disappeared during lunch period.
Every avoidance twisted his gut in knots. He’d completely lost his appetite, even if he’d been too afraid the night before to go down for dinner, and too scared to do anything more than run through the kitchen and grab a piece of bread before running to school that morning.
But it was almost time for English. They were working on a project together. That didn’t get to just disappear. Hyukjae took his seat next to Kibum’s. The other boy walked in almost as the bell rang, sitting down gingerly and staring ahead at the chalk board.
“Hey.” Not the most incredible opening, but he had a captive audience and was more nervous that he had been in his entire life. Kibum’s eyes flickered to him, before moving back to the chalkboard. “I need to talk to you,” Hyukjae tried again.
“Let me guess. It meant absolutely nothing, and I don’t have to worry about you ever telling anyone. Let’s forget about it and just be friends.” Kibum had never been angry at him before, and his entire body spoke of the emotion. Lips twisted into a frown, eyes narrowed, glaring. “Not a school appropriate topic. People hear more than you think they do.”
“I don’t care if they hear,” Hyukjae said, trying to keep his voice low.
“You will,” Kibum replied, crossing his arms and staring fixedly at anything but Hyukjae. “Class is starting.”
By the end of the period, Kibum had asked the teacher if he could switch partners.
---
Someone had heard. Dirty little freak was painted in several different colors across his locker. Sloppily. Misspelled. But everyone knew what it meant. His gym uniform started disappearing, and people told him he belonged in the girl’s locker room. Whenever a teacher’s back was turned, someone was throwing something at him.
The first time someone tried to beat him up, though, Donghae was there, and ended up with an out-of-school suspension, and ‘fag lover’ painted on his uniform. Even if he had a girlfriend. Even if he was captain of the soccer team.
There were a few bright points in the next few months. Heechul almost immediately traded Donghae’s ruined jacket and wore it around school. Donghae stayed almost glued to his side. A few of his old friends, who had not so mysteriously vanished from their group for a few days slowly trickled back to their regular lunch table, lead forcibly by Heechul or threatened by Donghae or simply crushed under the weight of their own shame.
Hyukjae didn’t really care what their reasons were. The person he wanted to come back wasn’t there.
Kibum didn’t escape the worst of it. Once in the hallway they passed each other, Kibum’s eyes stuck on the floor as he dripped what looked like the remnants of a purple slushie down the hall, his dank hair plastered to his face, his shoulders hunched in a very un-Kibum-like matter. Hyukjae had wanted to say something, and reached out to try to grab Kibum’s shoulder or something, to stop him and see if he was ok. Kibum brushed his arm away as if it was nothing.
During their lunch period, Kibum sat conspicuously alone at one of the corner tables. It got to the point where his friends started migrating between the two tables, changing custody like divorced parents, because they had been Kibum’s friends, too. Someone was always with Kibum, and someone was always with Hyukjae. But they were never all together. Yet another thing that was inexplicably wrong.
Not everyone could be around all the time, either. Hyukjae walked home, and more often now he tried to take alternate routes. Because he inevitably was pushed into a dumpster, or ended up with a black eye, or worse. Today looked like it was going to be one of those days.
A couple of jocks loitered at the entrance of the alley Hyukjae usually cut through to get home. They flicked their cigarettes to the ground and stomped on them, arranging themselves in the alley so there was no hope of just shuffling around them. He clutched his satchel a little closer as he walked forward. As if that was going to protect him.
They’d pick him up under the armpits and grab his ankles and toss him into a dumpster like a sack of potatoes, because if he fought back they just kicked him until he didn’t. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for it. What he heard was a grunt of pain. He opened his eyes and saw one of the other boys on the ground, holding a bloody nose, and Kibum striding purposefully toward him, grabbing his hand and almost dragging him away.
They walked like that for a few blocks, Kibum not speaking a word no matter what Hyukjae tried to say. His grip hurt, and only got tighter as Hyukjae tried to get out of it. He eventually let go when they got to a crosswalk, sticking his hands in his pocket and crossing the street.
“Wait a second!” Hyukjae shouted, chasing after him. “You can’t just swoop in and leave like that!”
