[sungjong/sungyeol] lace up your shoes (here’s how we do)
lace up your shoes (here’s how we do)
sungjong/sungyeol
pg-13, 5,000w
sungyeol has always been like a bad mix of drinks, so tempting yet dangerous and piques sungjong’s interest to no end.
(originally written for kpop_olymfics here.)
They’re at their eleventh glass of soju by now, and Sungjong doesn’t know if he’s drunk, tired, out of his mind, or a generous mix of everything. He thinks it’s probably the last one. The Plusle and Minun plush toys on top of their TV set blurs to become one and Sungjong thinks that’s something really bad because it hasn’t happened before. He manages to raise a hand weakly, waving it around while shaking his head as Sungyeol pours him another glass.
“Fuck you,” Sungjong whines weakly, although he’s already lifting the glass to his lips, “I refuse to be Howon-hyung’s servant for another month if I throw up on his bed.”
“Your fault for choosing the top bunk,” Sungyeol replies easily, and flashes a quick grin as he chucks the bottle opener to the side.
“Excuse me,” Sungjong interrupts, face flushed and pupils blown, “he demanded for the bottom bunk. There is no way in hell I could ever beat him in arm wrestling,” he groans, burying his face in his hands.
“One more won’t kill you, you lost the bet anyway. Take it like a man.”
Oh, the bet, the bet. They had bet on whether Dongwoo could take the revolting mix of lime sorbet, vodka, three spoonfuls of expired cherry cough syrup (thanks to Sunggyu who had reluctantly dug it out from the depths of their messy fridge), and a handful of mixed nuts from the packet on the table which their manager had bought for the new year. The drink looked awfully gross, even if Sungjong wasn’t the one drinking it: with pieces of soggy crackers and peanuts floating about, and the color a dark, toxic pink.
Of course, the rest had guffawed (as usual) and said that Dongwoo would “take a sip and run to the toilet crying”, as quoted from Woohyun, but Sungjong, being the residential sunshine beam, had bet that Dongwoo could finish it.
Dongwoo didn’t.
So Sungjong ended up with roughly twelve glasses of suspiciously colored drinks, and when he spots the glint in Sungyeol’s eyes, he knows it has to be trouble.
“Drink it,” is all Sungyeol says when he pushes the first shot glass filled with soju into Sungjong’s face, and it’s not long until they’re at the fifth.
-
Sungjong doesn’t really remember what happened next, but he wakes up with a throbbing head, heavy limbs and a very heavy weight on his chest. Maybe all the alcohol was going to be detrimental after all, he muses, and attempts to shift his body to the side until he hears a muffled groan.
From his chest.
Sungjong tries not to scream, because there are noises coming from his body, but he squirms and squints and from the corner of his eyes he sees a head of hair.
“Get off me,” he grunts, and notices his hoarse voice with a resigned sigh.
Sungyeol whines in reply, long limbs coiled around Sungjong’s petite frame as he sighs blissfully, head sinking deep back into the mattress.
It’s after that that he looks around at this very familiar room, his room, and realizes that he’s not on his bed. He’s on Howon’s bed, they’re on Howon’s bed, and he wonders if Howon might kill him if he sees this, and why Howon hasn’t killed him yet.
Maybe this is how heaven looks like, Sungjong thinks for a scary moment, waking up in a quiet place with nothing but soft sunlight filtering through from the window and the soft sounds of Sungyeol sleeping. On his chest. He cracks a smile at the last thought and hums to a little tune and decides that heaven is great.
The wind blows and Sungjong feels the breeze from the gap in the window that Howon loves keeping open, and Sungyeol murmurs something unintelligible into the blue sheets. Sungjong distractedly imagines soft, white wings on Sungyeol’s back -
“Get the fuck up, you idiots,” Sunggyu shouts from the door as he swings it open, and Sungjong jumps in shock before Sungyeol rolls off Sungjong's body slowly. “I don’t know how you guys can sleep and dream after causing all that shit last night,” he grumbles, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.
“Told you we shouldn’t have brought the fucking drinks back,” Sungjong growls, and shoves his fist into Sungyeol’s tummy weakly.
“It was fun,” Sungyeol replies with a huge grin, and bats his eyelashes and Sungjong’s breath catches in his throat.
He doesn’t even try to answer as he hops off the bed and out of the room.
-
“Morning, hyung,” Sungjong says as he plops down on the couch, sending the best morning smile he can manage to Howon beside him.
Howon eyes him wearily and blinks pointedly. “Morning, I hope you slept well,” he says sardonically, “considering it was your first time sleeping in the lower bunk.”
Sungjong’s eyes widen and he chokes back a gulp before laughing nervously. “Ha ha hyung, it really wasn’t intentional! God, I don’t even know what happened last night after we began drinking -”
“Let me tell you, then,” Woohyun chirps, crossing his ankles on the couch beside with a cup of milk, “you got so drunk last night you stood on the dining table and started dancing to Gee.”
