#04 - for lee_junghwan, from your secret santa!
Title: If It's All The Same To You
For: lee_junghwan
Pairing: Badeul
Rating: G
Word Count: 8,887
Summary: Sandeul had always been at his wit's end when it came to Baro, and this case was really no different.
Notes: Omg I really didn't expect this to be so long, I hope you won't get a headache reading this >.< I'm sorry if this is kinda bumpy, I wrote another story really similar to what you wanted before and I was kind of at a dead end for another ending D: Merry Christmas and eat lots of turkey and food and hope you like this present! :) Have a great New Year too! :)
Sandeul doesn’t exactly understand how it started.
He remembered a rather violent beginning to his and Baro’s friendship, for sure. It didn’t exactly make sense, but then again, few things regarding Baro ever did.
On Sandeul’s first day here, Baro had had a field day, setting a personal record of seven successful consecutive pranks in a day, on the same person, which he had proudly announced that night, his loud and obnoxious voice carrying over into the other rooms as Sandeul dragged his battered hide into bed, properly humiliated and bruised.
The rest of the night had been spent plotting and scheming, and in the morning, while everyone was still waiting mournfully for the coffee machine to beep, he’d snuck a dye into Baro’s shampoo. The recipient spent the rest of the week walking around with his hair a rather unfortunate, patchy shade of bright green.
It was as though a war had unofficially been conceived then- there wasn’t a day when Baro or Sandeul weren’t furiously at each others’ necks, competing, scrabbling, vying to come out on top, and have the last laugh. It had been entertaining at first, according to the others, but when Chansik got caught in the crossfire one day, Jinyoung put a firm foot down.
But it wasn’t any one of the warning glares that Jinyoung shot at them whenever they were at it, not the impending debut date that loomed over the five of them with increasing hostility, not even the threatening talk that Manager took them both aside for one night after Jinyoung had told him about the conflict, that finally resolved the seemingly endless squabble.
Sandeul had crafted what, he had claimed in his mind, was the master of pranks, the perfect solution to wipe that snide smirk off Baro’s face once and for all, and decided that it was to take place on Saturday night, right after their weekly meetings.
It had worked, Baro had certainly been shocked off his feet by the life-sized, amateur Photoshop masterpiece taped to the back of the bedroom door of his head imposed on a female Dead or Alive character’s body, but Sandeul had just been equally as blown away by the unforeseen introduction of soy sauce, ketchup, sesame oil and chilli seeds into his pear juice.
As they both sat, however, dumbfounded on the floor, Sandeul spluttering and gasping, trying to get rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth, both their eyes met for a split second, and all of a sudden, Sandeul was at a loss as to how to react.
Baro, however, started to laugh. It was a new kind of laugh, one he didn’t think he’d heard before. Sandeul couldn’t place it in his mind at that moment, but before he knew it, he was doubled over, laughing too, and the sound of it didn’t cease until tears were rolling from the two pairs of eyes. All he knew about Baro’s laugh was that it sounded jovial, it sounded fresh, and cheerful, and actually kind of nice.
They’d become inseparable after that. Like their rivalry had gone up in flames and left an even stronger, even more lasting friendship in its place. It puzzled Sandeul, but only for a while. He had long resigned himself to the fact that he would never understand anything to do with Baro.
It was strange, how they got along (or rather how they didn’t), how they threw jibes out of nowhere poking at each others’ flaws for kicks, how Baro still pranked Sandeul with beetles and empty snack wrappers and buttpokes but somehow Sandeul didn’t mind so much anymore. It’d become a comforting routine, something that kind of irked him, but he knew, somewhere, deep down, he couldn’t live without.
For a while, Sandeul had been content. When he was with Baro, he felt like he could forget everything else, forget weight, forget image, and just have fun as himself, for once. Baro’s passion, his confidence, it gave Sandeul the empowerment he sought so badly to simply be who he was.
Like a medicine, a secret drug, he found himself being drawn closer and closer into Baro’s addictive energy and enthusiasm, and for a while, Sandeul had been happy.
For a while.
*
He can remember exactly when it started. It had been three in the afternoon, a tiny pocket of free time packed tightly between dance rehearsal and social etiquette lessons, and Sandeul was crouched behind the semi-closed door of their bedroom, turning every few seconds or so to check behind him.
“Are you done?” he asked impatiently, partly due to excitement and partly due to fear of the consequences if their target happened to walk in at that moment.
“You can’t rush art,” Baro said as he shook the soda can vigorously, eyes also fixed on the door. Sandeul’s heart was pounding with the usual adrenaline he faced before a prank, perspiration prickling on his forehead, ears straining to pick up any sound of footsteps outside the room.
“I seriously think he’s coming soon,” Sandeul whispered urgently. “That can’s already maxed out, he’s doomed as it is, so right now I think we should scram before-…”
The sound of approaching footsteps and voices, however, made both pranksters jump, and Baro almost dropped the can.
“Now what?!” Sandeul asked in a panicked tone, dancing frantically around on the spot, searching wildly for a hiding place in the cramped room. We could, I don’t know, just run, but he’d know it was us! Or we could take the can and get out of here, but that’s a good prank blown, or we-…
He was snapped out of reverie, however, when Baro grabbed him roughly by the wrist, flinging open the closet in their room and squeezing in. Sandeul followed suit almost at once, closing the door behind them, engulfing the pair in almost complete darkness.
The sound of voices grew louder and clearer, until there was a whoosh that signalled the door opening. Sandeul, however, was suddenly more aware of another factor.
Painfully aware.
He cleared his throat as quietly as he could, shifting uncomfortably against Sunwoo’s body, but his polite plea was met with an urgent shush and the slap of Sunwoo’s hand over his mouth. He almost yelped then, as he was dragged closer, almost completely pressed up against Sunwoo, now able to hear nothing but the rapid thundering of his heartbeat and their heavy breaths in the confined, dark space.
Well, of course, he’d never actually found himself in a situation where he required himself to be pressed up against his best friend in this fashion, so of course he wouldn’t know exactly how warm Sunwoo’s body was, but as he squirmed uncomfortably against the mounds of denim and cotton and soft, warm flesh, a stirring hit him in the pit of his stomach and suddenly he realised that wow Sunwoo wasn’t joking about the abs.
(He later berated himself for panicking, because, of course, it was a completely objective, factual observation, and he wasn’t, he wasn’t, noting it in any other fashion, of course not.)
Sunwoo had his ear against the door, apparently completely unaware of the internal turmoil raging within Junghwan, and it was less than three seconds later that both of them heard a sharp crack and whoosh, and an anguished yell.
All thoughts of hiding must have been abolished, as Sandeul found himself tumbling out after Baro, the latter already laughing his head off, pointing at the eldest, currently glaring and dripping with Mountain Dew.
“You,” Dongwoo pointed at Baro with an accusing finger, not forgetting to spare Sandeul a derogatory glance as well, as he fingered his jeans. “These are new, and I swear, if the yellow doesn’t wash off both of you will pay.”
Sandeul tried to join in the laughing, now coming twice as hard from his partner in crime with their target’s delightful reaction, but the thrumming sensation, echoing from that stab of weirdness in the closet, refuses to leave his stomach, and for many days to come, his mind.
*
Sandeul didn’t exactly mean to, he really tried, but all of a sudden, he found himself so much more alert towards the touches he and Baro shared. From a jubilant clap on the back to the absent lingering of Baro’s hand around his shoulders or on his thighs, Sandeul found himself tensing, unable to enjoy the warmth it usually provided.
It left Sandeul with an odd sense of detachment, a weird limbo into which he’d been shoved, skirting furtively around the boundaries of his friendship with Baro he’d once been so liberal in exploring. Sometimes, with concentrated effort, he’d forget, he’d forget and fall back into that simple routine he shared with Baro, but all it’d take would be a simple touch to force all the uncomfortable memories and emotions back into his mind.
It was tiring.
*
A week and three days after the Tumble-Out-Of-The-Closet incident (the irony would have Sandeul in stitches were it not mocking him so aptly), Sandeul found himself on the sofa beside Baro at eleven-thirty p.m., wrestling furiously for the remote control.
“Discovery Channel sucks, I’m telling you, there’s a movie going on now that I’ve been waiting all week to watch!” Baro gave the remote a harsh tug, almost unbalancing Sandeul, who recovered just in time to pull back.
“Well go download it and watch it, no one’s stopping you,” Sandeul retorted, now fighting to keep Baro’s fingers off the buttons. “I want to watch Discovery Channel now. Besides, your movies are probably full of porn.”
“Are not!” Baro looked scandalised, refusing to let go of the remote. “What, you mean like the kind you use to get yourself off every night?! Psh, please, I am above that.”
Chansik had been watching them for a while now from the floor beside the television with an air of amusement, munching on a packet of Twisties and providing Jinyoung with a live commentary, the latter fully absorbed in whatever he was doing on his laptop and only replying with perfunctory “mm”s or “really”s.
“I’m not even nineteen yet!”
“Yeah, well neither am I!”
“That’s why it’s called “illegal”, you blockhead, it’s something people like you do,” Sandeul gave the remote a furious final tug, and was surprised when the remote came loose at last, falling back onto the sofa with unwanted momentum.
With a battle yell, Baro launched himself onto Sandeul to pick up where the fight for control (Sandeul was really getting into the innuendoes here) had left off, and all of a sudden Sandeul was too aware that this was too much because he was under Baro and oh my gosh I’m actually UNDER Baro and Sandeul sprang up with inconceivable strength, both Baro and remote tumbling to the ground as a result.
“Ow,” Baro said with considerable shock, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the coffee table, staring up at Sandeul with confusion that he could understand perfectly, because his brain had become a mass of dead fizzing signals with the overload that had taken place barely a second ago. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Baro could hear, he was breathing like he’d just run a marathon with asthma, and an unexplainable dizziness had overtaken his mind, like a foggy white light that shrouded everything else.
Chansik was looking uncertainly at him, and even Jinyoung had stopped what he was doing, examining Sandeul with curiosity. The sudden silence bore down upon Sandeul, crushing him, and he swallowed hard, eyes darting apologetically from one party to another.
The awkward cloud, however, was vaporised upon the entry of a loud roar from the bedroom for everyone to just shut up and die, and Baro was on his feet at once, scuttling off to mock Dongwoo for being such a naggy old bear, and Chansik returned to his packet of Twisties, fishing out the crumbs from the bottom of the packet, and Sandeul felt his breathing start returning to normal at last.
Turning away from the burn of Jinyoung’s curious gaze, Sandeul sat down on the sofa with a rather resigned thump, running a frustrated hand through his hair and trying his best pretend that all that never happened.
Besides, the bitter thought flashed through his mind. It wasn’t like Baro had any problem with that.
*
Sandeul spent the next few nights trying to think everything over. He lay alone in his room (Manager was sleeping less and less at the B1A4 dorm nowadays, he claimed that they were sufficiently well-behaved, an opinion with which Sandeul begged to differ), staring up at the unforgiving white ceiling, analysing and reanalysing the past events over and over again, longing so desperately for an explanation or sudden understanding to strike him through a revelation, a dream, anything.