Kibum ignored him until they got to the opposite sidewalk. “And you can’t quit! Do you ever get to a point where it’s just not worth bothering with anymore? Can’t you just give up?”
Hyukjae stopped. The words twisted in his gut uncomfortably. “Do you really want me to?”
“It’s too much to deal with for another person! Can you please worry about yourself for once? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it isn’t exactly healthy to get beat up every day.”
Hyukjae shuffled his feet a little. “It isn’t every day.”
Kibum almost seemed amused at that. Not completely happy. Hyukjae hadn’t seen him smile since the afternoon his father had walked in on them. But it was an improvement. “Can I come home with you?” he tried.
Kibum did smile at that, and choked out a short laugh, though it was mirthless. “If your parents freaked out, how do you think mine feel?” Hyukjae frowned, but held his ground. For once in his life, and it seemed to work out. Kibum laughed again, and this time it wasn’t a complete mockery of the sound. “Why not. They’re on a business trip.”
This time Hyukjae smiled. A bit uncertainly, but this was better than the complete lack of communication from before. “We could throw a wild party.”
“And who would come?” Kibum laughed. He took Hyukjae’s hand again, not with a crushing grip this time, and not walking so fast Hyukjae thought his arm would come off. He just pulled Hyukjae a little closer, and slung an arm over his shoulder.
They got a few weird looks, and someone muttering, “That’s so wrong,” loud enough for them to hear it as they passed. All the comments and glares only seemed to put Kibum in an odd mood. He pulled Hyukjae closer, leaning in to kiss his cheek, or blow in his ear. Perfectly wrong, in all the right ways.
---
A/N: I don't even know whos prompt this is supposed to be: People can tell when you stare at them like that.
Due to a sudden influx of homework and homework and family issues, KiHyuk week feels like a failure. Also, my family knows my screen name. So I might change it. Or I might just write a really smutty gay threesome to get them to stop. That, or I start writing badly written fanfiction that just hurts to read. But whatever it is, to my family: it's really creepy. Get off of livejournal. This is where I go to escape the harsh realities of living with you. I am in college. Forgive me if I feel entitled to some independence and privacy.
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Kihyuk
Rating: PG13
Summary: Hyukjae knew his life had changed the moment the exchange student walked into his first period gym class. A songfic based on P!nk’s “Raise Your Glass,” and this week’s episode of Glee.
---
A/N: The best moment in Glee history. Also, references to the most angsty.
---
Right, right, turn off the lights. We gonna lose our minds tonight.
Hyukjae knew exactly what he was doing. Not that it was something he’d ever done before. At seventeen years old, there weren’t a lot of choices out there for a guy who happened to like guys. So maybe he didn’t know what he was doing, but his body definitely felt like it did. On that front, at least, he knew exactly what he wanted.
But his inexperience twisted in his stomach like sickness. Should he turn off the lights? It was still the afternoon, with mottled sunlight streaming in through the window, so what could it do?
“Leave it on,” Kibum said. He was already reclined on his bed, his eyes intense and knowing. As always. “You should always know what you’re getting into. Turning out the lights, closing your eyes - that won’t make it go away.”
Hyukjae didn’t want any of it to disappear. This was what he’d been waiting for, and if the rug was pulled out from under him again, he didn’t know if he’d ever work up the courage to keep trying.
---
When Lee Hyukjae imagined his first time, he always saw it with a woman. Even if he knew they terrified him, that he didn’t want them, that he didn’t find them attractive, the thought of his parents’ disapproval usually terrified him more. It was a phase he was going through - a really long phase that had started with him wanting to hold other boys’ hands in kindergarten and lasted up through high school when his friends would score porn magazines and Hyukjae did his best to seem interested in the because he was supposed to be.
And, well. He could think of a few guys who he wanted to do some of those things to him. So the stash under his bed continued to grow, and though his reputation took a hit from this discovery, no one ever questioned his sexuality.
Hyukjae didn’t question it, either. He knew the moment he’d been placed in gym class with one Kim Kibum that there was no questioning it.
Physical education was not Hyukjae’s worst class, but it certainly wasn’t his best. He might have been quick, but he wasn’t competitive, and if a ball was hurled his way, he was more likely to dodge it than to try to catch it. His concentration took a hit, too, when Kibum was transferred in.
