crash (or lack thereof)
Title: crash (or lack thereof)
Author: ivoryroyale
Pairing: Youngjae/Zelo
Genre: romance, comedy, fluff
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language
Summary: for something that's supposed to be completely disastrous, Youngjae thinks he comes out relatively unscathed. Sort of.
Note: 6,829 words. Something fun written for Youngjae's birthday. For kiwi_ism because I love her.
-----
crash
(or lack thereof)
Youngjae’s driving down an empty intersection when it happens.
It’s quick and there isn’t really anything to stop it except maybe the immediate halt of the car, but even then, Youngjae’s left staring, hands gripped tight to the steering wheel as the kid helplessly stands there, waiting to be crushed.
As a last resort, Youngjae swerves the car to the right, giving an (understandably) high-pitched yelp as he does so.
And maybe it’s a little irrational and stupid, but instead of thinking about his life, instead of thinking about how he might die or at least become mortally injured in just a few seconds, (or at least something like, ‘gee, I’m about to run straight into a lamp post, that sucks.’) Youngjae thinks about whether or not his car’s going to be okay and if Daehyun’s going to try to take it after he’s gone.
(If he survives this, he’s definitely going to try to think of something more profound to say before his next near-death experience.)
The car hits the pole with a shocking jolt, and Youngjae’s still gripping onto the steering wheel, eyes shut tight, bracing the impact and possibly, also, a form of injury. He’s imagined having an accident before--if he were driving on a snowy day and the sleet caused him to roll over, if he were driving on a busy freeway and a car suddenly swerved into him, et cetera--but this--this is definitely different than his imagination. It’s terribly real.
The point before the impact is probably the worst part of it all, because Youngjae’s stuck waiting for it. There’s nothing he can do to stop it, and when the crash finally comes, Youngjae’s head jerks forward and smacks right into the explosion of an airbag.
When he’s (somewhat) recovered, and he can finally hear through the ringing in his head, a soft, lilting voice reaches his ears, and he briefly wonders if it’s some kind of angel, the voice is so calming, before he feels the unmistakable pain of a splitting headache and a crick in his neck. “Holy shit!” The voice says, growing more panicked and sounding closer, and Youngjae groans, trying to lift his head up with a wince, but ultimately failing, nose smacking right back into the cushion.
(He’s never going to drive a car again in his life. He hates cars now. Hates them.)
There’s a pounding at his window (or maybe that’s just his head) that Youngjae can’t even answer; he’s so mortified.
Because he just voluntarily drove himself into a pole.
(That is probably the lamest thing he’s ever done. Ever. And he doesn’t even have a scratch on his body to prove it.)
A chime of, “Oh my God, please don’t be dead, holy shit, please, please, don’t be dead. Crap, fucking crap,” comes from outside the window of the passenger’s seat.
And Youngjae thinks, for an angel’s voice, they sure do curse a lot, before promptly passing out.
When Youngjae wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed, his head still hurts, and he’s a bit confused.
(How did he get here?)
“Oh, thank God,” someone says, and Youngjae whips his head around, too fast, resulting in a searing pain shooting up the back of his neck. Youngjae whimpers, and the voice (the voice from before, the voice of the angel) takes a turn in another direction, concern dotting its previous relief, “shit, are you alright?”
The voice sounds like a sixteen year old boy.
“What?” Youngjae asks, feeling a little disoriented and sluggish, like morphine’s been pumped through his veins. His voice comes out ten times slower and one hundred times less graceful than the angel’s does. Squinting to see, struggling to make sense of the situation, Youngjae looks toward his right and notices alarmed brown eyes staring straight at him.
For the second time that day, he panics.
“Hey, hey,” The boy says, lips pressed into a thin line, hair dangling into his eyes, and Youngjae thinks, he sort of looks like an angel, too, “don’t panic. You’re okay.” And he sounds so positive and soothing, Youngjae actually listens. His nerves calm down, and he isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of the drugs or if it’s because the stranger’s voice is quite possibly Youngjae’s favorite thing at the moment.
They’re both silent. Youngjae’s busy surveying the area, and the angel (which is Youngjae’s new, fitting nickname for the kid) simply stares at him. He tries not to notice the complete wonder in his eyes, and ultimately fails. “What’s your name?” The angel says suddenly, and Youngjae pushes his eyebrows together.
“Huh?” Youngjae has to ask, wondering whether or not he heard that correctly, because he’s pretty sure the angel just asked for--
“Your name?” He repeats, amused smile on his lips, and Youngjae eventually decides he’s not daydreaming.
