Title: Lightless
Group: 2PM
Pairing: Chansung/Junho
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 for alcohol, language, sex, [highlight for spoilers] suicidal thoughts, breath play, and la petite mort
Length: 24,300 words
Summary: "You know what they say: be careful what you wish for."
Notes: Written for Round 3 @
unreal_2pm. Originally posted
here. Prompts used: Haunted House, Jack O'Lanterns, Trick or Treat.
Thank you to
Gabs and
Lia for holding my hand through this, I couldn't have written such a long ass story without your support and encouragement, and thanks to
Phia for being so understanding and giving me the final push I needed to finish this.
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There are over a hundred carved pumpkins spread on the lined desks, which have been covered with black nonwoven fabric. Most of them have friendly or funny faces, but some are grotesque, monstrous, even scary. It’s good to see the kids got into the Halloween spirit to do the latter so Junho can choose his pumpkin lantern with interest that’s not fake. He can’t say he’s enthusiastic about Halloween, he’s not wearing a costume or any special makeup, but the pumpkins have always intrigued him. He’s got on a pair of faded charcoal jeans and an old Daft Punk t-shirt he’s owned since before his High School days there.
“I’m surprised you came at all,” Wooyoung says as he falls into step next to Junho, their greeting a bro-fist that was reminiscent of their many years as students in that school. They were not classmates, Wooyoung was a year older, but they had always gotten along, and to this day Wooyoung has kept his post as Junho’s best friend. Unlike him, Wooyoung’s dressed for the party, since he’s also a part of it-- a modern priest, he had told Junho over the phone, and his outfit clearly does the title justice. Black slacks, black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a white shawl hanging down his neck. He looks almost too hot for a priest but Junho thinks that’s not accidental. There’s also a rosary in his right hand and a small, antique hot-blast in the other.
Junho smiles at him, recalling all the years when they both dressed up and went Trick-or-Treating as kids, choosing the Best Parties Ever as young teens, planning the Halloween celebration on their last school year. Now they’re in college, but the school teachers and headmaster always invited ex-students to participate. Wooyoung had loved the idea of being the priest to guide and save souls through their Horror Trail, which was similar to a Haunted House except it took place in the corridor that led to the classrooms in the second floor, the big ones used for the Elementary and High School groups.
“Having fun?” Junho asks, picking up a pumpkin whose mouth is all round, as if it were gaping, perhaps screaming in despair. It almost stands out from the others but it looks haunting, its round eyes like sockets from which the orbits had been ripped.
Wooyoung’s telling him of the kids’ reactions to the trail, the small ones who cried and asked to leave the “house” before it was over, older ones who got scared but enjoyed it all, and others who laughed or didn’t seem impressed. His voice is dead flat and almost becomes a drawl when he tells of one boy who left complaining about how “boring” it was, but while he was going through the trail he had been jumpy and actually hid behind the friend who accompanied him.
“Kid’s putting on a bravado,” Junho says, checking that the pumpkin he’s chosen has a candle at the bottom. It does, and it’s already lit. He frowns, asks Wooyoung if somebody else had used it before, but the other just shrugs dismissively. “Still not gonna tell me any of the details?”
Wooyoung shakes his head. He climbs the steps that will take them to the second floor and stops in front of a hanging curtain, ragged and ugly, made from the same nonwoven fabric Junho saw before. It’s pushed aside by a hand that seems to come out of nowhere before Junho sees somebody wearing a Scream mask over large, silky black robes. Junho has never liked that costume because he doesn’t know where the person’s looking, the gaping mouth seemingly mocking him.
Whoever that is behind the mask nods at Wooyoung once, and when the curtain hangs behind them, everything is dark except for the pumpkin in Junho’s left hand. It doesn’t illuminate much even when Junho holds it to his face or away from his body, but he just shrugs, and waits. He knows this place, there can’t be that many surprises waiting for him.
He almost screams a second later when somebody’s face flashes just a few inches away from his own. The person, skin painted white with pancake makeup and fake blood dripping down their mouth, sneers at him before retreating back into darkness.
Junho takes a moment to still his heartbeat and recover his breath. “Wooyoung, will you use that goddamn flashlight?” His mom would scold him for the swear word but she’s not here to lecture him on religion and sins, and the word somehow helps letting his annoyance out. He’s not afraid, he was just caught off guard.
But either Wooyoung has slipped into character or he’s having fun with this. Junho doesn’t really believe anything supernatural, his upbringing put a limit to that, he does enjoy horror movies and has no problems with the dark, but the lack of answer from Wooyoung still disturbs him.
A faint, narrow stream of light appears a few steps ahead. Junho wonders that he didn’t hear Wooyoung move at all but he follows it, concealing a gasp when the other suddenly clasps his arm and pulls him to the left.
“Is this a classroom?” Junho asks, but the other remains silent. He would complain but decides to go along with it for now.
Wooyoung moves the hot-blast so it shows some perfectly aligned desks, stopping where Junho supposes the blackboard is. He’s not sure if this is one of the rooms where he studied, but that’s likely since their group changed classrooms every year. He’s just a little disoriented right now, and Wooyoung’s not really trying to help him, of course. Junho takes a step into the room but Wooyoung holds at his arm in warning. Junho can just make out the other’s profile as Wooyoung shakes his head once, eyes fixed on something. Junho tries to follow his gaze; maybe his eyes have adjusted to the dark or maybe he’s seeing things that are not there, but a silhouette has appeared near the board, just standing there, not facing them.