The boy was from America - his Korean accented, but understandable. And the accent was kind of hot, and so were his arms, and the way his gym shirt clung to his chest, and whenever he brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. All these things were perfect, and then he would catch sight of Hyukjae, distracted, getting hit by a dodgeball when he wasn’t paying attention. The hit didn’t even hurt, even if Hyukjae had to be sent to the nurse.
Kibum had smiled, an expression that stayed with him for the rest of the day. He didn’t know if it made him want to laugh or cry, but the feeling shivered through him for a moment, and that was when Hyukjae knew he was completely and totally screwed.
Whenever he saw Kibum next, it really did feel like something had gotten stuck in his throat. He was sort of glad, because he knew if he tried to speak he would probably end up saying something stupid, thus ruining already astronomically low chances.
But all of his well-laid plans of staying well away from Kibum never quite worked out. They always ended up being on the same team in phys. ed., because his friends all had to be nice to the new kid. The same thing happened in literature, and pre-calculus, and in English. But he was sort of thankful for being paired with him in that class. Kibum had the very best grade, and he hadn’t even been there for two weeks. Hyukjae had the absolute worst.
So Hyukjae was excited. School-enforced Kibum-interaction time meant that no matter what Hyukjae did that was stupid, he could blame it on his piss-poor knowledge of the English language.
But Kibum, apparently, was not so excited. They broke up into their groups, the chatter in the class drowning out everything else, nearly covering up Kibum’s words.
“Listen, I don’t know what I did, but whatever it was, I didn’t mean it.”
Hyukjae’s brain froze halfway through trying to remember a stupid English pickup line that Donghae once taught him. “What?”
“You stare at me all the time like you want to throw me on the ground, and you’re really bad at hiding it.”
Hyukjae’s mind had stopped at throw me on the ground, but he got the basic idea and went immediately into defensive mode. “No, no, no, no, no! That’s not it at all. It’s. Um.”
Hyukjae didn’t know that he had actually ever spoken to Kibum. In fact, he was pretty sure he always did his best to stop talking and disappear whenever he approached, smiling that perfect smile. And oh, when you put it that way, Hyukjae was the biggest idiot in the history of idiots.
Kibum was looking at him like he was waiting for an explanation. I’m totally in love with you, even though it makes me a freak, so don’t mind me, somehow managed to sound really stupid. “It just isn’t,” Hyukjae finished lamely.
And Kibum smiled his perfect smile, and Hyukjae did his best to smile back without looking like a total dork.
---
From that point, Hyukjae was nearly glued to Kibum’s side. Maybe not directly to his side, because he still imposed a distance of at least one person between them. They were friends, which was more than Hyukjae thought was possible before. And in Hyukjae’s mind, nothing else was possible. There was such a disconnect between what he wanted and what reality was, and at the same time, Kibum was right there, in arms reach. It was just safer to keep his distance.
But even that didn’t last long, because wouldn’t it be too suspicious if he jumped away the moment Kibum threw an arm around his shoulder? And it was impossible not to walk close enough to jostle each other in the hallway.
Every precaution Hyukjae tried to take crumbled away, while the world stayed whole. The four horsemen were not riding a swath of destruction across the continents. Demons hadn’t possessed anyone he knew recently, except his math teacher, but he was pretty sure the man had it out for him even before Kibum appeared.
So it was the most natural next step, inviting Kibum to his house to work on a project for English. “So, yeah, my parent’s aren’t home yet.” Not that Kibum needed to know that or anything. “Um. We have food. And Coke, I think, if you want anything?”
“I’m fine,” Kibum said, shaking his head. He held onto his books and things for a moment, looking as uncertain as Hyukjae had ever seen him, before he let his backpack slide off onto the floor beside Hyukjae’s, while the other boy tried his best not to imagine what his shirt would look like, sliding off of those arms.
And time passed quickly enough. They could forgo the English dictionary, Kibum dictating most of the words, laid back about that part even if he was a dictator with pronunciation.
“Where is the bus station, bus - it’s more of a ‘buh’ sound, no, keep moving your lips like that. ‘Buh,’ not ‘puh.’”