“You want to know my name?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot it.” The angel says, and he sounds a little worried, like that could actually happen and he’s singlehandedly caused Youngjae inoperable brain damage, but he also sounds a little snarky.
Youngjae finds himself liking this angel more and more, everytime he opens his mouth.
“Yoo Youngjae.” He answers, adding a mental: I’m the guy who nearly ran you over.
“Hi, Youngjae.” The name slips easily off his tongue, like he’s been saying it all his life. “I’m Choi Junhong--the guy who forced you to drive into a lamp post. Nice to meet you.”
Youngjae thinks they’re going to be very good friends.
Junhong, Youngjae finds, is very doting.
It’s not to say that he doesn’t like it (he honestly kind of does), but it’s a little overwhelming considering the boy is basically a complete stranger, and Youngjae apparently has a minor neck injury.
(The doctors said it could have been a lot worse, and Youngjae doesn’t know whether to feel lucky or not.)
“Do you need another pillow?” Junhong asks for the eleventh time within the hour.
“No.”
“You sure? Cause I can totally get you one.”
“I’m fine...”
“How about medication? Should I call the nurse?”
“Really, Junhong, I’m okay.”
A beat of silence follows, and Youngjae is eternally grateful for it--silently thanking whoever invented silences and every quiet second in between.
Until Junhong continues, “You hungry?”
After that, Youngjae sighs, shuts his eyes, and, willing whatever self-control he has, attempts to find a way to explain to Junhong that he doesn’t really appreciate being badgered at the moment. (Any other time--maybe, but now--not so much.)
When he opens his eyes and catches curious, coffee colored pupils, Youngjae says, “You know? Maybe a little. Can you get me something from the cafeteria?”
Pure delight sparkles bright in Junhong’s irises, and, eager to please, Junhong nods, a simple, “I’ll be right back,” slipping off his tongue as he stands from his chair, revealing a height Youngjae would never have expected from him.
He has no idea why the prospect of getting him food excites Junhong so much or why he even decided to ask for something like that (Youngjae absolutely detests hospital food), but the smile that Junhong gives him when he comes back, breathing a little heavy from running all the way downstairs and back, is totally worth having to scarf down the crappy meal.
Junhong is definitely overcompensating for the accident.
(Honestly, it’s half as much Youngjae’s fault as it is Junhong’s--because, for one thing, he wasn’t exactly paying attention to where he was going, and for another thing, Youngjae probably should always be paying attention in the first place anyway, even if the intersection seemed to be lifeless--but Junhong insists it’s mostly his fault by the way he feels inclined to accomplish every little thing Youngjae tells him to do.)
In the past half hour, Youngjae’s asked him to adjust his pillow, change the television channel, walk to the convenience store a block away to get him an ice cream (that he could’ve gotten downstairs)--hell, he’s even asked him to sing (which was actually very nice, surprisingly), and Junhong has done every single task without a complaint.
Youngjae briefly wonders about the younger boy’s sanity.
“Don’t you have school or something?” Youngjae asks.
“It’s Sunday.” Junhong supplies helpfully, eyes trained solely on the television, playing whatever cartoon Youngjae saw fit.
“Well, aren’t your parents worried about you or something?”
“Nope.”
Youngjae takes a moment to be confused.
“What do you mean ‘nope’?”
Junhong gives him this look that can only be described as devious. “I mean, ‘no’. As in the adverb? The negative used to express denial of a question?”
Youngjae feels a little offended as well as a little daft. He tries not to seem so as the color rushes to his cheeks. “I know what it means.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I didn’t ask--” Youngjae protests, voice a little strangled, but Junhong cuts him off with a cute chuckle and Youngjae’s left half silent and half stunned.
“I mean my parents aren’t worried about me, because I don’t live with them.” Junhong says simply, after he’s through laughing.
When Youngjae stares at him, the boy makes a point to keep his gaze locked on the TV screen.
And Youngjae wonders what in the world a sixteen year old boy is doing not living with his parents before he realizes that he’s prying, and he probably shouldn’t.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them says anything after that.
The doctor comes into the room, right as Junhong decides it would be funny to play keep away with the remote.
“That’s not very good for your neck,” She says while Youngjae is twisted toward Junhong, reaching from his spot on the bed for the control in Junhong’s hands, and Youngjae snaps his head around, face scrunching up at the sudden heat traveling up the back of his spine, “told you so.” The doctor explains, a little look of sternness in the purse of her lips.
