not afraid to fall [chapter 16]
Title: not afraid to fall [chapter 16]
Author: ivoryroyale
Genre: supernatural, hurt/comfort, friendship, (sort of) romance, drama
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, very unrequited daejae, probably very sucky writing
Summary: in which a group of six aren't afraid to stand tall because they have each other.
Note: 5,456 words.Chapter's focused mainly on Daehyun, Youngjae, and Junhong. Also, I'm really really really sorry guys for not updating lately! I've just been really busy and a whole bunch of crap has been happening. (/_\) An explanation on my absence is found at the end of this chapter.
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[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [ chapter 7] [chapter 8] [ chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [ chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [ chapter 15] [ chapter 16] [ chapter 17] [ chapter 18] [ chapter 19] [ chapter 20]
not afraid to fall
chapter sixteen
“I think you got paint in my eye,"
Well, to be fair, I think you got paint everywhere, so I think it’s safe to say we’re even.
“Not true. The paint could be toxic or something. You could have blinded me. We’re definitely not even,”
Don’t be such a drama queen.
“But it’s true,” Youngjae mock-whines, rubbing at his eyes with a freckled green-red hand and laughing hard when Daehyun playfully pushes him away with a smile. Even though it probably shouldn’t be that funny, and he probably shouldn’t laugh as hard as he is.
There’s no reason to laugh, but he does it anyway.
It’s stupid, but he seems to do that a lot around Daehyun: laugh for no reason at all.
“And it wasn’t just me who did this,” Youngjae argues, sealing a stubborn smile away behind his lips, pursed and unsettled, as he directs Daehyun’s attention to the little specs of fluorescent paint flung carelessly around the room. Spots, flecks, and dots of reds, blues, yellows, and greens scattered everywhere he looks with a sole, out of place yellow-red streak on one of the walls. Honestly, Youngjae wouldn’t be very surprised if he found himself-his clothes, his hair, everything-in the same exact condition. “You’re responsible for this too,”
To be fair, you’re the one who started it though. Daehyun points out, sticking his tongue out at the younger with a sudden childishness that Youngjae finds incredibly endearing. Daehyun’s surprisingly playful. Youngjae imagined him to be something like Yongguk the first time they met: serious, quiet, sarcastic, pigheaded, goofy only a quarter of the time around everybody (excluding Himchan, who Yongguk seems to save all of his goofiness for).
But he actually acts a lot like Junhon-
(And Youngjae thinks-
Thinks, wait-
No-
No, don't think about that-
Don't think about him-
Daehyun isn't anything like him.
Junhong’s broken, and Daehyun is certainly not broken. Daehyun is daehyun-
And-
And Youngjae likes Daehyun, so he can’t be like Junhong.)
Sticking his tongue out, too, Youngjae finally shows that smile he’s been trying to hide and successfully smears the paint on his face even more when he rubs his eyes again. “To be fair, you’re the one who continued it,”
I had to fight back. Daehyun defends. You expect me to get attacked with paint and not do anything?
"Yes," Youngjae replies, not missing a single beat.
Daehyun snorts. You're such a brat.
"And you're such a baby," Youngjae retorts. "Haven't you ever heard of taking care of your younger friends and all that? Goodness, stop being so rude, hyung,"
Chuckling, Daehyun ruffles Youngjae’s hair in retaliation, brunette strands sticking up everywhere when Daehyun finally pulls his hands away. And Youngjae naturally fusses about it, saying that his hair is the only thing that he didn’t manage to mess up, even though they both know it’s caked in fluorescent paint that’ll probably take forever to get out of every strand of his hair.
You look like a mess. Daehyun points out with a short chuckle. A big, colorful mess.
And Youngjae is about to say something along the lines of how This is all your fault, I hope you know and I make a perfect big, colorful mess, thank you very much and You should just shut up and stop acting so adorable with your cute fucking chuckles when he realizes that that probably isn’t something he’s supposed to say.
(What should he say though? I like you a lot? I think you’re cute? You remind me a lot of Junhong when he was thirteen?
That just sounds creepy.)