Junho’s curiosity is piqued. He wants to approach but Wooyoung’s clutch on his arm is strong. It’s weird because this is all just a game and they’re all students, former or present, but Wooyoung looks like he’s telling Junho bad things will happen if he goes there.
Junho chuckles and breaks free of Wooyoung. He holds the pumpkin in front of him, walks slowly in case somebody decides to pull at his leg or cause him to fall, and looks back at Wooyoung, poking his tongue out at him. Wooyoung is holding the string of praying beads to his chest and seems to be moving his lips in silent prayer, but he still grimaces at Junho’s childish display. Junho shrugs and turns to the board, but no one is there anymore. The lack of a presence, or at least one he can see, chills him, but maybe that’s just because he’s not up for another surprise right now. He isn’t scared.
He turns around in a circle, but the lit pumpkin can only show him so much. Yet he sees something on the board which he’s not sure was there before. Did somebody write it there while he was not looking? Wouldn’t he have heard the chalk scratching against the wooden surface?
U LOS
The handwriting is ugly, the white chalk thin. It seems whoever wrote that was in a hurry because Junho’s sure there’s a missing letter in the last word, even though English has never been his forte. The message makes him want to laugh, but when he turns around and bumps into the Scream guy-- at least the body seems to be of a guy--, his heart jumps to his throat and he nearly drops the pumpkin. Junho looks at the door, but Wooyoung is not there, and that frightens him. School games or not he has no idea what the ones involved have got planned and he’ll damn Wooyoung to seven hells and beyond for leaving him alone--
“Breathe,” a voice says to his left. Junho looks from the corner of his eye to see a pitch black hair-covered face, a bloody, creepy smile the only thing he can distinguish past the dirty locks. Hands circle his arms, which both annoys and repels him, the touch is icy cold and clammy. He jerks his arm off and rushes back to the door, bumping into a few desks on the way. He bites hard at his lower lip not to let out any sound when that happens.
Wooyoung is in the corridor, hands still clasped together in prayer, the rosary hanging from his fingers, eyes closed as his lips move. Junho frowns derisively at that, he’s about to make fun of the other’s stance when he hears a loud bang and then a chilling scream, what seems like a girl’s voice as she shrieks and then bangs successively at the door from inside one of the classrooms.
“GET OUT! GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALOOOOOOOOONE!” she screeches and howls, a piercing sound that makes Junho grimace as it hurts his ears. Shouldn’t she be crying for herself to get out, though? Is somebody abusing her in there? Wait, pretending, she’s just pretending, Junho reminds himself, almost laughing at his moment of forgetfulness and near deceit.
Wooyoung opens his eyes to look at him. “It’s time,” he whispers, but he doesn’t move yet. What happens is, the door to the classroom behind him creaks open slowly. Out come four girls in crude white gowns, their faces pale as moonlight, dead eyes staring ahead. They all seem to be moving together, the hem of the dresses swaying with their every step. They’re probably the same age, about eight or nine. “We need pure souls to do this,” Wooyoung says, as if reading Junho’s mind. Junho feels uneasy by how young they are, and how well they’re playing their role. He ignores the chill down his spine as their eyes lock with his, all of them looking at him--no, through him, as if he weren’t there.
“What are we doing?” Junho asks, not sure he really wants to know the answer.
“An exorcism,” Wooyoung says, indicating another door with his head. It’s the classroom where the girl is, and as if on cue her screaming returns, seemingly louder and more desperate than before.
“GET OOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!!! IT’S A TRAP, IT’S A TRAP, YOU’LL LOSE, DON’T GO IN THERE!!! HE KNOWS, HE KNOOOOOOWS!!!”
Junho looks at Wooyoung but the other seems as confused as he is, almost like those were not the words they had rehearsed for this part. Junho would laugh, nervously so, but he’s pushed inside yet another classroom, hands fast and invisible to him, the door banging shut before he can fight it.
.
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It’s dark. Pitch dark. All he sees is black, he can’t even discern his own hand when he brings it near his face. Junho frowns, turns around to try the door handle-- he has some difficulty finding it-- but it’s either locked or somebody is holding it shut from the other side. He lets out a sound that might have been a short, derisive laugh, and tries again, but it’s to no avail.
How did the ones involved even get permission to do that? Unless this part of the trail was only for older teenagers and young adults? That doesn’t make sense to him since most of the people going through it were actually kids and teens, and Wooyoung did say some of them had cried when they were finished.
That he was alone though, and with no light whatsoever... he is going to kill Wooyoung with his bare hands for the prank, as soon as the prick realizes Junho will not scream to get out and that will spoil the fun.
A dim light appears to his left, apparently from one of the corners of the room. Junho frowns, unsure whether he's really seeing that, but the light seems to be pulsating and growing, its colors slowly shifting. Dark yellow, light orange and green, it comes from the floor and takes shape as it casts a big shadow on the opposite wall to Junho's right. It can't really be a shadow though, Junho realizes his dumb mistake, for everything is dark but the part of the wall that seems to be reflecting whatever that light is, like a projector.