Youngjae decidedly ignores the little point-and-laugh Junhong throws his way. “Morning.” Youngjae mumbles, looking up at his doctor: clad in usual uniform, hair up and smile light.
“Good morning, Mr. Yoo.” The doctor chimes and Youngjae glances at her nametag to catch her name: Jung Hana. “Morning, Junhong.” Her smile looks considerably brighter as she turns, looking straight at the younger boy who gives her an even brighter smile.
Youngjae wasn’t aware they knew each other.
He feels an irrational sense of jealousy and possessiveness burning in his gut.
“So what’s the diagnostic, doc?” Junhong asks for him and Youngjae’s mouth twists.
He’s a little annoyed, so immediately he asks Junhong, “Can you do me a huge favor and get me another ice cream? From the same convenience store?” so that he doesn’t take his frustration completely out on the kid.
And almost periodically, Junhong glances over at him, smiles, says, “Sure thing!” and nearly trips over himself trying to accommodate Youngjae’s needs.
Hana has this look of recognition on her face, and Youngjae yells after the teen, “Green tea flavored!”
“Got it!” He calls back, and Hana giggles as she watches him leave.
“You have a very nice boyfriend.” She says after Junhong’s completely out of range.
And Youngjae thinks about denying it, thinks about telling her that Junhong’s nothing more than a stranger, and they’d probably never talk to each other again after today, but instead he says, “Yeah,” because he saw that smile she gave Junhong before, and he really, really didn’t like it, “yeah. He’s really great.”
“You can tell he really likes you.” She announces, making casual small talk that Youngjae ultimately can’t force himself to continue, no matter how hard he tries. “He never once left your side, you know?”
(Youngjae tries not to feel too thrilled about that fact, because he knows it’s probably just the accident and the overcompensation, but he can’t help it.)
“It’s good that you’re going to have somebody with you while you stay here.”
Youngjae has enough time to say, “Wait, what?” before Junhong pops his head through the door again.
“I forgot my skateboard.” He explains shortly.
Hana grins at him.
Youngjae stares.
Thinks, what.
“You’re stuck here for six more days?” Junhong asks with his mouth wrapped around a vanilla ice cream stick. A long, exaggerated whistle leaves his mouth, and Youngjae can’t help but agree. “Dude, that kind of sucks.”
Youngjae shakes his head, eyes closed and sarcasm bitter on his tongue as he says, “Really? Cause I thought it would be oodles of fun.” Because hospitals suck, staying at hospitals suck even more and he’s going to be in a hospital, alone, for six days straight.
(Which sucks.)
Junhong cracks a little smile over the sliver of wood caught between his teeth. “Did you just say oodles?”
“Yeah,” Youngjae says, giving Junhong a sidelong glance and ultimately looking away when he realizes he can’t properly be angry with him looking like that, “Oodles. It’s a word. Look it up.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Then don’t say anything about it.” Youngjae deadpans, feeling moody and irritable. (And to be quite honest he can use whatever word he wants.
Oodles included.)
Through peels of badly suppressed laughter, Junhong holds a hand in front of his face--the stick of his ice cream peeking through the cracks, “No, no, um… oodles is-it’s good.”
And Youngjae tries so hard not to laugh or smile or even talk at the moment, but it’s way too hard, and he just can’t do it when Junhong’s sitting there, trying desperately to keep from laughing, too. “Shut up.” He says, “I’m trying to be unhappy here.”
“Right, right, sorry.” But he doesn’t really sound sorry. “Where were we again?”
“Six days. Oodles of fun.” Youngjae reminds and fails to suppress the smile this time.
“Oh, yeah,” Junhong says, at least having the decency to sound thoughtful, “well, six days will pass by in no time, Youngjae. I mean, you have Hana to keep you company and everything.”
Youngjae tries not to feel too livid about the fact that Junhong mentions her, but then takes solace in the fact that she thinks he’s gay now. (He probably should feel guilty about that, but at the moment, he doesn’t really care.
Because he has to stay here for six freaking days.)
“Hana and I don’t really click, Junhong.”
The look on Junhong’s face is completely oblivious. “Oh.”
“Yeah…”
“Well,” Junhong starts again, dragging out the letters, and glancing to the corner of his eyes for a solution to Youngjae’s problem. (Youngjae feels really bad for dragging him into this, and he wonders why he keeps insisting on being involved. Junhong seriously can’t feel that guilty.) “How about a friend? You know. Someone you can call to hang out.”