So instead, Youngjae falls back onto the splattered red-blue-yellow-green blanket spread along the floor and lets out a surreal sigh. He looks around, admiring their work, coating the walls in a chaotic mess, and chuckles, surprisingly, for no reason at all again. Because they’re covered in paint. Fluorescent paint. “Himchan hyung is going to bite our heads off for this, you realize that, right?”
Daehyun raises a blonde, dusted with red-blue, eyebrow, smiling still. He seems to be smiling a lot more, Youngjae notices, and he likes that. His smile is easily one of the most gorgeous things Youngjae’s ever seen. Um, isn't that a little... harsh?
“Himchan hyung does the laundry,” Youngjae says, tossing Daehyun a flat look as if that’ll explain it all. "If he sees the state of our clothes, he’ll probably disown us. Fluorescent paint is a bitch to get out of fabric."
Daehyun laughs. Of all the things he could do: he laughs. And Youngjae’s heart flips in his chest.
“This isn’t something to laugh about,” Youngjae points out, but he’s smiling despite himself. “I’m perfectly serious,”
Then you're probably taking this way out of proportion. Daehyun retorts teasingly, following Youngjae to the ground, a good few inches away. Youngjae has to resist the urge to scoot closer.
“If you knew Himchan hyung as well as I do, you wouldn’t think so,” Youngjae points out, scooching a bit closer to Daehyun and ignoring the way his brain seems to shout at him. His head is rejecting every move his heart wants to make, and Youngjae doesn’t understand why, because a month ago, a matter of days ago, it wouldn’t have done this.
He has more control over his brain-over his ability-than this.
(But then again, Youngjae’s been using his ability a lot lately, harnessing it, making it more powerful, maybe even too powerful.
Too powerful for him to handle.
And his brain screams-
Screams at him: stop, this isn’t right, stop it, he won’t ever like you, you idiot, stop it, get that through your thick skull and embrace the fact that no one will ever love you, stop, you waste of space, everything that you touch breaks, when are you going to learn, stop it-
Youngjae has to physically dig his nails into his palms to actually get his brain to stop and focus.)
“I love how the room turned out though,” Daehyun says, saying it out loud this time instead of on a piece of paper, and Youngjae snaps his head over to look at the blonde, admiring the room with sparkling eyes, “so I don’t really mind getting chewed out,”
"Really?" Youngjae coughs, voice suddenly hoarse. His headache’s back and he feels-feels lightheaded and sick. "I still say we should burn the evidence. Or something,"
A chuckle snakes its way out from between Daehyun’s lips, and Youngjae smiles despite his head, staring up at the ceiling with big eyes.
He likes it too, to be honest. It’s messy, but Daehyun doesn’t strike him as the OCD sort, and it’s colorful and chaotic and absolutely amazing, but most importantly, it’s unconfined and so free, so it suits Daehyun perfectly if he has anything really exceptional to say about it-
"Free, huh?" Daehyun murmurs, his soft voice interrupting the quiet air, and it takes Youngjae a few minutes to realize he just said what he was thinking, all of it, out loud. "I love that word," The blonde admits with a smile. Youngjae feels his heart lurch as he stares, brown eyes looking at the way Daehyun's eyes crinkle at the corners.
"I would too," Youngjae mumbles, "if I were you, I mean,"
He doesn't think about how sensitive, how touchy, that one sentence is until it's out in the open and floating in the paint stained air.
Daehyun's smile falters.
"You all do that," Daehyun says, but he doesn't sound accusing. He sounds as if he's generally, simply, pointing something interesting out to Youngjae, and it just makes the genius find him all the more attractive. Daehyun shifts on the ground so that he can write on his post-its again. You talk to me as if I'm going to break at any second from what happened to me.
"Because you might-" Youngjae tries to point out, but Daehyun cuts him off with a glance, brown eyes striking his own gaze like a match.
If I was going to break, Daehyun starts, shifting ever so slightly on the ground again. I would've done it already.
Youngjae doesn't say anything to that.