What might have been hobbling Hyukjae’s abilities was the fact that he felt like Kibum was asking him to make stupid kissy faces at him. He turned away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate as long as Kibum was staring at him as he tried to make the sound again.
He figured he must have daydreamed the brush of fingers against his chin, but he didn’t try to dream away the pressure in them that made him turn his head toward Kibum.
And the kiss, well . . . it was just a kiss. Just everything he could have every wanted in the simple brush of skin on skin. Kibum. Acknowledgement. Contact with another human, a human he wanted, found attractive, and could have kept kissing if surprise hadn’t frozen him in place.
And it felt like it was over in less than a second. Kibum pulled away, his eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - we should get back to practicing.”
“I thought we were.” Hyukjae could feel his face go red the moment he said it. But it wasn’t like it mattered. In a moment, Kibum was too close to be able to tell.
---
They’d made it half way to the stairs, in full view of the front door when it opened. Frozen in place, hair mussed, Kibum’s shirt finally gone, there could be no mistaking their intentions. His father stared at him, eyebrows raised. It felt like forever before he finally spoke. “I think you should probably leave.”
Hyukjae tried to shrink into the wall as Kibum stepped back slowly, glaring at Hyukjae’s father like he might say something, might fight. One step, hands still on Hyukjae’s shoulders. Another, and the first one fell away. Kibum looked at Hyukjae then, as his other hand squeezed his shoulder, and slid down his arm as he turned to pick up his shirt, and pulled it on. One last smoldering look, maybe expecting him to do something, say something.
And then he was gone, the door pulled quietly shut. No trace he had ever been there except a fast pulse and a disapproving stare. But after a moment, his father went to the living room and turned on the television. “If I ever see him here again-”
Hyukjae nodded quickly, grabbing his backpack and running up the stairs to his room.
---
Hyukjae didn’t even have the chance to scuttle away in embarrassment the next day at school. In gym, Kibum volunteered for the other side’s captain in three-on-three basketball, on the other side of the gymnasium. They didn’t have any group work that day in literature or pre-calculus. He completely disappeared during lunch period.
Every avoidance twisted his gut in knots. He’d completely lost his appetite, even if he’d been too afraid the night before to go down for dinner, and too scared to do anything more than run through the kitchen and grab a piece of bread before running to school that morning.
But it was almost time for English. They were working on a project together. That didn’t get to just disappear. Hyukjae took his seat next to Kibum’s. The other boy walked in almost as the bell rang, sitting down gingerly and staring ahead at the chalk board.
“Hey.” Not the most incredible opening, but he had a captive audience and was more nervous that he had been in his entire life. Kibum’s eyes flickered to him, before moving back to the chalkboard. “I need to talk to you,” Hyukjae tried again.
“Let me guess. It meant absolutely nothing, and I don’t have to worry about you ever telling anyone. Let’s forget about it and just be friends.” Kibum had never been angry at him before, and his entire body spoke of the emotion. Lips twisted into a frown, eyes narrowed, glaring. “Not a school appropriate topic. People hear more than you think they do.”
“I don’t care if they hear,” Hyukjae said, trying to keep his voice low.
“You will,” Kibum replied, crossing his arms and staring fixedly at anything but Hyukjae. “Class is starting.”
By the end of the period, Kibum had asked the teacher if he could switch partners.
---
Someone had heard. Dirty little freak was painted in several different colors across his locker. Sloppily. Misspelled. But everyone knew what it meant. His gym uniform started disappearing, and people told him he belonged in the girl’s locker room. Whenever a teacher’s back was turned, someone was throwing something at him.
The first time someone tried to beat him up, though, Donghae was there, and ended up with an out-of-school suspension, and ‘fag lover’ painted on his uniform. Even if he had a girlfriend. Even if he was captain of the soccer team.
There were a few bright points in the next few months. Heechul almost immediately traded Donghae’s ruined jacket and wore it around school. Donghae stayed almost glued to his side. A few of his old friends, who had not so mysteriously vanished from their group for a few days slowly trickled back to their regular lunch table, lead forcibly by Heechul or threatened by Donghae or simply crushed under the weight of their own shame.