So he's not alone in this room. There must be another student here, something like this couldn't be controlled from somewhere else. Junho holds on to that thought for the others in his head are as dark as the room and he doesn't want to believe--
The pumpkin. He had a pumpkin with him and there was a candle in it and he doesn't recall dropping it, he would have heard that, that thing on the floor can't be--
But there is a gruesome, mocking face on the wall, and it looks like a pumpkin. The same hollowed eyes and gaping mouth that had made him choose his own pumpkin. Junho wants to approach the small thing on the floor and check how it works, but he's getting scared for real now. Moving means somebody else might move too, and he doesn't want to risk possible bumps or grabs for his feet or anything that will get a vocal reaction out of him. He doesn't want to give Wooyoung the satisfaction.
A laugh comes from the pumpkin. It's high-pitched and annoying and makes Junho think of gnomes, so maybe that's why he doesn't jump out of his skin when a small creature crawls out of the pumpkin's mouth. Junho's beyond confused now. He can't even try to convince himself that it’s a toy because the thing moves and looks like a person. A miniature, creepy figure come to life, its smile much more disturbing than that of the pumpkin's.
"You still haven't figured it out," the creature seems disappointed, but laughs right after that, louder than before, looking from Junho to the wall on which its silhouette looks bigger but disproportional, big arms and triangular torso on skinny legs, small head with pointy ears that resemble a goblin’s. "I'm Jack. Hello, future me."
Junho is paralyzed. He's not sure whether the fear is of this being real or what his mind is coming up with. Did Wooyoung slip him something when he wasn't looking? But they didn’t even eat or drink anything...? Junho’s mind feels hazy and his confidence starts to crumble. "You talk," he says, rather dumbly.
Jack cackles madly and seems to grow, though the silhouette on the wall remains the same. His eyes are disturbing, big black irises that seemed to have taken over the white globes. "Since you like stating the obvious, do you know who I am now?"
Junho narrows his eyes. How dare that little creature try to humiliate him like that? He feels even worse upon realizing that, if the other is who he seems to be, size won't matter at all. "Jack-o'-lanterns."
"Aha, smartass. That is one fine ass you've got, even though you're not enjoying it as much as you should. Well, our little talk here might change that."
Junho's too befuddled to express his dislike of Jack's words, and the ugly smile with which he stares at Junho while seemingly reading his thoughts. He is terrified now, but if playing along is what will get him out of here, then so be it.
Jack's warped lips turn into an awful lopsided smile. "I like the way you think. Also, yes, I can read anyone's thoughts whose mind is like yours."
Junho's intrigued. Still terrified, but he wants to know what that means. He doesn't have to ask, though.
"You know all that bullshit about humans having good and evil inside them, positive and negative battling all the time? Well, it's much more complex than that, but it's essentially true.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “And when evil wins, I win."
Junho would try to defend his integrity if he didn't suspect this was not about his character.
Jack sneers. "You're a goody-gooder. Literally a bright soul. You think you're bad sometimes but it makes real devils like me pity your pathetic lack of knowledge of the world." He pauses, and the anger Junho feels is not really at the other, but at the thought that he may be right. It's infuriating to want to argue but knowing he can't. Jack's condescending nod only makes him more irritated. "What I mean is, something happened to you, and at that moment you became weak. And then you made a wish. Do you remember that?"
Junho couldn't speak even if he wanted to. He supposes Jack already knows the answer, probably sees how pale Junho got from his spot of light.
"I'm here to make a deal. You get me what I want, and I'll grant your wish."
Junho feels weak. "I... don't..."
"Too late to change your mind, boy. You know what they say: be careful what you wish for."
The rest of the conversation sends Junho into a despair that doesn’t compare to anything else, not even the moment where he made a wish he never thought might come true. He did want it to happen back then, but now... No, no-- “This can’t be happening...”
But Jack only sneers and laughs at him, and Junho’s obliged to make a deal. It’s lose or lose.
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"So, what did you think of the trail?"
Junho starts, looking at Wooyoung without recognizing him for a second. When did they get out? He doesn't remember leaving the dark classroom. He does remember the laughter, the deal which he couldn't refuse, and the chill in his body is not just memory. He thinks of asking Wooyoung about that room, but Wooyoung will probably think he’s gone crazy or that Junho’s trying to prank him with some weak horror story. Besides, it’s not like Junho can count on anybody to help him. He’s alone in this, whatever it is. So he takes a deep breath and tries to muster up a convincing smile when he finally answers his friend. "It was... cool, I guess."
Wooyoung looks mildly disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm, but shrugs it off with an almost teasing smile of his own. "You did get scared, though. Don't deny it."
Junho shrugs too. The fear is still in him, and it is beyond words. He's not in the mood for banter, and Wooyoung knows him well enough to understand that. "I'm going. Unless you want me to wait for you?"
Wooyoung looks like he wants to, but then he shakes his head. "There are a few students who want to go again, and I also have to help organize everything once the party is over. But," he looks at Junho carefully, "hit me up if you wanna talk later, okay?"