I don't break that easily. Seven years is a long time to get used to torture, you know. Daehyun chuckles, and Youngjae almost cringes, almost tears up at the fact that was probably meant to be funny, meant to be a joke.
But it isn't. It's true, and it's horribly unfair, but Youngjae can't even say anything about it because he wasn't there, wasn't with Daehyun in that base, having God knows what done to him.
And if you say you're sorry, I swear you're going to get another red dot to your forehead. Daehyun writes out, quicker than Youngjae has a chance to speak. His handwriting's horrendous, almost unreadable, and that in itself is enough to silence Youngjae. How often did he need to write in a place like that? Probably never and that's why his handwriting is so-"I swear, you and Jongup-"
"What about Jongup?" Youngjae mumbles, voice breaking. He can't help the spark igniting in his gut at the sound of Daehyun saying Jongup's name.
The two of you are such worrywarts.
"We're hardly overreacting," Youngjae purses his lips. "Don't blame us for worrying over you. We love you." The words flow out before Youngjae even has a chance to stop them. They were the first words that popped up into his head, the first three words his brain thought up, the first three words that felt right.
Except he used we instead of I.
And Daehyun does nothing but smile. It's a bittersweet smile, one of appreciation and happiness but a certain sting to it that makes Youngjae want to curl up into a ball, makes him want to curl up into Daehyun's arms. Can't really say that about Jongup. Daehyun writes, and Youngjae flinches-physically flinches-when he reads it, every single word, every single syllable.
Because Daehyun mentioned Jongup. When Youngjae said we, Daehyun thought of Jongup.
That says a lot to Youngjae-it practically screams at him. But it's screaming all the wrong things.
"Why do you say that?" Youngjae asks, despite the constriction in his throat, despite the way his brain protests again, despite the punch in his gut and the tears building up somewhere behind his eyes. Because he wants to know. It's absolutely stupid, but he wants to know.
(Does Daehyun like Jongup the way Jongup likes him?
The way Youngjae likes Daehyun?)
"Jongup adores you," Youngjae adds, swallowing thickly at how appropriate the statement is. At how much of an understatement-"How could you say he doesn't love you?"
Daehyun sighs, a wisp of breath that snakes through the air in a sad sort of resigning manner. There's a strange twinge in Youngjae's stomach, a funny sort of twinge that makes him want to cry and laugh and maybe even lean more into Daehyun and scream all at the same time. Youngjae doesn't find it very healthy, but his brain says he's dumb again and that it's natural, it happens when the person you like outright rejects you without even knowing it. When the person you like loves one of your best friends and not you, never you.
Oh, look, the twinge is starting to hurt now.
I think Jongup hates me.
Youngjae scoffs, because ha, no, it's impossible to hate you, Daehyun, believe me. Because Youngjae, instead of listening to his head, instead of giving into all logic, he chooses to like him, even if Daehyun himself is unaware of it, even if he's fallen, headfirst and fast, for Jongup the same way the younger had for him. "He doesn't hate you." Youngjae points out, and he doesn't even listen when his head tells him to lie, that this is finally his chance to get Daehyun to like him instead of Jongup, you can manipulate him, you fucking idiot-"Believe me, he doesn't hate you at all,"
You don't even know what I did.
"I don't need to," Because Youngjae already has a pretty good idea of what he did, but he doesn't want to know. Jongup was talking to Himchan earlier. Talking about Daehyun and thoughts and feelings and kisses-
And for once, Youngjae doesn't want to know.
"Whatever it is, whatever you did, Jongup will forgive you and that's that."
Daehyun's eyebrows furrow in the most attractive of ways, and Youngjae can't help it when he reaches a hand over, flicking over the yellow paint staining Daehyun's sleeve.
How can you be so sure?
Because he likes you, you perfect idiot. "Because Jongup is Jongup. He can't hate anyone no matter what. It's against his nature."