Youngjae briefly thinks about Daehyun before remembering he has classes and a job and a boyfriend to worry about already. “No.” He sighs.
(He really needs more friends.)
“Then I’ll stay with you.” Junhong says suddenly.
Youngjae doesn’t really know what to say.
“You?” Youngjae reiterates after minutes on end opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out what to say.
Junhong smiles, looking at Youngjae with a sparkle in his eyes. “Yeah.”
“Junhong, I don’t even know you.”
And the younger boy looks at him, long and hard. “So?”
“So--” Youngjae starts, but he doesn’t really know how to continue, nor does he have a legitimate reason why, “so--so it’d be weird.”
“Was today weird?”
“Well, no, but--” But before he can continue, Junhong is grinning--actually smiling, teeth showing and eyes nearly closed--and Youngjae finds it hard to form another word.
“Then it’s settled! I’ll see you again tomorrow. Two-thirty, sharp.” And Youngjae tries to get another word in--another word of denial and refusal--but then, Junhong’s laughing, giddy and just so happy, and he really can’t help it when he chooses to keep his mouth shut.
“Besides, it’s the least I can do after basically injuring you in the first place.”
Youngjae doesn’t really expect much the first day: he just sits in bed, eating and watching TV, and before he knows it, it’s two twenty-six in the afternoon, and Junhong’s walking through the door as if he hadn’t left the day before.
Youngjae attempts to stammer out a greeting, but before he can, Junhong strides to his bedside and gives Youngjae a look. “Uh--”
“What in the world are you eating?” He asks.
Youngjae glances down at the carrots on his plate. He feels really confused.
“Uh--” He says again.
“Dude,” Junhong continues, before he even has a chance to defend himself, “you’re injured. I think a little junkfood is in order.”
(And Youngjae feels really confused.)
Youngjae opens his mouth again, just as Junhong dumps the contents of his backpack onto his hospital bed.
There’re packages of chips, cookies, cake pops, and ice cream covering the bottom half of his bed before he even has a chance to blink.
Youngjae raises an eyebrow.
Junhong only grins at him, grabbing a bag of chips. “You’re welcome.”
The next day, Youngjae doesn’t really expect Junhong to show up again, so he takes a nap at one.
He wakes up again to the sound of Junhong’s screaming at the TV:
“NO, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO END UP WITH HIM, NOT HIM. OH, MY GOD, WHAT THE CRAP IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
Youngjae turns on his side, feels a sudden ache in his neck, and glares at the boy, watching k-dramas whilst chewing on a cake pop.
He looks bashful as he chuckles, smiling through the treat. “Morning?”
Youngjae groans into his pillow.
By Wednesday, it’s basically a routine for them.
Junhong shows up, tries to impress Hana, and talks to Youngjae about his day.
And in return, he lets Youngjae complain all he wants about hospitals and injuries and cars (especially cars), and he still listens to every order even though he’s long since made it up to him.
Youngjae thinks he can get used to this.
(And, at the same time, he’s terrified that he’s going to get used to this.)
Thursday, Junhong comes to the hospital with a frown that could kill puppies.
He marches straight to Youngjae’s bed and says, “scoot.”
(Youngjae’s a little confused at first, but then Junhong makes this shooing motion with his hands, and he understands, slowly making his way further onto the bed.)
“School was shitty,” Junhong says, rolling onto the bed and into Youngjae’s side, “it was really shitty. I hate it.”
Silently, Youngjae sighs, ignores the way his stomach and heart flails, and pats Junhong’s head, glued tight to the side of his arm.
Hana comes in then, and Junhong doesn’t even perk up at the sight of her like he usually does.
Youngjae thinks he must be really sad.
She takes one glance at them, and her whole face sort of lights up, and she’s squealing (and Youngjae has no idea what for, but it’s way too loud.) “Oh, my Gosh, you two are so cute.”
From the corner of his eye, Junhong peeks up at Hana, stares for a couple of seconds (probably deciding whether or not to initiate conversation) before squishing his cheek into Youngjae’s shoulder.
“Okay, sorry,” Hana says, after significantly calming down, coughing into the back of her hand. Youngjae gives a silent sigh of relief, before Hana’s looking straight at him and he has this feeling of dread like she’s going to say more. There’s a sly smile on her face and a wink in her eye as she skips out of the room, saying, “I’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone.”
Youngjae feels himself pale, feels Junhong shifting on his shoulder.