Junho nods. They had talked about going out for a few drinks and catching up after the school party. "Mind if I wait for you there?"
Wooyoung frowns. "If you get wasted or fall asleep before I join you..."
"I'd never sleep without my favorite human pillow."
"Shut up." Wooyoung lowers his voice to the conspiratory tone that lets Junho know what he'll say next. "I'm not human."
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Not human. No soul. No feelings. The words spiral into an endless staircase that gets Junho high and higher still, with no tangible answer or destiny.
The jagerbomb spirals in the glass, his eyes watching as the liquid sways and the ice cubes click softly, the sound somewhat addictive. He downs it and orders another dose.
Did he ever expect his wish to be granted? There was a time when he really wanted it, he thought that was what he desperately needed, the only solution to sleepless nights, a forbidden yearning, an aching heart that he never allowed to be soothed. He couldn't. Every time he felt tempted, he would go outside, look at the stars and pray. Sometimes he asked for forgiveness. Other nights he counted the stars, named the ones he knew, traced constellations and thanked God for everything he had. Other times still, he waited and waited and waited...
One day he got to make his wish. He poured all his heart and all his will and hoped his eyes and silent chanting carried his sincerity.
After that, little by little, he got the aching to stop. If not completely, it at least got pushed aside, crushed by the weight of his responsibilities as a freshman medical student who sought to give his single mom a better life. Maybe it was just that he didn't have time to sink in his feelings, but whenever they threatened to surface, he'd go for Wooyoung, the alcohol and the oblivion that came with it. The hangover was painful, but not as excruciating as the realization that hit him when he was alone.
And right now, he is alone. Wooyoung is his only friend left, because he's the only one who knows why Junho cut off his relationship with the others. It was not what he really wanted, but it was the only way he knew to be completely free of any ties to the one person whom he missed the most.
And he thought he didn't. How foolish of him, how stupid to believe his wish would be granted so easily. He wanted to forget so much, he did think it could be possible.
Now, however... Now that he has a real chance, as unrealistic as it sounds, now that one of the devil's cheaters has offered him a way to freedom... Now Junho's not sure of anything anymore.
He drinks to forget, he drinks to remember. He drinks to forget what he remembers.
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The new boy had silky black hair that went to his shoulders. He often wore a tiara or tied it up to keep the locks away from his face and the teachers’ complaints to a minimum, but sometimes the hair was loose, flowing around his face, tempting Junho to touch it. He didn’t know that was what he wanted at first, he actually grimaced at the sweaty strands that got loose during Physical Education. For a while. Junho was just thirteen then, and he didn’t know the burning in his gut was actually something asking him to be ignited into a warm feeling that could spread everywhere.
It was still dangerous and unsettling once he realized what seemed to be happening. He was not sure, he spent a long time in denial, but the boy, whose name was Chansung, was all about warmth. It was in his eyes, his smile, his face, the way he spoke to everyone. His touch.
Chansung was used to touching everyone who was close to him, physically or metaphorically, and that threw Junho off at first. Junho was not used to touching people or letting them touch him that easily. He actually preferred to keep his distance and get to know people before he could really decide if he wanted to keep them around and if he could trust them, but Chansung was open and lively and his laughter was infectious. When he bent over his chair and held onto Junho so he wouldn’t fall on the floor because he was laughing ridiculously hard at some stupid joke Taecyeon had made-- it wasn’t even that funny-- Junho could only laugh back at him. The warmth took him over, his ears burned and he snatched his arm back almost too quickly, but Chansung only smiled at him.
Chansung always smiled at him.
It wasn’t long before Chansung befriended most of the other boys in their class except the ones who got jealous of the girls fawning over his sweetness. Even Wooyoung, who was even harder to get than Junho, couldn’t resist Chansung. Although Wooyoung was nearly a year older, he didn’t ask Chansung to call him “hyung,” and both Minjun and Taecyeon teased the younger one about looking older than all of them. Chansung didn’t seem to mind, but through the years Junho caught this look in his eyes that told of being tired of that joke. The joke didn’t even stand for the truth anymore, because while all of them grew up and went to High School and started discussing what to do in college, Chansung only seemed to get younger. And more attractive. And closer to Junho. Closer than Junho knew they should ever become.
He didn’t always know. He might have been able to stop it otherwise, but he didn’t really believe that either. He was drawn to Chansung, to the small dimples that only appeared when he laughed a certain way or got really, really angry. It was rare for Chansung to get angry, but unfairness and prejudice and jokes about his reading habits and favorite authors did get him fired up. Once, Junho thought Chansung would punch a guy in their class for saying Nietzsche was bullshit. It also turned Junho on to see Chansung like that but they weren’t close enough for him to let that be known. To Chansung or anybody, really.
Chansung was passionate and caring and fun and patient. He had been waiting. Junho also didn’t know about that, he just hoped, but he got to know for sure on the night of their school graduation.
The wish was made not long after that.
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True to his word, Junho is not asleep when Wooyoung arrives, two hours and many drinks later. Junho is singing Unchained Melody in the karaoke, screaming the lyrics into the microphone and making dramatic gestures when he's not laughing at himself. He grabs Wooyoung by the shoulder and leans on him while trying to get him to sing along, but Wooyoung is too sober to join. Junho orders a shot of tequila for him and another for himself.