Yeah, but-
"Nope," Youngjae says finally, when the pain in his stomach gets the better of him, when he can't take the look of pure distress on Daehyun's face about whether or not Jongup will hate him or not, when he's finally through with putting himself through torture. "I'm done with this conversation. Jongup doesn't hate you, and even if he did, you should man up and try to make it up to him,"
Daehyun tilts his head to the side. And it's probably the cutest fucking thing in the world. "How would I-"
"I don't know," Youngjae says, quick to cut him off, pushing himself up from the ground, feeling utterly disgusting all over, covered in caked paint. "But when you figure it out, I suggest you take a shower. You look like a fluorescent rainbow threw up all over you."
With a huffed breath, Youngjae makes his way to the door, taking one fluorescent foot at a time, carefully and precisely so that he can get out as fast as possible because-
"Youngjae, wait," Daehyun says, and Youngjae finds that he can't move anymore. He's four and a quarter feet away from the door and less than two minutes away from losing it (maybe less), and he can't move anymore. And he thinks, fuck all manipulative abilities in the world, fuck them, because they are probably the most unfair things. More unfair than the government, than having your brother turn into a machine, more than crushes and liking someone and life in itself. "Thank you," Daehyun says, and Youngjae feels it as the affects of his ability wear off, as he's allowed to move again, as his legs turn to jello and he almost wants to collapse.
Youngjae sighs instead. "Make sure to hide those clothes," He points out, making a gesture toward Daehyun's ruined attire. "I'm not taking any of the heat if you're the one that gets caught by Himchan hyung,"
And the door closes behind him.
Junhong sits at his bed, curling and uncurling and curling his fingers again and again into his bed sheets, still trying to get a hold of something-something that'll get him to feel, any sort of emotion or maybe even any sort of feeling. Something like his fingers, numb, like he's just took them out of frozen cold water, touching, but not really feeling his blanket, the nerves at the tips of his fingers not working properly-
Or maybe they are, he just can't feel them, doesn't know what to do to make them work again-
He can't even be sad about it.
"Hi," Junhong says, out loud, his fingers curling in tighter when his voice doesn't come out the way it's supposed to. His voice is probably the strangest thing about him at the moment, all flat toned and even with not even the slightest hint of anything he sounded like before. His voice seems to be the thing that's distressing the others the most, and Junhong's trying to make it better, trying to practice, trying to fake it so that the others won't have to worry about him anymore.
He's trying, because before, he wouldn't have wanted to be a burden. He would've tried the best he could to get better so Youngjae won't have to stress over him anymore, so that Jongup won't cry anymore, so that Yongguk and Himchan will want to see him again.
(Because he knows, if he wasn't like this, if he wasn't acting like this, so cold and different and inhuman, then Yongguk and Himchan would be in his room right now, Himchan fussing and Yongguk scolding. He wouldn't be here, alone.)
"Hello."
Still, his voice isn't the same. It's nothing.
"My name-" No. "my name is-" No, again. "I'm-" Nope.
That's not right either.
Junhong lets out the equivalent to a sigh in his state, and it's weird, not feeling the air slip through his teeth and passed his lips in the most simplest of ways, not feeling the tickle as his hair brushes against his forehead in little wisps. "Hi," He says, voice flat, voice even, a voice that isn't his.
"My name is Junhong," He states, "and I am a machine."
And someone's voice, someone equivalent to Youngjae, except it probably isn't because his voice is entirely too quiet, too not sarcastic, to be Youngjae, says, "Wow, aren't you being a little too harsh on yourself?"
And his fingers uncurl, because no, he's not being harsh on himself. He sort of wishes he was, but that's all he is now. He's a machine.
"You," Junhong says, not even batting an eyelash as he turns to the door and recognizes Youngjae, from the corner of his brown eyes, underneath a coat of red and yellow and green and blue paint. With his back pressed against the door as if he wanted to sink away, the only significant thing Junhong can make out is his eyes, misty in a strange sort of way that Junhong can't recognize anymore, not when he's like this. "you look like a mess." Because he does-a huge mess, wrapped up in a bunch of colors. "A big, colorful mess."
And Youngjae says, "Don't say that," and smiles something bitter and sad. Smiles something that shouldn't even be considered a smile because of how sad it looks. "Just," There's a tug on the ends of his lips that makes his smile falter, and his eyes get mistier, turning them into an even darker brown, "I know, so please, don't say that,"
"Is something wrong?" is the best thing Junhong can come up with next.