What exactly did he want? The answer popped up immediately: he wanted everything to go back to normal between Baro and him, didn’t he? None of this awkward nonsense, none of this ridiculous uncertainty and shyness, just plain old Sunwoo and Junghwan sneaking whipped cream into Dongwoo’s underwear or hiding fake cockroaches in Chansik’s cucumber kimchi cartons.
But almost as soon as the thought came, it was overcome by a wave of regret, and he wanted to take it back at once. He felt like there was something, some evasive thing that was lacking, peeking out from behind a rock somewhere in the shadows of his mind, waiting to be found. He wanted something more, something deeper, but he was so afraid to think further that he tried to leave it at that. But it always came back to haunt him, pounding on the doors of his mind, demanding his attention.
It scared Junghwan.
*
Sandeul was tucking himself under the blanket one night, preparing for some gratifying sleep after an entire day of exhausting dance lessons, with the trainer breathing down their necks, barking at them like they were prisoners when one of them failed to be confident in expressing themselves or dance like they lived to do it, alone as usual, when Baro kind of exploded into the room, giggling hysterically.
“Hide me,” he whispered as he pounced onto the top bunk, clambering up the ladder like the floor had suddenly been turned to lava, before burrowing his way under Sandeul’s blanket before owner of said blanket could protest or even ask for an explanation.
It seemed, however, that an explanation wasn’t very necessary, as Jinyoung stormed into the room barely seconds later, dripping wet from head to toe.
“Baro, get out from under Sandeul’s blanket now,” he commanded, obviously pissed.
“What happened?” Sandeul asked incredulously, question directed to both the quivering lump on his bed and the drenched leader on the floor.
“A water balloon, Baro?” Jinyoung said louder. “Really? What are you, five? Do you realise that if I hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough my laptop, containing three years of my work, would be ruined?”
“Well then I aim pretty good, don’t I?” Baro popped out from behind Sandeul, batting his eyelashes.
Sandeul was forced to dive in between the two of them as Jinyoung lunged for Baro’s throat. “Hyunghyunghyung!” Sandeul said breathlessly, holding up a hand between the two. “Remember, murder’s punishable by the death sentence!”
“Stringing him up by the toes and turning him into a human piñata doesn’t count as murder,” Jinyoung said grimly.
“That’s harsh, hyung,” Sunwoo said ruefully.
“You, keep quiet,” Sandeul ordered, before turning back to Jinyoung. “Hyung, I’m pretty sure we’re all pooped from practice, and you know doing the most stupid, obnoxious things is the only way Baro lets off steam, so if we could all come to a truce on the matter and go to sleep before more of those dumb dance lessons tomorrow…”
Jinyoung was still glaring at Baro, but gritted out a “fine,” anyway, and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
“You,” Sandeul said, as soon as the danger had passed, turning to Baro with a glare. “Stop getting yourself into trouble with Jinyoung, you know he’ll report you to Manager-hyung.”
“It’s not my fault he’s such a fun target,” Baro complained, sitting up in the bed. “Did you see how brilliantly red his face got? He should get red hair one day, it’d match.”
“Would you just take this seriously?” Sandeul said, exasperated. “This is the fifth time this month you’re pissing Jinyoung off. He’s not always going to let you off, you know.”
“Alright, alright,” Baro grumbled. “And I’m pretty sure I only got him four times. I mean there was the spider in the bathroom, the g-string in his underwear drawer…”
“The time you gave Chansik that fake horoscope counts too,” Sandeul interjected.
“What?”
“You told him you read a horoscope article that he was going to suffer an eternally scarring food-related accident, Sunwoo,” Junghwan said pointedly.
“And what does that have to with Jinyoung?” Baro snorted.
“Chansik didn’t dare to go near his meals for days, Baro,” Sandeul pressed his knuckles to his temples, from which a headache had suddenly sprung. “Did you notice how worried Jinyoung got or did that just bounce off your thick skull along with everything else?”
“That hurts, Deul,” Baro said, and though it was in his usual mock agony, Sandeul could sense the genuine hurt behind it.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, turning away from Baro. “Look, can we just sleep or something?”
“Okay,” Baro shrugged, apparently as willing to forget the matter as Sandeul was. “So am I staying over here or what?”
“What?”
“Am. I. Sleeping. Here.”
“That was not part of the deal,” Sandeul looked flabberghasted, though his heart rate had suddenly picked up, his hopes taking a giant leap (which he disapproved of completely, of course).
“Was there a deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“So I am sleeping here,” Baro took his words as an invitation to flop back onto the mattress and stretch luxuriously.
“Hey hey hey!” Sandeul slapped Baro’s calves, prodding his stomach. “What’s wrong with your bed? If it has ticks or something you’re not sleeping here, because you’ll just spread them.”
“Did you not hear the death threat issued by the grumpy hormonal leader,” Baro said slowly.
“Oh, so now I’m stuck with you,” Sandeul rolled his eyes, though his internal organs were now doing a victory dance in his body. It felt like a warm fuzz. A completely outrageous, unacceptable warm fuzz.
“Is that delight I hear?” Baro crowed. “You should be happy, I’m the best person you could sleep with.”
Sandeul was reduced to snorting as he reached over to click off the lights, heart leaping like a kangaroo in his chest as he slid down under the blanket, trying not to get too close to Baro without falling off the side of the bunk bed. Baro was surprisingly comfortable, however, his skin soft and warm, pressed against Sandeul like a second blanket, which he supposed would come in handy, seeing as tonight was particularly cold.
It was a whole minute later, however, just as Sandeul had gotten used to the whole “sleeping-with-someone” idea that Baro spoke again.
“Sleep with, as in, like, sleep beside, not sleep sleep with, like…uh…you know what I mean, don’t you?”
On any other day, at any other moment, Sandeul would have been delighted with the opportunity to criticise Sunwoo’s apparent lack of eloquence, but that night, huddled under the blanket with his best friend, in a position which would probably raise the eyebrows of most people, he found his tongue neatly tied in a knot.
“Yeah,” he finally managed to mumble.
“Good,” Baro cleared his throat. “Night. Good night.”
“Night,” Sandeul muttered, before adding awkwardly. “To you too.”
Sandeul counted one minute and twenty-six seconds before Baro’s snores filled the tiny room.
*
After that night, however, it seemed like things had started to take a downward spiral on Sandeul and Baro’s relationship. All of a sudden, it was as though something had clicked, and their lives had been set off in two different tracks, as the places in Baro’s life Sandeul always used to fill were suddenly barred from him.
During dinner, anywhere they went, Baro would be sitting beside Chansik or Jinyoung, or even Dongwoo, talking in the same loud, obnoxious voice he always used, perhaps even louder and noisier now. In the van, Baro would tuck himself neatly in the space beside Chansik and Jinyoung in the back, leaving Sandeul to sit up in front with Dongwoo. In the dorm, during the tiny allowances of breathing space between lessons and practice, Sandeul would find himself sitting alone on his bunk, listening to the sound of Baro and Chansik romping around the dorm outside, their voices clear and crisp even through the closed door.
It left Sandeul so confused.
Baro had always been the one directing the path throughout their friendship, suggesting what to do next, planning out their next prank, taking the first few steps in his desired direction, and often Sandeul followed without question, like a lost duckling blindly trailing after what it had always supposed was its mother.
Sandeul found himself loathing the thought: how at liberty Baro was to drop his commitment in the relationship at any moment, and how he would have no choice but to accept it. He felt tricked. Cheated. It was as if Baro had lured him all this way with a bowl of ramyun on the end of a fishing rod, only to pluck it off and toss it to someone else when Sandeul had walked miles. He felt like an idiot. For who was he, really, to demand Baro’s attention when all this while, it’d been Sandeul who had been investing his full devotion, his blind commitment, into their relationship?
He was a fool. Not for following Baro all this way, but for cluelessly believing that Baro would actually find even a semblance of value in the relationship Sandeul still prized so dearly when it came down to it.
Now, it was as though Baro had got up and skipped happily away, leaving Sandeul sitting alone on the floor, surrounded by the shattered pieces of their once unbreakable friendship, wondering where he’d gone wrong.
“Junghwan.”
Sandeul looked up upon hearing his real name, blinking, forcing himself back into reality. The four faces of his closest friends blurred back into focus, in the undiluted, harsh light of the second bedroom. It was almost midnight in their dorm, on one of the special Saturday night meetings Jinyoung always insisted they hold.
“What?”
“Chansik asked if you were okay,” Dongwoo said, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve been…I don’t know. Spacing out a lot recently.”
“Ahah...ha…” Sandeul nodded fervently, avoiding their eyes, trailing the rough pattern on Jinyoung’s mattress with his fingers. “Tired…?”
“It’s been about three weeks,” Jinyoung said, with an expression of concern. “Look, if you’re not getting enough sleep, I could ask Manager to-…”
“No! No, no, I don’t! I’m fine,” Sandeul cut in immediately in a panicked tone, though his eyes itched at the mention of sleep. It was true, he’d been experiencing severe cases of insomnia during the past week or so, but he didn’t need to tell them that. Especially not Baro. None of them needed to know. “Don’t. Need to tell him. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“We’re not saying there’s something wrong with you,” Chansik put in worriedly. “Just, you know. Take care of yourself, hyung.”
“I am, I’m fine, nothing’s wrong,” Sandeul was rubbing his finger pads against the grainy texture of the cheap sheets now, still adamantly avoiding their stares.
Silence followed for a while after his statement, after which Jinyoung changed the topic to unacceptable lengths of time spent in the toilet by several culprits in particular, but it was clear, by the way the other members’ curious stares lingered on Sandeul, that the issue was far from resolved. Sandeul glanced up once, a minute later, to find himself staring straight into Baro’s eyes, and immediately looked back down, as though his eyes had been burned.
For a moment, Baro’s eyes had been dark and unreadable, the depth in his black orbs unfathomable, but when Sandeul looked up again it had disappeared, and Baro was laughing at Chansik for spending the longest time in the toilet on average.
Like the many things Baro did, it confused Sandeul. But just as time had worn on and the seconds had slipped away, so had Sandeul’s childish hope that he would someday understand his elusive dongsaeng. So he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the floor, tuning out into his own universe once more.
As the meeting came to an end, however, and Sandeul stood to return to his own room, Jinyoung called him back.
“Wait, Sandeul, come and help me keep the leftovers of dinner, they’re going to go bad if we don’t put them in the fridge,” Jinyoung stood with him, angling his head to the kitchen.
Dongwoo began chivvying the two others up to their bunks, and Jinyoung left the room. Sandeul stared after him for a while, feeling a nervous sense of apprehension twist his gut, before he stepped out into the semi-dark hallway, following Jinyoung into the kitchen, till the voices of their band members faded to a soft hum.