"Easy, Nuneo-yah," Wooyoung tries to make him sit on the large booth that occupies two walls of the soundproof room, but Junho pushes him away and flicks through the artists.
"Whaddyawannasng? M'donna? Ayyyykon? 'shhher? BEE ASS BEE? BRITNEY IT IS!"
"I don't- Junho, please- At least choose a happy song- wait, not that one- oh god-"
"YOU MUST NOT SAY HIS NAME IN VAIN. This isn’t half as fun without your priest costume. WHY DID YOU TAKE IT OFF???"
Wooyoung covers his ears, his expression one of disgust. "Drop the mic for a second."
"Nuh uh, the song's about to start-- THE WAY YOU SMILE, THE WAY YOU TASTE, YOU KNOW I HAVE AN APPETITE FOR SEXY THINGS-- Come on Wooyoungie, don’t be shy-- nananana dammit I lost- oh- TAKE ME HIGHER AND JUST WIPE AWAY MY FEARS, WHEN YOU’RE WITH ME WOO BOY IT’S MY HEARTBEAT THAT I HEAR-- best part come on-- WOO WOO BABY TOUCH ME AND I COME ALIVE, I CAN FEEL YOU ON MY LIPS, I CAN FEEL YOU DEEP INSIDE--”
Wooyoung tries to cover his eyes now, because Junho’s started to make gestures that follow the lyrics, but Junho’s having none of his fake embarrassment. He puts one arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders and bumps their hips together.
“WOO WOO BABY IN YOUR ARMS I FINALLY BREATHE, WRAP ME UP IN ALL YOUR LOVE, THAT’S THE OXYGEN I NEED, YEAH!”
“When did you get so good in English,” Wooyoung says, pretending Junho didn’t just attempt to body wave against him. “And drinking. I didn’t know I’d prefer it when you passed out after the second glass.”
“WHEN DID YOU BECOME SUCH A PARTY POOPER!” Junho throws his hands in the air and the mic falls to the floor. There’s a terrible, ear-piercing sound that has both of them making a face. Wooyoung picks the mic up and turns it off, but not the music, whose instrumental track goes on as Junho drops on the booth with a loud huff. “I had to learn it, y’know. English. There’s too much stuff to read that’s not available in Korean and I can’t ask for people to translate it for me. Business is business. And I’ve heard and sung along to that song enough to get the pronunciation just right, thank you very much.”
Wooyoung looks at him for a long time. Junho supposes he knows what the other’s thinking, that there’s somebody they know who would do that for free, two people actually, but Junho wouldn’t ask Taecyeon or Nichkhun for a favor. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, it was about time he learned the language, no matter how difficult it was for him, and how much he disliked it. He already had very little free time as it was, but the more he learned the faster he would get his college work done. That was what he kept telling himself whenever he felt like tearing an entire pile of rented books from the library to shreds.
Their drinks arrive, and Wooyoung drinks his first shot on his feet. He asks the waiter to leave the bottle there and serves himself another one, bringing Junho his full glass as he sits down comfortably on the booth. Junho sits up to drink his shot and then slopes down again, his ankles crossed over Wooyoung’s lap.
“Oy! Hyung here, remember?”
“You never made me call you hyung.”
“A decision I’ll regret till the day I die. Now, get your stinky feet off my lap, you brat.”
Junho smiles, but remains just the way he is. He actually loves the way Wooyoung kind of scolds him without really meaning it, and it reminds him of Minjun.
“You told me about the English. Now, how about this?” Wooyoung makes a large gesture that encompasses the room, their glasses, the tequila, how much Junho’s already taken without either collapsing on the floor or making for the bathroom.
“...Chansung taught me.”
Wooyoung pauses to look at him. Junho hadn't said his name for a long time, he refused to talk about him. The doubt and worry in Wooyoung's eyes is therefore understandable. Junho stares back, unblinking, until the other hands him his own glass instead of getting up to fill Junho’s. The latter appreciates it, props himself up just to take the shot and makes a noise before dropping back down again.
“Just before I left. A little over a year ago. He said that he would teach me, but there was a price.” He swallows, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want the emotion welling up in them, but it’s there, so he gets up to take another shot.
“I hope he taught you well enough that you know when to stop,” Wooyoung says, his voice soft.
Junho smiles, a tight-lipped, faint, but still fond smile. He had heard similar words by the very one who had taught him to drink. He did know when to stop, back then. That had been the problem-- or the solution, their salvation even, depending on the point of view. He also knows that’s Wooyoung asking questions without voicing any, trying to get Junho to open the door he’s kept closed for most of the past year. He ponders that while serving them both more tequila.
Wooyoung takes his shot with a nod. They stay silent for a while, and Junho gets a little bothered by it, by the screen showing the few points he got from trying to sing the song that he stopped in the middle.