Because for one thing, he was expecting Youngjae to laugh at that. It was the first thing Junhong said that sounded even relatively like how he talked like before. And for another thing, Youngjae is being unbelievably quiet yet so unrealistically loud at the same time-breaths deep, shallow and uneven, tearing away quickly but quietly from his mouth in undignified puffs while everything else is frozen in place: his arms, behind his back, pressed against the door, his legs crossed at the ankles, and even his eyes don't blink. They just seem to stare, down at the ground, unfocused on anything at all.
Finally stepping away from the door, Youngjae makes his way over to the bed, staring down at his feet as he comes to a stop beside Junhong's side. "Hi," Junhong says again, out of instinct, out of the direct implication that he just should, and then he asks again, "something wrong?"
He stares him down with the brownest of eyes, and after a moment, Junhong blinks. Blinking instead of biting his lips like he usually would because with blinking, he'll be able to tell if he's actually doing it or not this way. Because if Junhong blinks, he can actually see himself do it.
It's like some sort of outlet to him, and after doing it, Junhong blinks a thousand times more, because it's the closest he's come to an accomplishment. The closest he's come to actually doing something right again.
And with several minutes of blinking, with several minutes of staring, Junhong finally realizes that Youngjae is angry. He's unbelievably angry at something, but Junhong doesn't know what or even why. Because he can't even tell anymore.
"Maybe," Youngjae admits, crumpling down slowly, kneeling on the ground on the side of the bed, and laying his head on Junhong's mattress. He's pouting, Junhong notices, so he's angry and sad.
"I feel like a lost cause." He coughs out a fake laugh. "I can be like you: my name is Youngjae," Youngjae states, mimicking Junhong, like he's teasing him, but he's not at the same time, because he sounds entirely too serious, too hurt, for it to be a joke, "and I'm a lost cause. We could both be something that way," And he laughs again.
Junhong blinks. Pauses. Then, "What happened?" Junhong asks, blinking again at the way Youngjae's laugh catches in his throat and seems to stay there. His arms begin to tremble in the slightest of ways that Junhong probably wouldn't have been able to catch if he weren't paying extra attention to the brunette. Paying extra attention now, because before, he wouldn't have needed to pay attention at all. He would have been able to tell how Youngjae felt-everything he did because of how he felt-with his eyes closed, locked inside another room in the house.
But now, he has to study, has to scrutinize, has to remember: what does sadness look like? What is hopelessness and distress and what does it look like-what does it feel like when you've been abandoned. (Because that's what Youngjae looks like, that's what Youngjae screams, without needing to make a single sound.)
"I think," Youngjae starts, worrying at his lower lip. "I think I like Daehyun,"
And Junhong does what he thinks he would have done before: he blanks. He fists his sheets and blinks, a sound like a gasp leaving his mouth. "Really?"
Youngjae smiles. "That wasn't the reaction I was expecting," The genius admits, getting just the slightest bit closer, nuzzling his head into his folded arms, yet still keeping a safe distance away from Junhong. Far enough away to keep from touching him but close enough for it to seem natural. "I was expecting you to just stare at me and say 'oh' like you didn't even care at all,"
With what he thinks are pursed lips but are really his lips jutting out absurdly, Junhong ponders. "Did you want me to react like that?"
Youngjae shuffles on the bed, crumpling up the blankets under his arms and possibly staining them red. "Maybe,"
"Okay: 'oh'," Junhong amends, forgetting all acts and just being normal, being what is considered normal in his state now. Careless and cold and heartless and different.
And Youngjae shuffles again, staring up at Junhong with funny (but maybe not so funny. Junhong can't really tell what's funny and what's not anymore) eyes.
"Is that better?" Junhong asks, and Youngjae shakes his head, burying his face into his arms.
"Not really," Youngjae says, voice muffled and distorted.
"Then why did you want me to say it?"