“Shouldn’t be too long, we just have to pack the rice and the dishes,” Jinyoung remarked casually as they entered the threshold, and Sandeul realised, with alarm, that he couldn’t remember what they’d had for dinner. He couldn’t remember eating anything the entire day, in fact. Or yesterday.
His fingers trembled ever so slightly in their grip on the plate of chicken he was holding.
He was clipping the cover onto a lunchbox with the remains of their rice, after a minute or so of silent work, when Jinyoung began to talk.
“So, Junghwan…” Jinyoung opened the fridge to put the bottle of stock in, letting his words trail. “What exactly is up with you these days?”
“Nothing,” Sandeul replied immediately, the answer coming automatically, snapping a rubber band over the box.
Jinyoung eyeballed him, and Sandeul tried not to stare back; he knew Jinyoung had mastered the Art of Eyeballing and it almost always worked, especially on those with not-exactly-strong minds. Like him.
“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Jinyoung noted, as though reading evidence off a fact sheet. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you tossing and turning at night. And your appetite’s become nonexistent. I can’t believe you actually turned down Chansik’s offer of treating you to dessert last weekend. And during practice it’s like you’re not here with us at all.”
Sandeul traced the protruding edge of the lunch box nervously, mind buzzing with every possible excuse he could give.
“Tired…?” he said at last, and Jinyoung sighed.
“Junghwan, listen,” he straightened, clearing his throat. “I know something that meant a lot to you must have happened recently, but as a member of this team, your personal emotions have either got to be shared or kept out of the way.
“It’s not about you, or me, or anyone else, it’s about all of us and the dream we promised to chase together. Events come along that may hinder us physically or emotionally, but once you refuse to do anything about it, it becomes a weakness to us all. You may claim that it’s personal, that it’s your problem and you’ll deal with it, but while you’re waiting for a solution to fall from the sky, you’re holding all of us back.”
Jinyoung’s tone was strict, but his eyes were gentle when they met Junghwan’s, and the edge in his voice softened.
“So I’m asking you now, again. Do you want to share what happened with me?”
Sandeul pressed down on the cover, watching his knuckles grow white from the pressure. Almost an entire minute of silence followed, before he finally spoke.
“Something happened between Baro and I,” he said, and suddenly, the words started to flow from his mouth with an unexplainable urgency, as though his first sentence had opened up a dam, and the emotions kept so tightly in its reservoir began pouring out uncontrollably. “I don’t know what happened, after he stayed over in my room the night he threw a water balloon at you it’s like he completely forgot I even existed, and I don’t know if he just doesn’t think that our friendship was ever important, or if I did something wrong and he just hates me, but it’s like whatever we did together just never happened, and I just wish he’d tell me what’s so wrong with me so that I can fix it and everything can just go back to how it was before.”
Sandeul felt a wave of shame overwhelm him after his mini-outburst, not only because he sounded so much like a girl for saying all this (not to mention the tears that were threatening to fall at any moment), but also because of how petty his woes seemed after what Jinyoung had said about their teamwork and goals. How selfish Sandeul seemed in the light of everything else. Would Jinyoung laugh? Make him tell the others later? No, Sandeul couldn’t tell them, he’d never be able to face them and say all this.
Instead of mirth or disapproval, however, Jinyoung looked strangely thoughtful. After a moment of deep contemplation, he spoke again, but his words took Junghwan by surprise. “Remember our first few Saturday meetings?”
“Uhm, yeah,” Sandeul blinked. He was taken aback by the abrupt change in the topic.
“We would be in the living room around the table with sushi and candy and fruit juice,” Jinyoung reminisced. “Do you remember that awful pack of cards with all those preset questions Manager gave us to start us off on our discussions?”
“Yeah,” Sandeul gave a weak chuckle, the fading memories coming to mind. “What about them?”
“I’d read out a question, then we’d all write them down on little pieces of paper and discuss them, right?” Jinyoung took the box of rice from Sandeul.
“On the third Saturday I asked what decision you made in the past that made you regret the most,” he gave Sandeul a meaningful look. “And though we wrote it down, we never actually got to discuss it. Dongwoo-hyung was telling us to go to sleep or something, I think.”
Sandeul nodded again, now curious about what Jinyoung was getting at.
“Anyway, I collected all the papers afterwards, and you guys mostly wrote about pushing your little brother down when you were small or cheating in a test in middle school or something,” Jinyoung frowned, staring at the dish rack as he tried to remember. “But Baro’s caught my eye. He wrote that he had a childhood friend in high school, back in his home town. He was crushing on her, and must’ve told her or kissed her or something, because he wrote that she rejected him and they never spoke again.”
Sandeul was mute now, slowly processing this new information, still unsure of what to make of it.
“After that, on the paper, he swore never to fall in love with his best friend again, because it just wasn’t worth it,” Jinyoung rested his weight on his elbows, on the kitchen counter, eyes back on Sandeul.
“So, Junghwan. Is it worth it?”
Sandeul’s eyes returned to the lunchbox in his hands, his gaze dark and downcast.
“I just want to understand him,” he finally mumbled. Jinyoung straightened, taking the lunch box and opening the fridge.
“You know, Junghwan,” he said, sliding the plastic container into the fridge, before turning to face the quiet vocalist. “I think he’s just as confused as you are.”
The next few days after that were spent in tense silence, dragging on torturously slow, while Jinyoung’s words stewed in Sandeul’s mind, tormenting him.
Baro’s indifference, on the other hand, was starting to slip and flicker, like a channel on television with increasingly poor reception. It wasn’t that he’d started warming up to Sandeul, but neither did he become particularly cold- his demeanour had just somehow changed. Even Sandeul could start to pick up on the forced tints in his laughter, the frozen look in his eyes when he smiled, like it was imprisoning his feelings rather than showing them. It was like Baro was wearing an outer shell, a shell that was starting to break down and crack under pressure, and the soft inside was just beginning to be visible through the holes in the infrastructure.
Other than that, though, nothing much changed, until, that was, after the dream.
Sunwoo didn’t exactly appear often in Junghwan’s subconscious, but when he did, it would feel as though the dream was burnt with a branding iron into Junghwan’s mind, and it would stick for many days to follow.
This dream wasn’t like his usual ones involving the unattainable, heartbreaking boy. Those would normally be shadowed, intimate dreams, where he would see sunlight peeking through the white, feathery curtains, casting a faint, dreamy glow over the rest of the room, where he would feel soft sheets against his bare skin, a sweet smelling pillow under his cheek, and he would turn and see Sunwoo smiling at him with lidded eyes, his dark hair (like it used to be when Junghwan knew Sunwoo instead of Baro) falling over his face, slanting shadows over his pale cheeks.
Sunwoo would prop himself up on his elbows, regarding Junghwan with that soft, sleepy gaze he loved, and he would lean over and kiss Junghwan slowly, his lips tasting like sweet, sweet poison, and Junghwan would kiss him back obediently though every second was killing him because of how much he needed Sunwoo-…
And Sandeul would wake up in a cold sweat, blood pounding in his ears, throat dry, feeling empty and drained and dying inside, with a burning need within him for Baro beside him, holding him till the horrible feeling went away.
This dream, however, this dream was different.
It wasn’t surreal, or set in some fantasy land with just him and Sunwoo, alone together, but it was at Junghwan’s grandmother’s house, where he’d spent most of his childhood growing up in. They’d been wandering around the tiny, cluttered kitchen, Junghwan’s hand tightly clutching Sunwoo’s, gazing in wonder at the all the familiar sights and taking in the different smells, and Junghwan had finally felt at least remotely at home.
The rickety wooden dining table was filled with chicken and kimchi fried rice and all of Junghwan’s favourite dishes and his grandmother was forcing her homemade red bean cookies down Sunwoo’s throat, and Junghwan was laughing. They’d run out into the front yard after that, still holding hands, and Junghwan had gotten onto the tyre swing that hung on one of the large trees, and made pouty faces till Sunwoo agreed to push him.
The dream had ended in the same bedroom, except the air around them was different, somehow. Where hollow, needy want once was, a sweet, calm contentment had taken over, infused in the soft darkness that surrounded the two of them. The now blue, fading curtains were waving gently in the cool autumn breeze, the sound of insect nightlife like a lullaby outside their window, and it felt nice, it felt safe, tucked under the blankets with Sunwoo. Sunwoo had smiled, a real, beautiful smile Junghwan missed so sorely, and he’d leaned over and pressed soft kisses on Junghwan’s forehead, on his cheeks, his nose, and Junghwan had never felt more loved in his life.
He woke up feeling happier than he had in a long time.
Perhaps it was a sign, then, because Baro came to him, casual and easy as anything, while the rest were showering, unpacking and repacking for the next day, and asked him for a few minutes, “just to talk about a couple of things”.
Sandeul kept his eyes on the ground, hands folded in front of him, hoping Baro wouldn’t notice how hard his heart was pounding in his chest, or the cold sweat that had suddenly sprung on his forehead.
He nodded, following Baro into his empty bedroom, wondering what, what Baro could possibly want to tell him now, after everything that had happened.
“Jinyoung spoke to me,” Baro said, after he closed the door behind them, and Sandeul nodded again, inwardly feeling like a child being berated. Like it had been his fault all along.
“He told me to iron things out between us.”
“So?” Sandeul said, surprised at how deadened his voice came out. He wondered how long he’d been talking this way.
What’s your point? What are you here for? What more could you possibly want from the person who’s given you everything?
“Ah,” Baro had taken one of the shirts that were draped over his bed frame, and had begun folding it slowly, painstakingly smoothening out the creases as he went along. Sandeul resisted the urge to snatch it from him, force Baro to look him in the eye and tell him why, why on Earth he’d felt the need to torture him this way.
“Junghwan,” he said finally, plucking at a tiny fray in the collar. “It’s…it’s hard being an idol, and uh…you know, I guess we had a lot of crap to do on the way to stardom and yeah, but we all wanted it didn’t we? I mean we all told each other that we’d do our best in getting B1A4 somewhere in the idol world and that nothing would ever get in our way, and we did try, I mean…” he let out a frustrated sigh here. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Sandeul returned the question with a blank, but still guarded expression. It was unintentional, but it had become the only way he could look at Baro anymore.
“Well…what I’m trying to say is…” Baro looked, of all things, lost, now. His large, usually confident and expressive eyes were darting from the shirt in his hands to Sandeul’s own eyes, and Sandeul swore he could see a flicker of something (hope, maybe? But that was probably wistful thinking on his part) but when he looked up again, it had disappeared. “I…”
Sandeul’s mind was going wild beneath his stony demeanour. His heart, which had previously slowed down, was now going at a hundred miles per hour again, and he could feel sweat beading on his palms.
“I’m sorry,” Baro deflated (why did he look so disappointed?). “I uh…it’s been hard coping, you know? I guess that was my…uh…my way of carrying on?”
What? By trampling all over your best friend?
“I…I just…” Baro looked kind of at his wit’s end, but Sandeul was feeling less and less convinced that Baro actually meant anything that he’d said in the past minute.