“He still lives in the same place, right,” Junho says, surprising them both, but Wooyoung more than himself. So he does want to know that... When he asked how he would know who to look for, Jack just sniggered, his tiny eyes so full of disdain there was no way for Junho to miss it. You’ll know, he said. And Junho did, in that very second. He simply didn’t want to believe that, even less than he could believe that entire conversation really took place. Right now, when he’s getting comfortably numb like this, he could pretend it never happened. Instead, he’s probing further.
“What are you thinking of doing,” Wooyoung deadpans, and Junho loves him for not trying to change his mind. The criticism is there, the way Wooyoung looks at him from the corner of his eye, the fleeting twist to the corner of his mouth-- he won’t like whatever answer Junho gives him, but what Junho wants to do is what Junho wants to do. That has always been clear between them.
“There’s a price to be paid...” he says simply. When Wooyoung seems about to say something, Junho gets up to get yet another shot. That’s when he finally starts to sway, and his head spins.
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.
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“There’s a price,” Chansung said, his voice playful enough that he didn’t have to smile like that at Junho. It was not exactly teasing, it was-- like a promise of what was to come. As if he wanted to do many things, if only Junho would allow.
“Oh come on, Channie,” Junho pushed at the other’s shoulder, and tried to keep the whine off his voice. His scrunched up face only served to make Chansung snort at him. “I’ll be nineteen next year and I still can’t drink because I just don’t know how. It’s so frustrating! You guys have all the fun while I’m painfully sober or passed out somewhere.”
Chansung scoffed through his grin. Junho would remember that, the way his face looked, relaxed and patient, eyes glowing with amusement and-- something that made Junho swallow and almost look away. “You always say it’s nice to keep your head clear so you’ll get blackmail material from when we’re drunk as skunks.” Chansung pulled at his tie and took it off, throwing it behind them. It fell on top of the suits they had hung on the chairs and quickly slid to the floor, but he only shrugged at that.
“I’m not denying that,” Junho tried to amend, though Chansung raised an eyebrow at him. He looked so good with his annoying defiance and the questioning spark in his big eyes, his previously combed hair now falling on his forehead because of all the times he had run his hands through it. He had been nervous the whole night, but now he seemed calmer. He was at home-- they were up in the library of Chansung’s house-- and in his mind it seemed okay that he was undoing the first couple of buttons on his shirt, uncuffing it around his wrists. It was white, while Junho’s shirt was black.
“There’s a price,” Chansung repeated, more serious than the first time. Junho had to take a moment and go from staring at Chansung’s movements to looking into his eyes again. There was a demand there, and it seemed he was not joking about whatever price Junho would have to pay.
Junho rolled his eyes at him. “Fine. What is it this time? Prank calls? Take a shot or take off clothes? Poker? Put a hat on the tv and drink every time someone wears it?”
Chansung laughed heartily. “That,” he got one finger pointed at Junho, “that was fun.”
“The hangover was not.” Junho took off his tie too, but he was careful about folding it and putting it in the left pocket of his rented suit pants. His mother would ask for it when he came back home.
Chansung shrugged. “That’s because you always ignore me when I tell you to take it easy. Just slow down, Nuneo. Know when to stop. And drink some water.”
Junho looked around them for some bottle with which he could hit Chansung, but found none. “The water is never around when I need it.”
Chansung shook with laughter this time, apparently oblivious to the extra source of bitterness in Junho’s voice. “And that’s because you drop it on the floor or you just go to the kitchen and forget I’ve got a bottle here.”
“It would help if you left the fucking lights on!”
“Shhh.” Chansung pressed a finger to his lips and the sudden touch had Junho sucking in his breath. They were both lying on the floor of the library, Chansung’s feet hitting the wall every few minutes as they both basked in the sight of the full moon, that being the only source of light in the room. Chansung had suggested that they stay there like this and Junho didn’t feel like refusing; his friend had been quiet when he arrived home from the graduation ceremony that his parents hadn’t been able to attend. “Don’t get too loud. My folks are out but we never know when they’ll come back.”
“Please, they’re in Paris. It’s not like they can just come in here at any time, dumbass. Besides, they must be having a great time. Another honeymoon,” Junho said, despite knowing it was actually for business, but he just wanted to get back at Chansung, “away from this spoiled jackass--”
Chansung tried to knee his butt, but he lost his balance and ended up rolling almost on top of Junho, who pushed him off while trying to stifle a laugh. Chansung never tried to keep his own in, so the sound echoed everywhere and made Junho’s skin prickle as pleasantly as the breath that came near his face for that one second.
“If you keep laughing like that even your neighbors will hear you.” Chansung lived in a two-floored house with a huge yard that seemed to be surrounded by trees everywhere, so that was unlikely. However, Chansung’s laugh might be even that loud.
“Shut the fuck up,” Chansung said, but he was smiling.
“Is that the price?”
The other’s sudden silence had a heaviness to it that made Junho turn on his right side to face him.
“Chansung?”
“Why didn’t you get a date to Prom?”
Junho swallowed, now his turn to grow quiet. He suddenly regretted resting his head on his hand because he was now looking down at Chansung, whose eyes were locked on his in a way that told him not to look away. Why did he feel like he should surrender to that? Most of the time, questions like that led to the same answer. He just did. He just-- felt. That was the effect Chansung had on him. He decided to be honest, or as honest as he could.