“Boyfriend?” The younger asks, looking a little perplexed, but also a little amused (considerably happier than before). He takes a glance at Youngjae.
Youngjae looks away and shoves his head back into the crook of his neck before he has a chance to say anything else about it.
On Friday, Junhong comes way too early, and Youngjae’s left staring at him through medicated eyes. He feels panicked at first--takes a moment in his drug induced state to wonder what in the world Junhong is doing here an hour early--but then a sudden bout of euphoria swims down his spine and Youngjae doesn’t really care anymore.
He’s just glad he’s here.
“Junnie,” he hears, traveling in the air, bouncing around his eardrums, and Youngjae takes a moment to giggle before he realizes that’s him. (Oh God.) “you’re heeeere!” There’s a crack of a smile on Junhong’s face, and maybe, if he wasn’t so hyped up on medication, Youngjae would’ve thought twice before he shouts, “Oh, wow, you have such a pretty smile.”
His eyebrows rise, disappearing under his bangs, and he seems flabbergasted. “Wow, you’re as high as a kite right now, aren’t you?”
Youngjae doesn’t really understand that reference at this point, but he still says, “Yes,” serious, like the single syllable meant an entire syllabus, “but painkillers are fun, so it’s okay.”
“Do they usually give you this much drugs around this time?” Junhong asks, tossing his backpack off his shoulder and onto the ground near the door. (Youngjae doesn’t notice it then, but he also closes the door--something he usually doesn’t do, because he always hopes doctor Hana will come in and talk to him.) (Youngjae frowns at his own thought, and consequently shoos them away.)
“Err, maybe. Only when it hurts too much. Or when I want a morphine rush.” Junhong laughs at him, and he looks a little conflicted, so Youngjae tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a brief flash in the younger boy’s eyes and Youngjae’s too far gone to really catch it. “Nothing,” He says, but it doesn’t sound like nothing, “it’s nothing. I just… it’s Friday.”
Youngjae’s a little confused, and he doesn’t really like feeling confused, not even when he’s too high off his rocker to think. “Fridays are good though, aren’t they?”
And Junhong opens his mouth, like he wants to say something, but when he catches Youngjae’s eyes, probably too cloudy to even seem focused, he stops. “Not this one.”
Before he can ask why, Youngjae can feel another rush of narcotics pumping through his veins, and he can’t find a single care in the world. “Ooh, Junhong, you need to do this one day.” His eyebrows crinkle together when he realizes what he’s saying. “Oh, wait, no. You’re sixteen. Stay away from drugs. Stay in school. Eat your vegetables.”
Junhong looks surprised again. “You’re really high.”
“As the sky.” Youngjae giggles back.
“I wonder,” Junhong says, and he’s biting his lips, and Youngjae finds it very distracting, “if you’ll be able to remember any of this in the morning.”
And before Youngjae can even blink, before he can even say probably not, Junhong’s leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.
“I’m going to miss you a lot.” The teen mumbles, loud enough for just him to hear but fragile enough to crumble in the air, and Youngjae doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s his heart beating twenty thousand times a second, but he feels dizzy.
They pass the rest of the day acting like nothing ever happened.
(In the morning, Youngjae remembers everything.
And he’s practically running out of the hospital doors, because he’s scared, and he doesn’t want to be in love with a sixteen year old.)
The day after that, Youngjae’s at home, after a week of hospital food and nosy nurses, and he feels very alone.
(He realizes he should probably be happy about this, because it’s what he’s been wishing for, what he’s been craving ever since the crash, ever since Junhong and his constant bother, but he can’t really bring himself to.)
He’s sitting at his couch, nursing the back of his neck with deft fingers and a cool ice pack, watching a drama on television when he gets tired of the show and wants to change the channel.
Before he really realizes it, a name (starting with a Jun and ending with an hong) slips off Youngjae’s tongue almost out of habit, almost out of yearning and wishing and everything in between.
(Youngjae’s at home now, after a week of Junhong, and he feels very alone.
Or maybe he just feels very lonely.)
He realizes then that he might’ve come out of that crash with more than just a neck injury.
“Um, yeah, hi,” Youngjae mumbles awkwardly over the phone, fingers twirling uncomfortably in the scarf around his neck. His neck hurts and his hearts pounds ten times more than that, “does, uh... does Choi Junhong happen to live here?”
He’s spent hours turning through phone books and looking through online web search engines, and this is probably the fifteenth number he’s called in the past ten minutes.
(To be quite honest, Youngjae doesn’t really care.