You’re just trying to get the easy way out of this.
“I’d just really like if we could go back to the way things were,” Baro finally finished weakly. “I’m sorry, really, I am.”
“No,” Sandeul was surprised by his own words. “You’re not. You’re only sorry because Jinyoung’s making you do this and he’ll fry your ass if you don’t. And if your idea of coping with stress is to take it out on your best friend in the worst way possible then no, I don’t want things to go back to the way they were.”
Baro remained silent, his eyes unreadable, looking more tired than anything, and that expression just fuelled Sandeul’s fury even more.
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound right now?” Sandeul said, his voice gaining strength, anger, so relieved at finally being able to speak up for himself, make Baro acknowledge his terms. “You completely ignore me for a month, and you have the nerve to blame it on stress, of all the stupid things you could come up with, and now you’re asking that I simply forget every damn thing you did to me and get on with life? I mean, what the hell is going through your mind? Why do you want this? So you can just get me out of your way? Do I even register as a speck on your conscience? If you loathe and despise the very sight of me so much then you can just say it, you know,” his voice trembled with emotion here. “You’ve put me through so much already this shouldn’t exactly be so hard for you. I’m finding it hard to believe I actually liked you, you selfish jerk-…”
A tear rolled down his cheek, one he furiously brushed away, because he couldn’t believe, after all this time, after everything that Baro had done to him, he still wanted the boy standing in front of him, he still wanted his love and affection, and his heart still held on that tiny, pathetic spark of hope that Baro would actually return his feelings one day. Just how dense was he, really, to still think that could ever happen?
I guess I really am stupid.
“You know what, whatever,” Sandeul said finally, trying to clear the emotion in his voice and failing miserably. When it comes to you, I guess I’ll always be the one who’ll lose. “If you want to forget everything, then go ahead, I’m not stopping you.”
It’s not like I can anyway.
He turned then, though it felt like a part of his heart had just been seared off, and started walking in the direction of the door, praying that the bathroom was empty so he could just shut himself up and escape from it all without seeing the rest of them.
“Junghwan.”
Sandeul didn’t turn around. There was nothing for him to go back to, anyway.
“Junghwan, wait.”
Keep walking, he thought, summoning every scrap of self-control he had left not to turn around.
“Junghwan, please, wait!”
Sandeul jerked his arm back reflexively as Baro grabbed it, and he made the mistake of turning then, only to see Baro looking back at him, his large eyes now imploring, and Sandeul knew that he couldn’t turn away even if he wanted to.
“Hear me out, okay?”
There was silence between the two of them for a while, before Sandeul nodded wearily, and Baro’s eyes flicked down, then up again nervously.
“Please don’t leave until I’m done.”
Sandeul honestly felt too numbed to care about whatever Baro did right now, and nodded again, folding his arms across his chest.
Baro took a deep breath, as though he was struggling to come up with the words, steeling himself for what he was about to say.
“I think you’re a really beautiful person, okay?”
Part of Sandeul wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to scoff, most of him wanted to slap Baro for lying to him again and a tiny, miniscule, microscopic part of him wanted to believe that what Baro was saying was true.
Baro obviously wasn’t deterred by the silence, and ploughed on, but all Sandeul could think about was why, why is he doing this?
“I think you’re adorable when Jinyoung cooks pork slices in your favourite sauce and you hoard as much of it by possible by sneaking pieces under your rice so no one knows how much you’re eating,” Baro was looking down at the shirt in his hand, clutching the fabric so tightly it looked like it would rip at any moment. “And when you eat popcorn you have to take three in between your fingers and roll them till you get butter all over your fingers so you can lick them later, and every time you see a standing fan you’d go up to it and say weird things into it so you can hear the way your voice goes funny and I’d be watching you every single time.
“When you sleep you always curl up and sometimes your bare stomach shows and I’m always tempted to go and poke you but I don’t because I know you’ll either feel insecure or kick my face in like it’s a knee jerk reflex, and when you walk past reflective surfaces you always suck in your stomach and hunch a little and I’m always tempted to tell you to stop because you look fine the way you are. You don’t like coffee but you always drink it when Dongwoo makes it in the morning because you think it makes you look grown-up and mature, but you say it’s because you need the caffeine when Jinyoung asks you why. And sometimes I’m secretly glad that you’re sleeping apart from the rest of us because it means you won’t get closer to the other members. And when I lie in my bed at night I fantasise about bringing you home to Gwangju and how my sister would love you so much and tie ribbons into your hair and put you in a dress and how my mom would overfeed you and how we’d go to my favourite spot near the reservoir under the tree and have a picnic and hold hands and you’d let me finally just kiss you.”
Baro looked up then, and Sandeul felt his stomach do a little flip-flop at the smile that obviously held back so much pain on his face.
“It made me so scared, you know, how much I was starting to like you,” Baro continued, his voice slightly shaky now. “I couldn’t deal with how much I would lose if I lost you, so I…I guess I ran away from it. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry I didn’t think about what it would do to you. Fear makes people do stupid things, I guess…and I did something really, really stupid.”
Sandeul instinctively took a step back as Baro took one forward, still watching him warily, waiting for the catch. Baro seemed to get the message, and backed off, hands raised in surrender, the weary look back on his face.
“If you don’t forgive me, I understand,” he lowered his gaze. “I haven’t forgiven myself yet either. Just-…you know. Take care of yourself. And don’t…don’t let this affect singing for you, because you have a great voice, and I’m not worth it.”
He inhaled once more here, before nodding and smiling tightly, and heading for the door.
And this time, it was Sandeul’s turn to stop him.
Sandeul’s heart was hammering in his chest, his eyes still downcast, his fingers trembling as they closed around Baro’s wrist, holding him back.
This is a bad idea.
His heart didn’t agree.
Slowly, taking his time, he turned Baro around, pulled him closer, and just as the warning bells practically exploded like a time bomb in his brain, he pressed his lips against Baro’s at last.
The steady buzz of the others’ voices outside seemed to fade to a dull hum, the harsh light from the ceiling suddenly dreamy and soft, just like the sunlight that peeked through the curtains in Junghwan’s dream. Sunwoo’s skin, his lips, his hands, felt warm and comforting against Junghwan’s, just like how he always imagined they would be, surrounding him in a halo of security and familiarity he’d been deprived of for too long. The musky, natural smell of Sunwoo’s scent filled his senses, like the smell of wild grass after light showers with the faintest fragrance of mint leaves, or the heaviness in the air before it rained. For once, he wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t worrying, he was only feeling, completely submerging himself in the sensations that embraced him, that soothed and calmed his troubled soul.
It was only after their lips parted that the fear started to sink its claws into Junghwan, that Baro had been lying or meant something else, but that fear dispelled itself when Sunwoo’s warm hands slid around his back, pressing closer against Junghwan, and it took him a while to realise that Sunwoo was holding him, gingerly, yet protectively, as if afraid he would walk away again, and it took the sharp sound of a muffled inhale and a hot droplet soaking through Junghwan’s sweater to make him realise that Sunwoo was crying, and that finally convinced Junghwan that he meant every last word of what he said.
And a relief, a peace that only resolution could bring had seeped into him, the sensation akin to a hot, sweet drink on a cold day, warming him slowly from the inside out, and hesitantly, his hands still unsure, he hugged Sunwoo back, resting the weight of his head on Sunwoo’s broad, strong shoulder, absorbing the wonderful feeling of finally being in his arms, letting the comfort wash over him like warm water.
It was like something had returned in Sandeul, like he’d found something he’d lost so long ago he could barely recognise it anymore. He felt safer, braver, more confident in facing whatever was ahead because the motivation to live, to raise his head and look to the future had come back to him.
And somehow, from that, he knew everything was going to be okay.
The dorm was rather quiet that night, the only sound being the television blaring some overrated variety show, and Sandeul was sitting in his pyjamas on the sofa, a can of pear juice in his left hand, knees gathered up to his chest for warmth, though he was admittedly quite snug already, tucked in on Baro’s left.
It had been three weeks after the incident in the bedroom, and though things got off on a rather bumpy start, they were finally, slowly, falling back into the routine he remembered so fondly. Plus the extra bonus that they could be as open as they liked about how they felt for each other now.
Sandeul could feel Baro tense up beside him as Dongwoo came out of the bathroom, announcing it was Chansik’s turn to bathe now, and Chansik skipped off to the bedroom, obviously to get a set of clothes.
He turned, just in time to catch Baro wink, and fought hard to keep a straight face.
Moments later, a scream rang out through the tiny dorm, making everyone jump but the two trying not to grin on the sofa, and Chansik tore out of the bedroom looking positively terrified, leaping straight onto the couch beside Jinyoung and burying himself behind the leader.
“What, what happened?” Jinyoung looked genuinely shocked, if not a bit confused, and Sandeul had to bite his lip not to burst out laughing.
“There’s an evil ghost in my closet,” Chansik’s voice came out muffled, still a trembling lump on the sofa beside Jinyoung. “He came out and attacked me when I was getting clothes.”
Dongwoo raised an eyebrow, and went to poke his head into the room, before withdrawing it and shooting the pair on the sofa a scathing look.
“Wow, really?”
Neither of them could hold it in any longer and burst into laughter, doubling over in their mirth. Sandeul was grinning as he looked up.
“How does it look? Pretty good huh?”
“Clean up before you go to sleep,” Jinyoung said, obviously not impressed, trying to look stern while comfortingly patting the terrified maknae beside him.
“You haven’t even looked at it!” Baro protested, as Sandeul got up and went into the bedroom to see how their masterpiece had turned out.
It was an unorganised hodgepodge of several black t-shirts, a shawl, a very handy pillow one of their fans sent them as well as a silver marker and it had, in Sandeul’s opinion, turned out rather brilliantly. Of course, most of the credit went to Baro for making it spring out of the closet like it did, but he claimed ownership of the shawl and the broomstick. All in all, it was a fantastic prank well done.
“I think it looks great,” Baro said casually, coming up from behind and sliding his arms around Sandeul’s waist. “A few more touches here and there and it could almost be your predecessor.”
Sandeul slapped at the hands around his abdomen, pouting expertly as Baro chuckled, tightening his grip around Sandeul.
“Well anyway, I’d say that it’s a prank well done, so, who’s next?” Sandeul asked, rocking back and forth in Baro’s arms.
“I was thinking we could freeze plastic flies into ice and put it in Dongwoo hyung’s drink,” Baro said with a grin into Sandeul’s ear, the hot breath against Sandeul’s skin making him shiver involuntarily.
“Really?” Sandeul said, trying to focus his thoughts. “We could also spray feminine perfume into all of Jinyoung’s clothes, or add loads of Tabasco sauce in his morning coffee or something.”
“We’ll do all of that,” Baro murmured, pressing a kiss into the nape of Sandeul’s neck, and Sandeul blushed at the intimate contact, hoping no one was outside the doorway to see it. “After all, now that you’re here, I’ve got all the time in the world.”