“I didn’t want to.”
Chansung nodded. He probably had surmised that on his own. “I wanted a date.”
Junho blinked. “Do you regret sneaking out and--”
Chansung smiled at him as if he were stupid. Junho should be offended, but for some reason his lips almost curved up. He fought it and frowned instead, which made Chansung touch his forehead to soothe the crease between his eyes. “I’d never regret anything about you.”
Junho sighed. He dropped back down on the floor and put an arm across his eyes. “Please pour me a shot of vodka if we’re having this kind of conversation.”
Chansung’s laugh sounded like it was covering something else. Junho pretended not to notice. “I’ll miss this, y’know.”
Junho huffed. They’d been through this many times, but lately Chansung had been especially sensitive. Now that school was officially over, Junho wasn’t surprised he’d brought the subject up again. “I’m just going to college. It’s not like I’m dying. And you’ll go to college too. As soon as you decide what you wanna do with your life, that is. The advantages of having a rich family to support you while you mope about only being able to pursue one dream--”
Chansung pinched his nipple and Junho slapped his arm, both making overdramatic noises. “Honestly, I’m thinking about changing the offer for real.” Chansung let go of him only to poke at his cheek, and Junho threatened to bite him. Chansung paused, his parted lips moving without a sound before he found his track of thoughts again. “Shut up or drink two shots of vodka every time you start babbling. Three shots if you try to whine your way out of it.”
“Damn you, Hwang Chansung.” The other’s raised eyebrow made Junho want to punch him. “I’m not whining! And this doesn’t count yet!” Chansung tried to stifle a laugh but it came out through his nose, and Junho-- Junho relented at the sight, the sound, the way his heart seemed to melt a little. He had to conceal his own noises, but they might have been sounds of despair. “So what’s the deal anyway? You still haven’t told me. And who’s the girl you wanted to ask out--”
“A kiss.”
Junho’s mouth hung open until he made himself shut it by drawing the lower lip in. He bit into it and let it slide out slowly, but when he noticed the way Chansung was looking at him, he felt like biting into it again, out of nervousness this time. The first time was shock.
“There’s no girl,” Chansung added, voice soft with the weightlessness of a truth that’s uttered out loud for the first time. “Junho--”
Junho opened his mouth to speak, and maybe it was the noisy way he drew the air in, but Chansung stopped and waited. “Could you-- tell me how this works--”
Junho could hear the other swallowing. He kept his eyes on the window, the shimmering light that came from the moon. He could also feel Chansung’s eyes, ever fixed on him, waiting. “A shot for a kiss.” Chansung paused. When Junho didn’t protest or anything, he added, “Two shots if you refuse a kiss.”
“Wow,” Junho muttered as he felt the air leaving him. “But what happens if I refuse to drink?”
Chansung stared at him. Junho tried to smile, but a growing sense of trepidation had him glued to the floor. That was good though, because when Chansung kissed him, he couldn’t run.
He didn’t really want to run away though. The kiss was light and short and lingered on his lips, made his mouth feel dry and his lips seemed to have come to life with the traces of Chansung’s mouth on him. Chansung kept his face close as he looked at Junho, a question in the inch of air between them, so Junho answered by moving up to press their lips together again.
That was all that Chansung needed, or so it seemed, for he immediately tugged at Junho’s hair as he traced his lips with the tip of his tongue. Junho let him, he found out he enjoyed the feel of hot humidity against him. As for his carefully combed hair coming to ruins, that didn’t matter when Chansung’s fingers were warm and tender in between the locks and on his skin. His mouth parted and he too explored Chansung’s mouth with his tongue. Chansung was hungry but gentle, the kiss was sweet yet it kindled something in Junho that made him want more. He kissed Chansung harder, willed his hands to pull at the other’s hair and press at his neck. It made Chansung kiss him with growing fervor too, in contrast with the soft touches on his cheek and neck. The fingers in Junho’s hair, however, were determined at messing it up as they yanked at the locks every time their faces moved as they delved deeper.
Chansung’s breath was almost too hot against his skin, the sudden air down his jaw line making Junho jerk his head back when the kiss broke and Chansung moved to kiss down his neck.
“No,” he said, a moment of clarity gripping at his guts even as his fingers remained clenched around Chansung’s hair and neck. “We didn’t-- we can’t--” Chansung paused and Junho got up and away as fast as he could, otherwise he might be tempted to stay right there, half under him, under his intense stare, the delightful touches and kisses. He felt dizzy for a second and he could lie to himself and say it was solely from the rush of getting up too quickly, but he knew he was also overly affected by having just-- kissed his best friend.
“I’m sorry, I guess I-- I went too far,” Chansung sounded unsure, but his eyes showed the same ache that Junho felt. He wanted nothing more than to go to him and kiss him again, that’s what he had wanted for the longest time, probably since he had first laid eyes on Chansung when they were still so young and naive and Junho didn’t understand what that was back then. They were none the wiser now, what just happened was proof of that, but Junho couldn’t ignore why they hadn’t done this before, why he had always resisted every hint and every reaction Chansung stirred in him.