He just wants someone sitting by his side every day after three, nagging about the bad taste he has in snack foods.)
“May I ask who is calling?” A gruff voice answers over the phone, and Youngjae immediately feels his chest deflate at getting the wrong number once again.
“Uh, nevermind, sir. Thank you for your time, but I think I’ve got the wrong number.”
He’s about to hang up, before he hears another voice, just as gruff but a little bit higher in octave. “Yongguk, give me the phone. Give it to me. Yongguk, I’m warning you--” it says, accompanied by various ruffling sounds, and Youngjae blinks, wondering whether or not he should ask what in the world is happening on the other line. “Hey, is this Yoo Youngjae?” He hears a few seconds later, and it takes Youngjae a while to realize that oh, he’s talking to him now.
Instead of asking how in the world the man on the other line knew his name, Youngjae chokes out a brief, “Err, yes.”
There’s a fleeting acknowledgment in the man’s voice when he says, “You’re the guy who nearly ran over my kid.”
And Youngjae thinks, oh, feeling like a deer in headlights, with cold, heavy rocks settling deep in the pit of his stomach.
Oh.
(At least he has the right number.)
On Monday, Himchan, who Youngjae finds is way prettier than he imagined, answers the door two seconds after he rings the doorbell.
(He looks way too excited, but that’s kind of okay with Youngjae, because the man, who he also assumes is Yongguk, standing next to him, looks intimidating enough for the both of them.
Youngjae’s a little afraid that if he enters the house, he’s going to be murdered. Or maybe worse.
The idea of seeing Junhong again, though, decidedly outweighs the thought of dying.)
“Youngjae?” Himchan asks, voice eager and light, and Youngjae decides this is where Junhong gets it from. His casualness and overall optimistic personality. He has trouble deciding which personality traits he received from Yongguk.
“Uh, hi.” Youngjae says through an awkward, crooked grin. (His neck is starting to ache again. Maybe he should’ve brought his meds.) He gives a tiny wave to the couple.
Himchan coos about how adorable he is; Yongguk simply stares, like Youngjae’s some kind of exotic dish, and he’s not entirely sure whether or not to give him a chance.
“Junhong should be home from school in any second,” Himchan explains, glancing at the watch wrapped around his wrist, “please, come in.”
From Himchan’s side, Youngjae sees Yongguk cross his arms. “Yeah. Please, come in.”
Youngjae hopes two-thirty comes as soon as possible.
Yongguk’s lecturing to him about the importance of road safety and how there’s a reason they create stoplights, Youngjae. I don’t suppose you know the reason why considering you nearly ran someone over, but don’t worry; I will explain them to you. Slowly, when Junhong walks through the front door, skateboard in hand, and hair wisped neatly to the left.
Youngjae can’t help it when he shoots straight up from his spot on the couch, heart racing and mouth dry, even though he can’t speak.
“School sucked. My love life is ruined. I’m going to my room to wallow. Bye.” Junhong explains hurriedly, dashing his way toward the hallway, and Youngjae’s about to call out, about to trip over his own feet trying to grab the boy’s sweater, until Yongguk (surprisingly, not Himchan) calls out.
(Youngjae swears he sees the hints of a gummy smile on his lips.
He’s not sure whether to be terrified or not.)
“Someone came to see you Junhong.” Yongguk says, and the smile disappears as he locks eyes again with Youngjae.
(Youngjae’s definitely sure he should be terrified now.)
The look on Junhong’s face turns from quizzical to slack-jawed to plain wide-eyed within the few seconds that it takes for him to turn and spot Youngjae, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
Youngjae’s not sure whether to say hi or wave or smile, so he does all three together, and he’s sure he looks unbelievably uncoordinated, because Junhong’s right there with him, doing the same.
Three seconds pass, and they’re still doing the same thing, so Himchan helpfully sighs and stops the pair of them before they end up making bigger fools of themselves. “Why don’t you show your friend to your room, Junhong?” Himchan suggest, and almost robotically, Junhong follows his command, promptly swallowing before taking a few more steps down the hallway.
Youngjae moves to follow him, blood rushing to his head and making his legs feel weak, but before he gets close to leaving the living room, Himchan latches onto his arm. “His room’s the second to the right. I don’t trust him with directions right now.”
At first, Youngjae thinks Himchan’s being a little ridiculous (there’s no possible way Junhong can forget where his room is), but then the boy turns left instead of right and consequently gets himself stuck in the guest bathroom.