Hyukjae didn’t really care what their reasons were. The person he wanted to come back wasn’t there.
Kibum didn’t escape the worst of it. Once in the hallway they passed each other, Kibum’s eyes stuck on the floor as he dripped what looked like the remnants of a purple slushie down the hall, his dank hair plastered to his face, his shoulders hunched in a very un-Kibum-like matter. Hyukjae had wanted to say something, and reached out to try to grab Kibum’s shoulder or something, to stop him and see if he was ok. Kibum brushed his arm away as if it was nothing.
During their lunch period, Kibum sat conspicuously alone at one of the corner tables. It got to the point where his friends started migrating between the two tables, changing custody like divorced parents, because they had been Kibum’s friends, too. Someone was always with Kibum, and someone was always with Hyukjae. But they were never all together. Yet another thing that was inexplicably wrong.
Not everyone could be around all the time, either. Hyukjae walked home, and more often now he tried to take alternate routes. Because he inevitably was pushed into a dumpster, or ended up with a black eye, or worse. Today looked like it was going to be one of those days.
A couple of jocks loitered at the entrance of the alley Hyukjae usually cut through to get home. They flicked their cigarettes to the ground and stomped on them, arranging themselves in the alley so there was no hope of just shuffling around them. He clutched his satchel a little closer as he walked forward. As if that was going to protect him.
They’d pick him up under the armpits and grab his ankles and toss him into a dumpster like a sack of potatoes, because if he fought back they just kicked him until he didn’t. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for it. What he heard was a grunt of pain. He opened his eyes and saw one of the other boys on the ground, holding a bloody nose, and Kibum striding purposefully toward him, grabbing his hand and almost dragging him away.
They walked like that for a few blocks, Kibum not speaking a word no matter what Hyukjae tried to say. His grip hurt, and only got tighter as Hyukjae tried to get out of it. He eventually let go when they got to a crosswalk, sticking his hands in his pocket and crossing the street.
“Wait a second!” Hyukjae shouted, chasing after him. “You can’t just swoop in and leave like that!”
Kibum ignored him until they got to the opposite sidewalk. “And you can’t quit! Do you ever get to a point where it’s just not worth bothering with anymore? Can’t you just give up?”
Hyukjae stopped. The words twisted in his gut uncomfortably. “Do you really want me to?”
“It’s too much to deal with for another person! Can you please worry about yourself for once? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it isn’t exactly healthy to get beat up every day.”
Hyukjae shuffled his feet a little. “It isn’t every day.”
Kibum almost seemed amused at that. Not completely happy. Hyukjae hadn’t seen him smile since the afternoon his father had walked in on them. But it was an improvement. “Can I come home with you?” he tried.
Kibum did smile at that, and choked out a short laugh, though it was mirthless. “If your parents freaked out, how do you think mine feel?” Hyukjae frowned, but held his ground. For once in his life, and it seemed to work out. Kibum laughed again, and this time it wasn’t a complete mockery of the sound. “Why not. They’re on a business trip.”
This time Hyukjae smiled. A bit uncertainly, but this was better than the complete lack of communication from before. “We could throw a wild party.”
“And who would come?” Kibum laughed. He took Hyukjae’s hand again, not with a crushing grip this time, and not walking so fast Hyukjae thought his arm would come off. He just pulled Hyukjae a little closer, and slung an arm over his shoulder.
They got a few weird looks, and someone muttering, “That’s so wrong,” loud enough for them to hear it as they passed. All the comments and glares only seemed to put Kibum in an odd mood. He pulled Hyukjae closer, leaning in to kiss his cheek, or blow in his ear. Perfectly wrong, in all the right ways.
---
A/N: I don't even know whos prompt this is supposed to be: People can tell when you stare at them like that.
Due to a sudden influx of homework and homework and family issues, KiHyuk week feels like a failure. Also, my family knows my screen name. So I might change it. Or I might just write a really smutty gay threesome to get them to stop. That, or I start writing badly written fanfiction that just hurts to read. But whatever it is, to my family: it's really creepy. Get off of livejournal. This is where I go to escape the harsh realities of living with you. I am in college. Forgive me if I feel entitled to some independence and privacy.