“Two shots if I refuse a kiss, right,” he said, not missing the misplaced seriousness and the near crack in his own voice. Despite complaining about it earlier, he was used enough to the darkness in the library to find the table where Chansung had placed the vodka and the two small glasses they always used for this. Junho felt strange while he opened the bottle and poured himself the first shot, as if this weren’t his own body, as if he weren’t there at all. He should go away, he shouldn’t give time or room for Chansung to try and question his actions, yet he sort of hoped he would. He felt Chansung staring at him as he downed the first shot, which burned down his throat pleasantly. Of all the things they had tried over the past few months since Chansung had offered to help him handle alcohol better, vodka was his favorite. He preferred it when they mixed and made other drinks with it, but right now this would do. Junho took a deep breath, and he seemed to feel better as he took the second shot. At least he was not shaking anymore. He only realized how steady his fingers were once he stared at them, putting the glass down on the table.
“Junho,” Chansung called, and if there was a plea to his voice, Junho also refused to acknowledge that. He couldn’t look at Chansung right now, whatever Junho had crushed would be visible in those transparent eyes. But Chansung got up, crossed the distance and put a hand on Junho’s neck, much like Junho had done so many times before, when he knew Chansung was tensing up about something-- a test, an upcoming sports competition, a moment in the classroom where their mates showed they were human and flawed and that meant they could hurt anybody who didn’t fit their standards. Their height difference made it special though-- when Junho did it, he had to reach up and his fingers would slide down the nape and grip almost at the spine. Now, Chansung’s hand pressed at his neck once and his thumb caressed up his hairline before he pressed again, until Junho didn’t know if his body would relax from the touch or tense up from the fight he was trying to put up against the meaning of all this.
“Don’t try to kiss me again or I’ll have to take two more and I might lose my consciousness,” Junho mumbled, his hands gripping at the cresting rail of one of the four cushioned chairs that rounded the table in front of him.
“I thought--” He could hear Chansung swallowing even though he kept his eyes down. Chansung still looked at him, fingers now light on Junho’s skin, his touch warm and welcome and needed, but-- Junho couldn’t let him keep doing this. He couldn’t let them do this. “I thought that’s what you wanted too,” Chansung’s voice was soft and light as a whisper, as if he were afraid that speaking a little louder might break something between them. He shouldn’t worry about that when Junho knew he was the one responsible for how things were turning out. “I mean, not this game-- damn this was so stupid, I should have-- you know what, I should have asked you to prom, fuck everybody else, I wanted to be with you and-- Junho, look at me, please, if I was wrong I’m really sorry, I promise I’ll try to forget this--”
“You should,” Junho hated the hopelessness in Chansung’s voice but he hated himself even more for being the cause of it. “We shouldn’t have-- We can’t do this, Chansung, I’m sorry,” he said, and he shouldn’t look at Chansung then, he should keep the emotions to himself so Chansung wouldn’t have any reason or means to try and sway Junho from his decision. However, Chansung deserved that Junho give him at least that, at least that moment of eye to eye, face to face, the honesty in Junho’s expression. “You were right, I wanted... damn I wanted this...” he closed his eyes and swallowed past the lump in his throat even though he felt like he would choke on it. Chansung was not touching him anymore and Junho already missed it, the feeling lingered on his skin but he fought that off. He also fought the burning in his eyes and willed himself to breathe and calm down before he looked up at Chansung again. “I know you don’t care for that and I wish I could too, but-- we’re boys. This is-- it’s wrong, don’t give me that look, it’s wrong, we would have done this a long time ago if it wasn’t. My mom would never approve of this even though she keeps saying you’ll make the perfect boyfriend someday, just not--” He couldn’t say it out loud. It sounded wrong, as if he would step on the words by uttering them in a moment where he was trying to turn everything down. “I can’t disappoint her like this. I can’t jeopardize my future and you shouldn’t do that either, we know how impossible this is. Worse still, we don’t even know how hard it really is. And--” Junho was about to say this would pass and they would regret everything and they were ruining their friendship but that was all bullshit, he knew it and Chansung was likely to know too, to even expect him to use that as an argument that he would also turn down because Chansung moved to kiss him again. Junho gasped, or maybe that was a half sob, but Chansung swallowed that, he took his lips slowly and touched his neck again and held one of his hands when Junho lifted it as if he knew Junho would try and push him away.
Chansung let his mouth go but still held on to him, his nose moved against Junho’s with so much tenderness Junho hurt with the imminent loss of it, what he wanted and would miss. “I meant it when I said I wouldn’t regret anything about you,” Chansung whispered. Junho wanted to cry. He still let Chansung rest their heads together, he still let Chansung caress his cheek and his neck and look at him as if Junho was all he wanted and needed. It would be so easy to fall into that, to give into that, to get another taste of what Junho craved with every bit of himself...
“I should go,” Junho whispered, his voice foreign. The sense of not being there hit him again, pulled at him, told him to go away, to end this before it was too late.
“Stay,” Chansung said, his tone asking him to do it, soft and pleading. He seemed to know though, his voice still carried an awareness none of them should have. They were young and naive but they recognized that as a goodbye. Chansung knew what Junho would do before he even voiced the hope for what he knew Junho couldn’t give him.
“Two more shots. And then I go.”
.
.
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