For: lee_junghwan
Pairing: Badeul
Rating: G
Word Count: 8,887
Summary: Sandeul had always been at his wit's end when it came to Baro, and this case was really no different.
Notes: Omg I really didn't expect this to be so long, I hope you won't get a headache reading this >.< I'm sorry if this is kinda bumpy, I wrote another story really similar to what you wanted before and I was kind of at a dead end for another ending D: Merry Christmas and eat lots of turkey and food and hope you like this present! :) Have a great New Year too! :)
Sandeul doesn’t exactly understand how it started.
He remembered a rather violent beginning to his and Baro’s friendship, for sure. It didn’t exactly make sense, but then again, few things regarding Baro ever did.
On Sandeul’s first day here, Baro had had a field day, setting a personal record of seven successful consecutive pranks in a day, on the same person, which he had proudly announced that night, his loud and obnoxious voice carrying over into the other rooms as Sandeul dragged his battered hide into bed, properly humiliated and bruised.
The rest of the night had been spent plotting and scheming, and in the morning, while everyone was still waiting mournfully for the coffee machine to beep, he’d snuck a dye into Baro’s shampoo. The recipient spent the rest of the week walking around with his hair a rather unfortunate, patchy shade of bright green.
It was as though a war had unofficially been conceived then- there wasn’t a day when Baro or Sandeul weren’t furiously at each others’ necks, competing, scrabbling, vying to come out on top, and have the last laugh. It had been entertaining at first, according to the others, but when Chansik got caught in the crossfire one day, Jinyoung put a firm foot down.
But it wasn’t any one of the warning glares that Jinyoung shot at them whenever they were at it, not the impending debut date that loomed over the five of them with increasing hostility, not even the threatening talk that Manager took them both aside for one night after Jinyoung had told him about the conflict, that finally resolved the seemingly endless squabble.
Sandeul had crafted what, he had claimed in his mind, was the master of pranks, the perfect solution to wipe that snide smirk off Baro’s face once and for all, and decided that it was to take place on Saturday night, right after their weekly meetings.
It had worked, Baro had certainly been shocked off his feet by the life-sized, amateur Photoshop masterpiece taped to the back of the bedroom door of his head imposed on a female Dead or Alive character’s body, but Sandeul had just been equally as blown away by the unforeseen introduction of soy sauce, ketchup, sesame oil and chilli seeds into his pear juice.
As they both sat, however, dumbfounded on the floor, Sandeul spluttering and gasping, trying to get rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth, both their eyes met for a split second, and all of a sudden, Sandeul was at a loss as to how to react.
Baro, however, started to laugh. It was a new kind of laugh, one he didn’t think he’d heard before. Sandeul couldn’t place it in his mind at that moment, but before he knew it, he was doubled over, laughing too, and the sound of it didn’t cease until tears were rolling from the two pairs of eyes. All he knew about Baro’s laugh was that it sounded jovial, it sounded fresh, and cheerful, and actually kind of nice.
They’d become inseparable after that. Like their rivalry had gone up in flames and left an even stronger, even more lasting friendship in its place. It puzzled Sandeul, but only for a while. He had long resigned himself to the fact that he would never understand anything to do with Baro.
It was strange, how they got along (or rather how they didn’t), how they threw jibes out of nowhere poking at each others’ flaws for kicks, how Baro still pranked Sandeul with beetles and empty snack wrappers and buttpokes but somehow Sandeul didn’t mind so much anymore. It’d become a comforting routine, something that kind of irked him, but he knew, somewhere, deep down, he couldn’t live without.
For a while, Sandeul had been content. When he was with Baro, he felt like he could forget everything else, forget weight, forget image, and just have fun as himself, for once. Baro’s passion, his confidence, it gave Sandeul the empowerment he sought so badly to simply be who he was.
Like a medicine, a secret drug, he found himself being drawn closer and closer into Baro’s addictive energy and enthusiasm, and for a while, Sandeul had been happy.
For a while.
*
He can remember exactly when it started. It had been three in the afternoon, a tiny pocket of free time packed tightly between dance rehearsal and social etiquette lessons, and Sandeul was crouched behind the semi-closed door of their bedroom, turning every few seconds or so to check behind him.
“Are you done?” he asked impatiently, partly due to excitement and partly due to fear of the consequences if their target happened to walk in at that moment.
“You can’t rush art,” Baro said as he shook the soda can vigorously, eyes also fixed on the door. Sandeul’s heart was pounding with the usual adrenaline he faced before a prank, perspiration prickling on his forehead, ears straining to pick up any sound of footsteps outside the room.
“I seriously think he’s coming soon,” Sandeul whispered urgently. “That can’s already maxed out, he’s doomed as it is, so right now I think we should scram before-…”
The sound of approaching footsteps and voices, however, made both pranksters jump, and Baro almost dropped the can.
“Now what?!” Sandeul asked in a panicked tone, dancing frantically around on the spot, searching wildly for a hiding place in the cramped room. We could, I don’t know, just run, but he’d know it was us! Or we could take the can and get out of here, but that’s a good prank blown, or we-…
He was snapped out of reverie, however, when Baro grabbed him roughly by the wrist, flinging open the closet in their room and squeezing in. Sandeul followed suit almost at once, closing the door behind them, engulfing the pair in almost complete darkness.
The sound of voices grew louder and clearer, until there was a whoosh that signalled the door opening. Sandeul, however, was suddenly more aware of another factor.
Painfully aware.
He cleared his throat as quietly as he could, shifting uncomfortably against Sunwoo’s body, but his polite plea was met with an urgent shush and the slap of Sunwoo’s hand over his mouth. He almost yelped then, as he was dragged closer, almost completely pressed up against Sunwoo, now able to hear nothing but the rapid thundering of his heartbeat and their heavy breaths in the confined, dark space.
Well, of course, he’d never actually found himself in a situation where he required himself to be pressed up against his best friend in this fashion, so of course he wouldn’t know exactly how warm Sunwoo’s body was, but as he squirmed uncomfortably against the mounds of denim and cotton and soft, warm flesh, a stirring hit him in the pit of his stomach and suddenly he realised that wow Sunwoo wasn’t joking about the abs.
(He later berated himself for panicking, because, of course, it was a completely objective, factual observation, and he wasn’t, he wasn’t, noting it in any other fashion, of course not.)
Sunwoo had his ear against the door, apparently completely unaware of the internal turmoil raging within Junghwan, and it was less than three seconds later that both of them heard a sharp crack and whoosh, and an anguished yell.
All thoughts of hiding must have been abolished, as Sandeul found himself tumbling out after Baro, the latter already laughing his head off, pointing at the eldest, currently glaring and dripping with Mountain Dew.
“You,” Dongwoo pointed at Baro with an accusing finger, not forgetting to spare Sandeul a derogatory glance as well, as he fingered his jeans. “These are new, and I swear, if the yellow doesn’t wash off both of you will pay.”
Sandeul tried to join in the laughing, now coming twice as hard from his partner in crime with their target’s delightful reaction, but the thrumming sensation, echoing from that stab of weirdness in the closet, refuses to leave his stomach, and for many days to come, his mind.
*
Sandeul didn’t exactly mean to, he really tried, but all of a sudden, he found himself so much more alert towards the touches he and Baro shared. From a jubilant clap on the back to the absent lingering of Baro’s hand around his shoulders or on his thighs, Sandeul found himself tensing, unable to enjoy the warmth it usually provided.
It left Sandeul with an odd sense of detachment, a weird limbo into which he’d been shoved, skirting furtively around the boundaries of his friendship with Baro he’d once been so liberal in exploring. Sometimes, with concentrated effort, he’d forget, he’d forget and fall back into that simple routine he shared with Baro, but all it’d take would be a simple touch to force all the uncomfortable memories and emotions back into his mind.
It was tiring.
*
A week and three days after the Tumble-Out-Of-The-Closet incident (the irony would have Sandeul in stitches were it not mocking him so aptly), Sandeul found himself on the sofa beside Baro at eleven-thirty p.m., wrestling furiously for the remote control.
“Discovery Channel sucks, I’m telling you, there’s a movie going on now that I’ve been waiting all week to watch!” Baro gave the remote a harsh tug, almost unbalancing Sandeul, who recovered just in time to pull back.
“Well go download it and watch it, no one’s stopping you,” Sandeul retorted, now fighting to keep Baro’s fingers off the buttons. “I want to watch Discovery Channel now. Besides, your movies are probably full of porn.”
“Are not!” Baro looked scandalised, refusing to let go of the remote. “What, you mean like the kind you use to get yourself off every night?! Psh, please, I am above that.”
Chansik had been watching them for a while now from the floor beside the television with an air of amusement, munching on a packet of Twisties and providing Jinyoung with a live commentary, the latter fully absorbed in whatever he was doing on his laptop and only replying with perfunctory “mm”s or “really”s.
“I’m not even nineteen yet!”
“Yeah, well neither am I!”
“That’s why it’s called “illegal”, you blockhead, it’s something people like you do,” Sandeul gave the remote a furious final tug, and was surprised when the remote came loose at last, falling back onto the sofa with unwanted momentum.
With a battle yell, Baro launched himself onto Sandeul to pick up where the fight for control (Sandeul was really getting into the innuendoes here) had left off, and all of a sudden Sandeul was too aware that this was too much because he was under Baro and oh my gosh I’m actually UNDER Baro and Sandeul sprang up with inconceivable strength, both Baro and remote tumbling to the ground as a result.
“Ow,” Baro said with considerable shock, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the coffee table, staring up at Sandeul with confusion that he could understand perfectly, because his brain had become a mass of dead fizzing signals with the overload that had taken place barely a second ago. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Baro could hear, he was breathing like he’d just run a marathon with asthma, and an unexplainable dizziness had overtaken his mind, like a foggy white light that shrouded everything else.
Chansik was looking uncertainly at him, and even Jinyoung had stopped what he was doing, examining Sandeul with curiosity. The sudden silence bore down upon Sandeul, crushing him, and he swallowed hard, eyes darting apologetically from one party to another.
The awkward cloud, however, was vaporised upon the entry of a loud roar from the bedroom for everyone to just shut up and die, and Baro was on his feet at once, scuttling off to mock Dongwoo for being such a naggy old bear, and Chansik returned to his packet of Twisties, fishing out the crumbs from the bottom of the packet, and Sandeul felt his breathing start returning to normal at last.
Turning away from the burn of Jinyoung’s curious gaze, Sandeul sat down on the sofa with a rather resigned thump, running a frustrated hand through his hair and trying his best pretend that all that never happened.
Besides, the bitter thought flashed through his mind. It wasn’t like Baro had any problem with that.
*
Sandeul spent the next few nights trying to think everything over. He lay alone in his room (Manager was sleeping less and less at the B1A4 dorm nowadays, he claimed that they were sufficiently well-behaved, an opinion with which Sandeul begged to differ), staring up at the unforgiving white ceiling, analysing and reanalysing the past events over and over again, longing so desperately for an explanation or sudden understanding to strike him through a revelation, a dream, anything.