It takes Youngjae a few tries, but he finally gets Junhong into his room. (Granted, he has to hold his hand and literally drag him inside, but if Youngjae’s being completely honestly, he doesn’t really mind.
He’d hold Junhong’s hand even if he didn’t need help maneuvering his legs.)
Junhong’s room, Youngjae can’t help but notice, looks exactly how he imagined: messy and covered in skateboards.
When Junhong finally snaps out of whatever blank daze he’s in, the grip on Youngjae’s fingers tighten before he finally lets go.
(Youngjae tries not to look disappointed.)
“Sorry about the mess,” Junhong mumbles, scratching the back of his neck before storming around the room in a flurry of tall, awkward teenager, picking up every single piece of dirty laundry, every stray paper, every skateboard he can just so Youngjae has a chance to actually stand in the room, “I, um, I wasn’t expecting... guests.”
“It’s no problem.” Youngjae says, pulling his bottom lip between his four front teeth. “I’m sorry for showing up so unexpectedly.”
It’s silent, and for once, Youngjae hates the silence, (He’s found crashes and freak accidents may do that to you--make you hate something you never thought you would and love something all the same.) so, as quick as he can breathe, he says, “I’m--” just as Junhong chokes, “What--”
They stare for a minute.
“You go first.” They say in unison.
“Okay, well--” Again, unison. They even laugh at the same exact time.
Youngjae thinks, for a passing moment, that they’d make a pretty good couple.
(And secretly hopes for it, all at the same time.)
He reaches a hand up and clamps it over his own mouth, nodding for Junhong to continue with a smile in his eyes. “What are you doing here, Youngjae?” Youngjae can see the initial shock from before has considerably died down, and Junhong’s back to his normal, cheery self--the usual, sly smile playing at the corner of his lips.
(He almost confesses, right then and there, just to see the look of shock back on his face, but Youngjae doesn’t want to rush anything, and he’s pretty sure if he just outright said it, Junhong would only shut down on him.)
Youngjae decides, “I missed you,” is the best answer. (For now.)
“I missed you, too.” Junhong grins, and it’s crazy, how one smile can make you feel like you’re at the top of the world or at the bottom of its axis. “How in the world did you find me?”
“Magic,” Youngjae answers haughtily, shrugging his shoulders, “from my spell books entitled The Internet and My Phonebook.”
“Clever,” Junhong says, mock amazement in his voice, “never would have thought of that.”
And they laugh, and Youngjae has trouble focusing on anything but the way Junhong’s eyes close and the way his smile hides behind a shy hand. “Actually,” He says, blinking hard. His voice sounds shaky, and Junhong suddenly stops laughing, and he looks concerned. Youngjae feels like running, because this is the scariest shit ever, “actually, Junhong... I--I came here, because I… wanted to tell you something.”
Junhong has this look on his face, like Youngjae’s the most important thing in the world, and he’s ready to hear whatever he has to say no matter how abnormal it may be, and Youngjae thinks. Thinks that this is the reason why he started liking Junhong in the first place. Because he’s so different and so innocent. He’s the type of person who would sit in a room with a complete stranger for twenty-four hours just to see if he was alright, and then continuously come back, seven days in a row, because he had the time.
He’s the type of person who Youngjae would swerve straight into a lamppost for, all over again.
“What do you want to tell me?” Junhong asks in that angel’s voice (which is yet another thing that Youngjae loves about him), and Youngjae finds himself calming down by the second and also freaking out just as much, resulting in a confusing, adrenaline-rushing, rise in his veins.
He gulps. “Uh--that’s the thing--it’s--I don’t even know how to begin explaining.”
And Junhong says, calm and reassuring, that slight yet unmistakable wondrous glint in the middle of his irises. “Then don’t start with a beginning,” he says, as simple as that, “start with an end or a middle.”
The air catches somewhere in Youngjae’s throat at the look on his face, and he can practically feel the words, I love you, snaking out of his mouth.
“O-okay. Um, I think--” He says, slowly, and he should probably sit down, because he’s seriously about to pass out. He can feel himself shaking, palms sweaty and pace racing beneath his trembling wrist, but he continues, because Junhong’s looking at him. He’s staring at him and actually seeing everything he has to say, and Youngjae has honestly never been braver or more scared in his life. “I think I like you a lot more than I let on, for starters. Or--or end-ers or--whatever.”
“How so?” Junhong asks, and Youngjae can tell he still doesn’t get it, even though he’s trying so hard to.
“Like--like--God, I don’t know, Junhong--the first time I saw you or even heard you, I thought you were a freaking angel.”