"I don't know. My brain is confusing me," Youngjae sighs. And Junhong thinks about how that should probably freak him. How he should be worrying and fussing and asking a whole array of questions, because Youngjae's brain should never be confusing, but now, he can't even think of a single thing to say. "I just thought, if you didn't care at all about it, then why should I? If you didn't care, then I would have a reason to get over him,"
Junhong looks down, at Youngjae's hair and how the red and blue paints in it make it look much more vibrant than it usually is, how stupid Youngjae looks and how he would have laughed about this before. Instead of laughing, he reaches down, hand hovering carefully over Youngjae's head, thinking that he should, to comfort the older boy, but stopping only because he can't. Not unless he wanted to ruin everything by draining the boy dry. "It's pretty lame reasoning," Youngjae says, voice cracking on several syllables, "but I needed to think something like that. I needed an excuse to get over him,"
"Why would you need an excuse?"
"Because he doesn't like me," Youngjae says, frowning. "Because without one, I probably wouldn't be able to get over him,"
"And how do you know that? Why do you think you need to get over him?" Because Junhong thought that before too, without any proof and without even trying: Jongup would never like him back in a million years. Even if he knows, if he would have sucked it up and just told him, they probably would be together right now. He was just too scared, too much of a coward, to confess.
(And not even that, thinking about Jongup and how he was practically in love with him before, is enough to knock some sense into Junhong, knock some feeling back into him.)
"He likes Jongup," Youngjae states simply, a pout on his lips, looking up at Junhong with furrowed eyebrows.
Junhong blinks, searching for some kind of feeling, some kind of jealousy but coming up with nothing. "How do you know that?"
"I don't know," Youngjae replies, but the way that he says it makes Junhong think he does know. "Just... a feeling." He bites at his bottom lip. "If he tries to kiss him, does that mean he likes him?" Junhong blinks. Yes, that necessarily means he's interested. "And if he freaks out over Jongup hating him after trying to kiss him, does that mean he likes him even more?"
And, using his previous knowledge on feeling, using what he used to feel because of Himchan and Yongguk, Junhong nods. "He sounds like he's in love with Jongup,"
Youngjae flinches.
And Junhong thinks, was that the wrong thing to say?
"Great," Youngjae says sarcastically, lifting his head up from his arms enough for Junhong to see the exaggerated smile on his face. "and Jongup likes him too,"
"I'm sorry," Junhong says, even if he isn't really sorry. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," He bites his lips, shifting on the bed for the upteenth time. "I'm perfectly-"
And Youngjae's arm accidentally brushes against Junhong's arm, and Junhong feels-
He feels jealousy, in all its horrid, irrational glory, coursing through his veins in firey, almost hurtful tufts. Except that's the only thing he feels, and he knows, with a hunch, that this feeling isn't his-
And Youngjae pulls back from the bed, as if he's just been burned, and the feelings gone again, just as fast as he felt it-
(And Junhong momentarily thinks about grabbing Youngjae's arm again to feel something, anything, again. He doesn't even care if it's jealousy again.)
And Youngjae stares, just as Junhong blinks.
"Sorry," They both say at the same time, Junhong in his quiet, monotone way and Youngjae in his high pitched, too-shocked-to-care sort of way.
A long pause, almost a thousand times too long, passes by before either of them decide to talk again.
"What was that," Youngjae asks.
"I don't know," Junhong says honestly.
"That was-" Youngjae says, voice cutting off unexpectedly, looking more shocked than terrified. "I didn't... I couldn't feel anymore. That felt-that felt a lot more different than when we were younger,"
Although Junhong doesn't feel the least bit sorry (because he felt something. He actually felt jealous about something. Granted it was Youngjae who felt it, but he could actually feel.), he apologizes again, apologizes as convincingly as he can, "I'm so sorry,"
"You didn't mean to do that?" Youngjae's scooting closer now, almost deliberately, as if he wanted Junhong to take his emotions away. As if he wanted not to feel anything at all.