What exactly did he want? The answer popped up immediately: he wanted everything to go back to normal between Baro and him, didn’t he? None of this awkward nonsense, none of this ridiculous uncertainty and shyness, just plain old Sunwoo and Junghwan sneaking whipped cream into Dongwoo’s underwear or hiding fake cockroaches in Chansik’s cucumber kimchi cartons.
But almost as soon as the thought came, it was overcome by a wave of regret, and he wanted to take it back at once. He felt like there was something, some evasive thing that was lacking, peeking out from behind a rock somewhere in the shadows of his mind, waiting to be found. He wanted something more, something deeper, but he was so afraid to think further that he tried to leave it at that. But it always came back to haunt him, pounding on the doors of his mind, demanding his attention.
It scared Junghwan.
*
Sandeul was tucking himself under the blanket one night, preparing for some gratifying sleep after an entire day of exhausting dance lessons, with the trainer breathing down their necks, barking at them like they were prisoners when one of them failed to be confident in expressing themselves or dance like they lived to do it, alone as usual, when Baro kind of exploded into the room, giggling hysterically.
“Hide me,” he whispered as he pounced onto the top bunk, clambering up the ladder like the floor had suddenly been turned to lava, before burrowing his way under Sandeul’s blanket before owner of said blanket could protest or even ask for an explanation.
It seemed, however, that an explanation wasn’t very necessary, as Jinyoung stormed into the room barely seconds later, dripping wet from head to toe.
“Baro, get out from under Sandeul’s blanket now,” he commanded, obviously pissed.
“What happened?” Sandeul asked incredulously, question directed to both the quivering lump on his bed and the drenched leader on the floor.
“A water balloon, Baro?” Jinyoung said louder. “Really? What are you, five? Do you realise that if I hadn’t gotten out of the way fast enough my laptop, containing three years of my work, would be ruined?”
“Well then I aim pretty good, don’t I?” Baro popped out from behind Sandeul, batting his eyelashes.
Sandeul was forced to dive in between the two of them as Jinyoung lunged for Baro’s throat. “Hyunghyunghyung!” Sandeul said breathlessly, holding up a hand between the two. “Remember, murder’s punishable by the death sentence!”
“Stringing him up by the toes and turning him into a human piñata doesn’t count as murder,” Jinyoung said grimly.
“That’s harsh, hyung,” Sunwoo said ruefully.
“You, keep quiet,” Sandeul ordered, before turning back to Jinyoung. “Hyung, I’m pretty sure we’re all pooped from practice, and you know doing the most stupid, obnoxious things is the only way Baro lets off steam, so if we could all come to a truce on the matter and go to sleep before more of those dumb dance lessons tomorrow…”
Jinyoung was still glaring at Baro, but gritted out a “fine,” anyway, and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
“You,” Sandeul said, as soon as the danger had passed, turning to Baro with a glare. “Stop getting yourself into trouble with Jinyoung, you know he’ll report you to Manager-hyung.”
“It’s not my fault he’s such a fun target,” Baro complained, sitting up in the bed. “Did you see how brilliantly red his face got? He should get red hair one day, it’d match.”
“Would you just take this seriously?” Sandeul said, exasperated. “This is the fifth time this month you’re pissing Jinyoung off. He’s not always going to let you off, you know.”
“Alright, alright,” Baro grumbled. “And I’m pretty sure I only got him four times. I mean there was the spider in the bathroom, the g-string in his underwear drawer…”
“The time you gave Chansik that fake horoscope counts too,” Sandeul interjected.
“What?”
“You told him you read a horoscope article that he was going to suffer an eternally scarring food-related accident, Sunwoo,” Junghwan said pointedly.
“And what does that have to with Jinyoung?” Baro snorted.
“Chansik didn’t dare to go near his meals for days, Baro,” Sandeul pressed his knuckles to his temples, from which a headache had suddenly sprung. “Did you notice how worried Jinyoung got or did that just bounce off your thick skull along with everything else?”
“That hurts, Deul,” Baro said, and though it was in his usual mock agony, Sandeul could sense the genuine hurt behind it.
“Sorry,” he said gruffly, turning away from Baro. “Look, can we just sleep or something?”
“Okay,” Baro shrugged, apparently as willing to forget the matter as Sandeul was. “So am I staying over here or what?”
“What?”
“Am. I. Sleeping. Here.”
“That was not part of the deal,” Sandeul looked flabberghasted, though his heart rate had suddenly picked up, his hopes taking a giant leap (which he disapproved of completely, of course).
“Was there a deal?”
“I don’t know.”
“So I am sleeping here,” Baro took his words as an invitation to flop back onto the mattress and stretch luxuriously.
“Hey hey hey!” Sandeul slapped Baro’s calves, prodding his stomach. “What’s wrong with your bed? If it has ticks or something you’re not sleeping here, because you’ll just spread them.”
“Did you not hear the death threat issued by the grumpy hormonal leader,” Baro said slowly.
“Oh, so now I’m stuck with you,” Sandeul rolled his eyes, though his internal organs were now doing a victory dance in his body. It felt like a warm fuzz. A completely outrageous, unacceptable warm fuzz.
“Is that delight I hear?” Baro crowed. “You should be happy, I’m the best person you could sleep with.”
Sandeul was reduced to snorting as he reached over to click off the lights, heart leaping like a kangaroo in his chest as he slid down under the blanket, trying not to get too close to Baro without falling off the side of the bunk bed. Baro was surprisingly comfortable, however, his skin soft and warm, pressed against Sandeul like a second blanket, which he supposed would come in handy, seeing as tonight was particularly cold.
It was a whole minute later, however, just as Sandeul had gotten used to the whole “sleeping-with-someone” idea that Baro spoke again.
“Sleep with, as in, like, sleep beside, not sleep sleep with, like…uh…you know what I mean, don’t you?”
On any other day, at any other moment, Sandeul would have been delighted with the opportunity to criticise Sunwoo’s apparent lack of eloquence, but that night, huddled under the blanket with his best friend, in a position which would probably raise the eyebrows of most people, he found his tongue neatly tied in a knot.
“Yeah,” he finally managed to mumble.
“Good,” Baro cleared his throat. “Night. Good night.”
“Night,” Sandeul muttered, before adding awkwardly. “To you too.”
Sandeul counted one minute and twenty-six seconds before Baro’s snores filled the tiny room.
*
After that night, however, it seemed like things had started to take a downward spiral on Sandeul and Baro’s relationship. All of a sudden, it was as though something had clicked, and their lives had been set off in two different tracks, as the places in Baro’s life Sandeul always used to fill were suddenly barred from him.
During dinner, anywhere they went, Baro would be sitting beside Chansik or Jinyoung, or even Dongwoo, talking in the same loud, obnoxious voice he always used, perhaps even louder and noisier now. In the van, Baro would tuck himself neatly in the space beside Chansik and Jinyoung in the back, leaving Sandeul to sit up in front with Dongwoo. In the dorm, during the tiny allowances of breathing space between lessons and practice, Sandeul would find himself sitting alone on his bunk, listening to the sound of Baro and Chansik romping around the dorm outside, their voices clear and crisp even through the closed door.
It left Sandeul so confused.
Baro had always been the one directing the path throughout their friendship, suggesting what to do next, planning out their next prank, taking the first few steps in his desired direction, and often Sandeul followed without question, like a lost duckling blindly trailing after what it had always supposed was its mother.
Sandeul found himself loathing the thought: how at liberty Baro was to drop his commitment in the relationship at any moment, and how he would have no choice but to accept it. He felt tricked. Cheated. It was as if Baro had lured him all this way with a bowl of ramyun on the end of a fishing rod, only to pluck it off and toss it to someone else when Sandeul had walked miles. He felt like an idiot. For who was he, really, to demand Baro’s attention when all this while, it’d been Sandeul who had been investing his full devotion, his blind commitment, into their relationship?
He was a fool. Not for following Baro all this way, but for cluelessly believing that Baro would actually find even a semblance of value in the relationship Sandeul still prized so dearly when it came down to it.
Now, it was as though Baro had got up and skipped happily away, leaving Sandeul sitting alone on the floor, surrounded by the shattered pieces of their once unbreakable friendship, wondering where he’d gone wrong.
“Junghwan.”
Sandeul looked up upon hearing his real name, blinking, forcing himself back into reality. The four faces of his closest friends blurred back into focus, in the undiluted, harsh light of the second bedroom. It was almost midnight in their dorm, on one of the special Saturday night meetings Jinyoung always insisted they hold.
“What?”
“Chansik asked if you were okay,” Dongwoo said, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve been…I don’t know. Spacing out a lot recently.”
“Ahah...ha…” Sandeul nodded fervently, avoiding their eyes, trailing the rough pattern on Jinyoung’s mattress with his fingers. “Tired…?”
“It’s been about three weeks,” Jinyoung said, with an expression of concern. “Look, if you’re not getting enough sleep, I could ask Manager to-…”
“No! No, no, I don’t! I’m fine,” Sandeul cut in immediately in a panicked tone, though his eyes itched at the mention of sleep. It was true, he’d been experiencing severe cases of insomnia during the past week or so, but he didn’t need to tell them that. Especially not Baro. None of them needed to know. “Don’t. Need to tell him. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“We’re not saying there’s something wrong with you,” Chansik put in worriedly. “Just, you know. Take care of yourself, hyung.”
“I am, I’m fine, nothing’s wrong,” Sandeul was rubbing his finger pads against the grainy texture of the cheap sheets now, still adamantly avoiding their stares.
Silence followed for a while after his statement, after which Jinyoung changed the topic to unacceptable lengths of time spent in the toilet by several culprits in particular, but it was clear, by the way the other members’ curious stares lingered on Sandeul, that the issue was far from resolved. Sandeul glanced up once, a minute later, to find himself staring straight into Baro’s eyes, and immediately looked back down, as though his eyes had been burned.
For a moment, Baro’s eyes had been dark and unreadable, the depth in his black orbs unfathomable, but when Sandeul looked up again it had disappeared, and Baro was laughing at Chansik for spending the longest time in the toilet on average.
Like the many things Baro did, it confused Sandeul. But just as time had worn on and the seconds had slipped away, so had Sandeul’s childish hope that he would someday understand his elusive dongsaeng. So he kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the floor, tuning out into his own universe once more.
As the meeting came to an end, however, and Sandeul stood to return to his own room, Jinyoung called him back.
“Wait, Sandeul, come and help me keep the leftovers of dinner, they’re going to go bad if we don’t put them in the fridge,” Jinyoung stood with him, angling his head to the kitchen.
Dongwoo began chivvying the two others up to their bunks, and Jinyoung left the room. Sandeul stared after him for a while, feeling a nervous sense of apprehension twist his gut, before he stepped out into the semi-dark hallway, following Jinyoung into the kitchen, till the voices of their band members faded to a soft hum.