And Junhong’s face kind of clicks. His eyebrows slide together before ultimately rising high on his forehead and the pale tone of his skin fades into a slight pink. Youngjae swears he can read the words, ‘oh, that kind of like’ popping straight into the middle of the boy’s head.
“I even gave it to you as a stupid nickname, because it was so fitting, and I still kind of refer to you as ‘the angel’ even though I know you now, and I probably shouldn’t. And--and you know my doctor? Hana? She totally thought so, too. And it made me angry--like--really, really bothered-beyond-belief angry--even though I literally just met you, because she was totally checking you out before I told her you were gay--”
“You told her I was gay?” Junhong doesn’t look outraged--in fact, he looks as if he’s relieved--like the simple statement explains so much, but Youngjae still feels guilty.
Despite that, he continues, “Um--yeah. Yeah, I did. I sort of also indirectly told her that you were my boyfriend, too, and I didn’t mean to, I swear--it--it just sort of happened, and--okay, I admit, I felt really damn accomplished, because I liked the idea of you as my boyfriend, even though I knew we probably weren’t going to even speak the next day. But--but we did. We did and it was amazing and I kept thinking it wasn’t going to happen again, but there you were, right there next to me for seven days straight, and it was probably the best seven days of my whole entire life--until--until it ended.” Youngjae takes a moment to glance at Junhong’s face, and all he can see is stunned silence.
(He doesn’t necessarily know if that’s a good thing or not, but he continues anyway, too scared to stop--too far gone not to finish.)
“It ended, just like that, and--and I thought I would be okay with it. I thought it’d be okay, and I could actually handle it, even after--after the forehead kiss thing and you’re I'll-miss-you thing--but, like I said, Junhong, I missed you. I missed you, and I got used to your incessant ranting at the TV and how you yelled at me for eating healthy and how--how your eyes have that little sparkle in them whenever you listen to what I say--like the one you have right now, and I realized I needed to have that back, no matter what.”
“So--so, um, I--I found you. I spent like, four hours looking for your name in the phone books, and you would never believe how many Choi Junhong’s there are in Seoul that aren’t perfect angels, really--you wouldn’t. There were so many I almost gave up, but then I came across your parents--and Junhong, they’re really fucking scary. Like, I don’t even know how someone like Yongguk can raise someone as cute as you, and really, I’m basically just babbling right now, because I really don’t need to say any of this. But you are really cute, and I’m really, really scared of your dads, but I still want to ask you to be my boyfriend, even though I know Yongguk’s probably going to mangle me.”
And Youngjae’s done--he’s finally finished--breath anchored heavy on his tongue, and all he has to do is wait for a reply now.
(Even though that was probably one of the most incoherent confessions ever.)
“They--they, um--they’re not my real parents, you know,” Junhong stutters, looking a little overwhelmed and embarrassed and absolutely adorable with the way his big eyes glaze over, “Yongguk and Himchan, I mean.”
And Youngjae laughs, because he basically just spewed his heart out (he can literally spot pieces of it strewing the floor), and the best thing Junhong can say is that. “Really?” he asks, through peels of out-of-breath laughter.
“R-really.” Junhong nods, face flushed over with a brilliant fire brick red.
Youngjae smiles and he hopes he doesn’t look too goofy or love-struck. “So is that a yes?”
“A--a what--?”
“A yes,” He repeats, and decides he can probably have a little fun with this, now that everything’s out in the open and he basically doesn’t need to worry about anything, “you know, as in the adverb? The positive used to express approval of a question?”
“I know what it means--” Junhong protests, deepening into a light burgundy, before he cuts himself off, two front teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.
Youngjae has to refrain from hugging him.
“...y-yes.” Junhong whispers, words strangled.
“I’m sorry--what was that?”
Junhong rolls his eyes. Youngjae’s undeniably satisfied when the boy repeats, clearly, “I said yes, okay? God, I thought that crash didn’t affect your hearing.”
And Youngjae laughs shortly before he glances up and warns, stepping closer, “I’m going to kiss you now,” because he’s resisted the urge long enough, and Junhong is definitely way too cute for his own good, “I hope that’s okay with you, angel.”
And Junhong, through a smile and a chuckle and a bright red blush, answers, “Yes,” arms falling over his shoulders comfortably.
And neither of them says anything after that.
Especially not anything about Youngjae and how he has to tiptoe and crane his aching neck to actually reach Junhong’s lips.
(It’s totally worth it though.)
-----