Junhong shakes his head. "Of course not,"
"You took away all my emotions. Everything," Youngjae says, amazement, actual amazement, lacing his voice. Why is he amazed? He's supposed to be scared, he's supposed to be freaked out, like Jongup was the first time Junhong woke up, scared and panicked and anxious and what the hell is wrong with Junhong, why is he doing this to me.
Junhong realizes now, with a tightened curl of his hand, that this happened before too, happened with Jongup. He felt everything he felt, everything that was even happening to him-every breath he took, every blink of his eyes, every thought.
(What the hell was wrong with him now. This isn't even his ability anymore-not the one he's lived with for fifteen years.)
And Junhong also realizes that he felt what Youngjae felt, with only the slightest of touches, and he felt what he thought, what he was thinking-unfamiliar thoughts too manic to be Youngjae's. Thoughts about Jongup and Daehyun and himself and how Jongup is better, so much better, you shouldn't even try, you pathetic little idiot, Daehyun's way out of your league, you're never going to be as good as someone like Jongup, everyone loves him, and no one likes a fucked up little paranoid nerd like you-
"Youngjae," Junhong says, furrowing his eyebrows, fingers twitching in his covers and mouth set into a too thin line, one that he can't feel himself. One that he probably would need Youngjae to feel because he found a new trick to his ability, found a way to feel again. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Youngjae answers, and now that Junhong hears it, after feeling all of that, all he notices is how quick the older boy answers, how he avoids Junhong's eyes like the plague, how he fidgets with the blanket, worrying at the fabric in between the pads of his fingertips. "Of course, I'm okay," Youngjae states, sounding so sure of himself but probably lying straight to Junhong's face. "I told you I can handle it. It's not even that bad,"
Junhong has no idea which he's talking about though: the heartbreak or Junhong stealing away his jealousy, his self-hatred, everything he's feeling, everything he's been feeling.
With another blink, Junhong tries to will himself to care, tries to tell himself he should worry, how he needs to worry, because if he doesn't, Youngjae will think he's alone in all this, he'll think nobody cares. But Junhong still can't do it, can't think of a way to get himself to. Even if Youngjae came to him of all people, him instead of Yongguk or Himchan, him instead of anyone else because Junhong is the only one in the world Youngjae trusts-he knows now because he felt it. Felt how devoted Youngjae feels to him because of the time when they were younger and Junhong was the only one who bothered to acknowledge him, the only one who bothered to save him. Felt how abandoned Youngjae feels by everyone else because they all have someone and Youngjae has no one, no one except Junhong.
Even if Junhong felt something else, something hidden among a pile of past and forgotten memories, something hidden well beneath years of wreckage. Something about Junhong-
"Everything's going to be okay," Junhong says suddenly, reciting what he said when he was younger, when he was just eleven and didn't think about what he needed to say to make Youngjae feel better.
"Is it?" Youngjae asks then, façade slipping, eyes going misty again.
"I'll make sure nothing'll happen to you anymore," Of course, when he was a kid, he never thought something like this would ever happen to them, and he's probably lying now, right now. He just thinks Youngjae deserves some self-assurance. Someone to take care of him, even though Junhong can barely take care of himself right now. He's willing to try his hardest for his big brother. Even if Youngjae isn't really his big brother.
Youngjae smiles then, another bittersweet smile, and Junhong can tell, even then, that Youngjae probably knows he's lying, trying to make him feel better. "It just isn't fair, Junhong," Youngjae admits, sighing.
"I know," Junhong says, and giving into all the thoughts in the back of his head telling him that he should touch Youngjae again, to feel something again, he lets his hands card through Youngjae's hair, caked in disgusting fluorescent paint. And he feels, for a brief moment, the sour bitterness buzzing in the back of Youngjae's throat, settling there in a clump, stubborn and relentless, and the guilt settled in his gut for feeling so much of the bitterness toward Jongup, toward one of his best friends, the familiar hum of jealousy harmonizing in the back of his head. And Junhong hears, loud and clear, "Love sucks,"
With furrowed eyebrows, Youngjae looks up, and Junhong feels the confusion, feels him thinking, did he just-
And Junhong forces his hands away, curling them back into his covers.
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