“Shouldn’t be too long, we just have to pack the rice and the dishes,” Jinyoung remarked casually as they entered the threshold, and Sandeul realised, with alarm, that he couldn’t remember what they’d had for dinner. He couldn’t remember eating anything the entire day, in fact. Or yesterday.
His fingers trembled ever so slightly in their grip on the plate of chicken he was holding.
He was clipping the cover onto a lunchbox with the remains of their rice, after a minute or so of silent work, when Jinyoung began to talk.
“So, Junghwan…” Jinyoung opened the fridge to put the bottle of stock in, letting his words trail. “What exactly is up with you these days?”
“Nothing,” Sandeul replied immediately, the answer coming automatically, snapping a rubber band over the box.
Jinyoung eyeballed him, and Sandeul tried not to stare back; he knew Jinyoung had mastered the Art of Eyeballing and it almost always worked, especially on those with not-exactly-strong minds. Like him.
“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Jinyoung noted, as though reading evidence off a fact sheet. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you tossing and turning at night. And your appetite’s become nonexistent. I can’t believe you actually turned down Chansik’s offer of treating you to dessert last weekend. And during practice it’s like you’re not here with us at all.”
Sandeul traced the protruding edge of the lunch box nervously, mind buzzing with every possible excuse he could give.
“Tired…?” he said at last, and Jinyoung sighed.
“Junghwan, listen,” he straightened, clearing his throat. “I know something that meant a lot to you must have happened recently, but as a member of this team, your personal emotions have either got to be shared or kept out of the way.
“It’s not about you, or me, or anyone else, it’s about all of us and the dream we promised to chase together. Events come along that may hinder us physically or emotionally, but once you refuse to do anything about it, it becomes a weakness to us all. You may claim that it’s personal, that it’s your problem and you’ll deal with it, but while you’re waiting for a solution to fall from the sky, you’re holding all of us back.”
Jinyoung’s tone was strict, but his eyes were gentle when they met Junghwan’s, and the edge in his voice softened.
“So I’m asking you now, again. Do you want to share what happened with me?”
Sandeul pressed down on the cover, watching his knuckles grow white from the pressure. Almost an entire minute of silence followed, before he finally spoke.
“Something happened between Baro and I,” he said, and suddenly, the words started to flow from his mouth with an unexplainable urgency, as though his first sentence had opened up a dam, and the emotions kept so tightly in its reservoir began pouring out uncontrollably. “I don’t know what happened, after he stayed over in my room the night he threw a water balloon at you it’s like he completely forgot I even existed, and I don’t know if he just doesn’t think that our friendship was ever important, or if I did something wrong and he just hates me, but it’s like whatever we did together just never happened, and I just wish he’d tell me what’s so wrong with me so that I can fix it and everything can just go back to how it was before.”
Sandeul felt a wave of shame overwhelm him after his mini-outburst, not only because he sounded so much like a girl for saying all this (not to mention the tears that were threatening to fall at any moment), but also because of how petty his woes seemed after what Jinyoung had said about their teamwork and goals. How selfish Sandeul seemed in the light of everything else. Would Jinyoung laugh? Make him tell the others later? No, Sandeul couldn’t tell them, he’d never be able to face them and say all this.
Instead of mirth or disapproval, however, Jinyoung looked strangely thoughtful. After a moment of deep contemplation, he spoke again, but his words took Junghwan by surprise. “Remember our first few Saturday meetings?”
“Uhm, yeah,” Sandeul blinked. He was taken aback by the abrupt change in the topic.
“We would be in the living room around the table with sushi and candy and fruit juice,” Jinyoung reminisced. “Do you remember that awful pack of cards with all those preset questions Manager gave us to start us off on our discussions?”
“Yeah,” Sandeul gave a weak chuckle, the fading memories coming to mind. “What about them?”
“I’d read out a question, then we’d all write them down on little pieces of paper and discuss them, right?” Jinyoung took the box of rice from Sandeul.
“On the third Saturday I asked what decision you made in the past that made you regret the most,” he gave Sandeul a meaningful look. “And though we wrote it down, we never actually got to discuss it. Dongwoo-hyung was telling us to go to sleep or something, I think.”
Sandeul nodded again, now curious about what Jinyoung was getting at.
“Anyway, I collected all the papers afterwards, and you guys mostly wrote about pushing your little brother down when you were small or cheating in a test in middle school or something,” Jinyoung frowned, staring at the dish rack as he tried to remember. “But Baro’s caught my eye. He wrote that he had a childhood friend in high school, back in his home town. He was crushing on her, and must’ve told her or kissed her or something, because he wrote that she rejected him and they never spoke again.”
Sandeul was mute now, slowly processing this new information, still unsure of what to make of it.
“After that, on the paper, he swore never to fall in love with his best friend again, because it just wasn’t worth it,” Jinyoung rested his weight on his elbows, on the kitchen counter, eyes back on Sandeul.
“So, Junghwan. Is it worth it?”
Sandeul’s eyes returned to the lunchbox in his hands, his gaze dark and downcast.
“I just want to understand him,” he finally mumbled. Jinyoung straightened, taking the lunch box and opening the fridge.
“You know, Junghwan,” he said, sliding the plastic container into the fridge, before turning to face the quiet vocalist. “I think he’s just as confused as you are.”
The next few days after that were spent in tense silence, dragging on torturously slow, while Jinyoung’s words stewed in Sandeul’s mind, tormenting him.
Baro’s indifference, on the other hand, was starting to slip and flicker, like a channel on television with increasingly poor reception. It wasn’t that he’d started warming up to Sandeul, but neither did he become particularly cold- his demeanour had just somehow changed. Even Sandeul could start to pick up on the forced tints in his laughter, the frozen look in his eyes when he smiled, like it was imprisoning his feelings rather than showing them. It was like Baro was wearing an outer shell, a shell that was starting to break down and crack under pressure, and the soft inside was just beginning to be visible through the holes in the infrastructure.
Other than that, though, nothing much changed, until, that was, after the dream.
Sunwoo didn’t exactly appear often in Junghwan’s subconscious, but when he did, it would feel as though the dream was burnt with a branding iron into Junghwan’s mind, and it would stick for many days to follow.
This dream wasn’t like his usual ones involving the unattainable, heartbreaking boy. Those would normally be shadowed, intimate dreams, where he would see sunlight peeking through the white, feathery curtains, casting a faint, dreamy glow over the rest of the room, where he would feel soft sheets against his bare skin, a sweet smelling pillow under his cheek, and he would turn and see Sunwoo smiling at him with lidded eyes, his dark hair (like it used to be when Junghwan knew Sunwoo instead of Baro) falling over his face, slanting shadows over his pale cheeks.
Sunwoo would prop himself up on his elbows, regarding Junghwan with that soft, sleepy gaze he loved, and he would lean over and kiss Junghwan slowly, his lips tasting like sweet, sweet poison, and Junghwan would kiss him back obediently though every second was killing him because of how much he needed Sunwoo-…
And Sandeul would wake up in a cold sweat, blood pounding in his ears, throat dry, feeling empty and drained and dying inside, with a burning need within him for Baro beside him, holding him till the horrible feeling went away.
This dream, however, this dream was different.
It wasn’t surreal, or set in some fantasy land with just him and Sunwoo, alone together, but it was at Junghwan’s grandmother’s house, where he’d spent most of his childhood growing up in. They’d been wandering around the tiny, cluttered kitchen, Junghwan’s hand tightly clutching Sunwoo’s, gazing in wonder at the all the familiar sights and taking in the different smells, and Junghwan had finally felt at least remotely at home.
The rickety wooden dining table was filled with chicken and kimchi fried rice and all of Junghwan’s favourite dishes and his grandmother was forcing her homemade red bean cookies down Sunwoo’s throat, and Junghwan was laughing. They’d run out into the front yard after that, still holding hands, and Junghwan had gotten onto the tyre swing that hung on one of the large trees, and made pouty faces till Sunwoo agreed to push him.
The dream had ended in the same bedroom, except the air around them was different, somehow. Where hollow, needy want once was, a sweet, calm contentment had taken over, infused in the soft darkness that surrounded the two of them. The now blue, fading curtains were waving gently in the cool autumn breeze, the sound of insect nightlife like a lullaby outside their window, and it felt nice, it felt safe, tucked under the blankets with Sunwoo. Sunwoo had smiled, a real, beautiful smile Junghwan missed so sorely, and he’d leaned over and pressed soft kisses on Junghwan’s forehead, on his cheeks, his nose, and Junghwan had never felt more loved in his life.
He woke up feeling happier than he had in a long time.
Perhaps it was a sign, then, because Baro came to him, casual and easy as anything, while the rest were showering, unpacking and repacking for the next day, and asked him for a few minutes, “just to talk about a couple of things”.
Sandeul kept his eyes on the ground, hands folded in front of him, hoping Baro wouldn’t notice how hard his heart was pounding in his chest, or the cold sweat that had suddenly sprung on his forehead.
He nodded, following Baro into his empty bedroom, wondering what, what Baro could possibly want to tell him now, after everything that had happened.
“Jinyoung spoke to me,” Baro said, after he closed the door behind them, and Sandeul nodded again, inwardly feeling like a child being berated. Like it had been his fault all along.
“He told me to iron things out between us.”
“So?” Sandeul said, surprised at how deadened his voice came out. He wondered how long he’d been talking this way.
What’s your point? What are you here for? What more could you possibly want from the person who’s given you everything?
“Ah,” Baro had taken one of the shirts that were draped over his bed frame, and had begun folding it slowly, painstakingly smoothening out the creases as he went along. Sandeul resisted the urge to snatch it from him, force Baro to look him in the eye and tell him why, why on Earth he’d felt the need to torture him this way.
“Junghwan,” he said finally, plucking at a tiny fray in the collar. “It’s…it’s hard being an idol, and uh…you know, I guess we had a lot of crap to do on the way to stardom and yeah, but we all wanted it didn’t we? I mean we all told each other that we’d do our best in getting B1A4 somewhere in the idol world and that nothing would ever get in our way, and we did try, I mean…” he let out a frustrated sigh here. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Sandeul returned the question with a blank, but still guarded expression. It was unintentional, but it had become the only way he could look at Baro anymore.
“Well…what I’m trying to say is…” Baro looked, of all things, lost, now. His large, usually confident and expressive eyes were darting from the shirt in his hands to Sandeul’s own eyes, and Sandeul swore he could see a flicker of something (hope, maybe? But that was probably wistful thinking on his part) but when he looked up again, it had disappeared. “I…”
Sandeul’s mind was going wild beneath his stony demeanour. His heart, which had previously slowed down, was now going at a hundred miles per hour again, and he could feel sweat beading on his palms.
“I’m sorry,” Baro deflated (why did he look so disappointed?). “I uh…it’s been hard coping, you know? I guess that was my…uh…my way of carrying on?”
What? By trampling all over your best friend?
“I…I just…” Baro looked kind of at his wit’s end, but Sandeul was feeling less and less convinced that Baro actually meant anything that he’d said in the past minute.
You’re just trying to get the easy way out of this.
“I’d just really like if we could go back to the way things were,” Baro finally finished weakly. “I’m sorry, really, I am.”
“No,” Sandeul was surprised by his own words. “You’re not. You’re only sorry because Jinyoung’s making you do this and he’ll fry your ass if you don’t. And if your idea of coping with stress is to take it out on your best friend in the worst way possible then no, I don’t want things to go back to the way they were.”
Baro remained silent, his eyes unreadable, looking more tired than anything, and that expression just fuelled Sandeul’s fury even more.
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound right now?” Sandeul said, his voice gaining strength, anger, so relieved at finally being able to speak up for himself, make Baro acknowledge his terms. “You completely ignore me for a month, and you have the nerve to blame it on stress, of all the stupid things you could come up with, and now you’re asking that I simply forget every damn thing you did to me and get on with life? I mean, what the hell is going through your mind? Why do you want this? So you can just get me out of your way? Do I even register as a speck on your conscience? If you loathe and despise the very sight of me so much then you can just say it, you know,” his voice trembled with emotion here. “You’ve put me through so much already this shouldn’t exactly be so hard for you. I’m finding it hard to believe I actually liked you, you selfish jerk-…”
A tear rolled down his cheek, one he furiously brushed away, because he couldn’t believe, after all this time, after everything that Baro had done to him, he still wanted the boy standing in front of him, he still wanted his love and affection, and his heart still held on that tiny, pathetic spark of hope that Baro would actually return his feelings one day. Just how dense was he, really, to still think that could ever happen?
I guess I really am stupid.
“You know what, whatever,” Sandeul said finally, trying to clear the emotion in his voice and failing miserably. When it comes to you, I guess I’ll always be the one who’ll lose. “If you want to forget everything, then go ahead, I’m not stopping you.”
It’s not like I can anyway.
He turned then, though it felt like a part of his heart had just been seared off, and started walking in the direction of the door, praying that the bathroom was empty so he could just shut himself up and escape from it all without seeing the rest of them.
“Junghwan.”
Sandeul didn’t turn around. There was nothing for him to go back to, anyway.
“Junghwan, wait.”
Keep walking, he thought, summoning every scrap of self-control he had left not to turn around.
“Junghwan, please, wait!”
Sandeul jerked his arm back reflexively as Baro grabbed it, and he made the mistake of turning then, only to see Baro looking back at him, his large eyes now imploring, and Sandeul knew that he couldn’t turn away even if he wanted to.
“Hear me out, okay?”
There was silence between the two of them for a while, before Sandeul nodded wearily, and Baro’s eyes flicked down, then up again nervously.
“Please don’t leave until I’m done.”
Sandeul honestly felt too numbed to care about whatever Baro did right now, and nodded again, folding his arms across his chest.
Baro took a deep breath, as though he was struggling to come up with the words, steeling himself for what he was about to say.
“I think you’re a really beautiful person, okay?”
Part of Sandeul wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to scoff, most of him wanted to slap Baro for lying to him again and a tiny, miniscule, microscopic part of him wanted to believe that what Baro was saying was true.
Baro obviously wasn’t deterred by the silence, and ploughed on, but all Sandeul could think about was why, why is he doing this?
“I think you’re adorable when Jinyoung cooks pork slices in your favourite sauce and you hoard as much of it by possible by sneaking pieces under your rice so no one knows how much you’re eating,” Baro was looking down at the shirt in his hand, clutching the fabric so tightly it looked like it would rip at any moment. “And when you eat popcorn you have to take three in between your fingers and roll them till you get butter all over your fingers so you can lick them later, and every time you see a standing fan you’d go up to it and say weird things into it so you can hear the way your voice goes funny and I’d be watching you every single time.
“When you sleep you always curl up and sometimes your bare stomach shows and I’m always tempted to go and poke you but I don’t because I know you’ll either feel insecure or kick my face in like it’s a knee jerk reflex, and when you walk past reflective surfaces you always suck in your stomach and hunch a little and I’m always tempted to tell you to stop because you look fine the way you are. You don’t like coffee but you always drink it when Dongwoo makes it in the morning because you think it makes you look grown-up and mature, but you say it’s because you need the caffeine when Jinyoung asks you why. And sometimes I’m secretly glad that you’re sleeping apart from the rest of us because it means you won’t get closer to the other members. And when I lie in my bed at night I fantasise about bringing you home to Gwangju and how my sister would love you so much and tie ribbons into your hair and put you in a dress and how my mom would overfeed you and how we’d go to my favourite spot near the reservoir under the tree and have a picnic and hold hands and you’d let me finally just kiss you.”
Baro looked up then, and Sandeul felt his stomach do a little flip-flop at the smile that obviously held back so much pain on his face.
“It made me so scared, you know, how much I was starting to like you,” Baro continued, his voice slightly shaky now. “I couldn’t deal with how much I would lose if I lost you, so I…I guess I ran away from it. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry I didn’t think about what it would do to you. Fear makes people do stupid things, I guess…and I did something really, really stupid.”
Sandeul instinctively took a step back as Baro took one forward, still watching him warily, waiting for the catch. Baro seemed to get the message, and backed off, hands raised in surrender, the weary look back on his face.
“If you don’t forgive me, I understand,” he lowered his gaze. “I haven’t forgiven myself yet either. Just-…you know. Take care of yourself. And don’t…don’t let this affect singing for you, because you have a great voice, and I’m not worth it.”
He inhaled once more here, before nodding and smiling tightly, and heading for the door.
And this time, it was Sandeul’s turn to stop him.
Sandeul’s heart was hammering in his chest, his eyes still downcast, his fingers trembling as they closed around Baro’s wrist, holding him back.
This is a bad idea.
His heart didn’t agree.
Slowly, taking his time, he turned Baro around, pulled him closer, and just as the warning bells practically exploded like a time bomb in his brain, he pressed his lips against Baro’s at last.
The steady buzz of the others’ voices outside seemed to fade to a dull hum, the harsh light from the ceiling suddenly dreamy and soft, just like the sunlight that peeked through the curtains in Junghwan’s dream. Sunwoo’s skin, his lips, his hands, felt warm and comforting against Junghwan’s, just like how he always imagined they would be, surrounding him in a halo of security and familiarity he’d been deprived of for too long. The musky, natural smell of Sunwoo’s scent filled his senses, like the smell of wild grass after light showers with the faintest fragrance of mint leaves, or the heaviness in the air before it rained. For once, he wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t worrying, he was only feeling, completely submerging himself in the sensations that embraced him, that soothed and calmed his troubled soul.
It was only after their lips parted that the fear started to sink its claws into Junghwan, that Baro had been lying or meant something else, but that fear dispelled itself when Sunwoo’s warm hands slid around his back, pressing closer against Junghwan, and it took him a while to realise that Sunwoo was holding him, gingerly, yet protectively, as if afraid he would walk away again, and it took the sharp sound of a muffled inhale and a hot droplet soaking through Junghwan’s sweater to make him realise that Sunwoo was crying, and that finally convinced Junghwan that he meant every last word of what he said.
And a relief, a peace that only resolution could bring had seeped into him, the sensation akin to a hot, sweet drink on a cold day, warming him slowly from the inside out, and hesitantly, his hands still unsure, he hugged Sunwoo back, resting the weight of his head on Sunwoo’s broad, strong shoulder, absorbing the wonderful feeling of finally being in his arms, letting the comfort wash over him like warm water.
It was like something had returned in Sandeul, like he’d found something he’d lost so long ago he could barely recognise it anymore. He felt safer, braver, more confident in facing whatever was ahead because the motivation to live, to raise his head and look to the future had come back to him.
And somehow, from that, he knew everything was going to be okay.
The dorm was rather quiet that night, the only sound being the television blaring some overrated variety show, and Sandeul was sitting in his pyjamas on the sofa, a can of pear juice in his left hand, knees gathered up to his chest for warmth, though he was admittedly quite snug already, tucked in on Baro’s left.
It had been three weeks after the incident in the bedroom, and though things got off on a rather bumpy start, they were finally, slowly, falling back into the routine he remembered so fondly. Plus the extra bonus that they could be as open as they liked about how they felt for each other now.
Sandeul could feel Baro tense up beside him as Dongwoo came out of the bathroom, announcing it was Chansik’s turn to bathe now, and Chansik skipped off to the bedroom, obviously to get a set of clothes.
He turned, just in time to catch Baro wink, and fought hard to keep a straight face.
Moments later, a scream rang out through the tiny dorm, making everyone jump but the two trying not to grin on the sofa, and Chansik tore out of the bedroom looking positively terrified, leaping straight onto the couch beside Jinyoung and burying himself behind the leader.
“What, what happened?” Jinyoung looked genuinely shocked, if not a bit confused, and Sandeul had to bite his lip not to burst out laughing.
“There’s an evil ghost in my closet,” Chansik’s voice came out muffled, still a trembling lump on the sofa beside Jinyoung. “He came out and attacked me when I was getting clothes.”
Dongwoo raised an eyebrow, and went to poke his head into the room, before withdrawing it and shooting the pair on the sofa a scathing look.
“Wow, really?”
Neither of them could hold it in any longer and burst into laughter, doubling over in their mirth. Sandeul was grinning as he looked up.
“How does it look? Pretty good huh?”
“Clean up before you go to sleep,” Jinyoung said, obviously not impressed, trying to look stern while comfortingly patting the terrified maknae beside him.
“You haven’t even looked at it!” Baro protested, as Sandeul got up and went into the bedroom to see how their masterpiece had turned out.
It was an unorganised hodgepodge of several black t-shirts, a shawl, a very handy pillow one of their fans sent them as well as a silver marker and it had, in Sandeul’s opinion, turned out rather brilliantly. Of course, most of the credit went to Baro for making it spring out of the closet like it did, but he claimed ownership of the shawl and the broomstick. All in all, it was a fantastic prank well done.
“I think it looks great,” Baro said casually, coming up from behind and sliding his arms around Sandeul’s waist. “A few more touches here and there and it could almost be your predecessor.”
Sandeul slapped at the hands around his abdomen, pouting expertly as Baro chuckled, tightening his grip around Sandeul.
“Well anyway, I’d say that it’s a prank well done, so, who’s next?” Sandeul asked, rocking back and forth in Baro’s arms.
“I was thinking we could freeze plastic flies into ice and put it in Dongwoo hyung’s drink,” Baro said with a grin into Sandeul’s ear, the hot breath against Sandeul’s skin making him shiver involuntarily.
“Really?” Sandeul said, trying to focus his thoughts. “We could also spray feminine perfume into all of Jinyoung’s clothes, or add loads of Tabasco sauce in his morning coffee or something.”
“We’ll do all of that,” Baro murmured, pressing a kiss into the nape of Sandeul’s neck, and Sandeul blushed at the intimate contact, hoping no one was outside the doorway to see it. “After all, now that you’re here, I’ve got all the time in the world.”