“That’s not all,” he continues when Sungjong tries to interrupt, taking a quick sip of the milk before he continues, “you also fell off the table and Sungyeol caught you and you started kissing him. God, Sungjong, we all knew you liked Sungyeol, but please, we really didn’t need that -”
“What?” Sungjong spits, “what did you say?”
Woohyun shrugs and lifts an eyebrow before resting his head on Howon’s shoulder before pretending to sleep. Howon shrugs as well, turning the TV volume up.
Sungjong momentarily thinks of Sungyeol sleeping on his chest, legs entangled with his own and face warm and guilt coils and pools uncomfortably in the deepest pits of his stomach. It makes him feel queasy, and he feels like the world is spinning off its axis when Sungyeol walks out without his regular sparkly eyes but a pair of wounded ones. Sungjong buries his head into Howon’s other shoulder and pretends he’s asleep.
-
Sungyeol doesn’t initiate conversation with Sungjong like he usually would, playful flicks at Sungjong’s forehead right before performances just because it would be visible on screen, or undoing his shoelaces just so Sungyeol could push Sungjong and make him topple over.
It feels weird to have Sungyeol remaining quiet the entire time before they perform, and Sunggyu shoots Sungjong a worried glance when their eyes meet. Sungjong shrugs sheepishly when Sunggyu asks why, and even Woohyun leaned over with concern in his eyes.
In the end, Myungsoo was the only one who dared to go up to Sungyeol and ask him what’s wrong. Sungyeol shakes his head and forces a weak smile before replying that he’s just tired. Sungjong knows better. But Myungsoo doesn’t press on, patting him on the back softly before resuming his nap on the small couch.
At night, when they return home after their many schedules, Sungyeol goes straight to bed without a word. Myungsoo stares at the closed door with worried eyes and Dongwoo blinks in confusion.
“He says he’s fine,” Myungsoo states plainly, “but he obviously isn’t. I’ll... help you look after him, I guess. You owe me one, Lee Sungjong.”
The next time Sungjong goes out to buy food, he buys an extra set of kimchi stew for Myungsoo.
After placing the lukewarm stew on the table, he curls up on the couch and covers his eyes with one arm, sighing against the artificial leather.
“Hyung? Are you back?” A voice calls from the rooms, and Sungjong doesn’t have to bat an eyelash to figure that it’s Sungyeol. The door swings open and Sungyeol’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees Sungjong on the couch.
“Hyung,” Sungjong starts, “I heard about what happened that night from Woohyun-hyung. I’m sorry, can we talk?”
“You don’t remember? You needed Woohyun-hyung to tell you that?”
Sungjong’s left sitting on the edge of the couch uneasily, an uncomfortable feeling sitting in his guts as Sungyeol breezes out of the house without another word.
-
The next time they smuggle alcohol back to their dorm, it’s when they win first place on M! Countdown, with everyone crying and thanking their parents and bosses and managers and even the stray dog they’d found outside their dorm that one time.
Surprisingly, it’s not Sungyeol who brings the idea up, but Myungsoo.
But then again, he’s the only one who managed to stop himself from crying during broadcast, so nothing from Myungsoo is really surprising anymore, actually.
Sungjong remembers the rustle of the plastic bags and the gentle clinking of bottle against bottle, and he remembers the wry grin Woohyun had on his face when they had emptied the bags.
That’s all he remembers, he figures, because the next moment he blinks and he’s faced with an armful of Sungyeol, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded.
“Jong,” Sungyeol mutters, “get me more,” he says, finger pointing at the empty bottles weakly.
Sungjong takes a moment to look around: there’s Sunggyu sprawled face-down on the floor with the Mnet trophy standing lopsided on his butt, there’s Howon sitting still with lazy eyes as he tries hiccup the alcohol away, there’s Myungsoo on the couch with his face under one of the cushions, and there’s Sungyeol - in his lap.
God, does Sungjong always lose his rationale when he gets drunk? How come it’s always Sungyeol? “Maybe it would be better if it’s someone else,” he muses aloud, and casts a glance at the snoring Sungyeol before flushing red.
Definitely better.
“Jong,” Sungyeol slurs again, “Jong, I can't see you,” he whines, “come closer.”
“I am not Sungjong,” Sungjong replies, pinching his nose with two fingers so his voice comes out all nasally. Howon looks over in mild amusement and Sungyeol cringes visibly.
“Don’t… don’t lie,” Sungyeol says, long arms stretching up weakly to pull Sungjong down. He traces slow fingers across the span of Sungjong’s jaw, and Sungjong’s planned a reply but it gets caught in the back of his throat and nothing comes out instead. “You’re Sungjong alright,” Sungyeol smiles with his eyes closed, hands falling back down to his sides as he turns and falls back asleep.
When Howon staggers over to offer help to bring Sungyeol back to his room, Sungjong says nothing, nods weakly and stands up. Thank God Sungyeol is a great drinker and he doesn’t throw up or anything because Sungjong, with Howon, hauls him onto his bed and prays they don’t wake up to the sick smell of vomit.
When Sungjong yanks the blankets over Sungyeol later, Sungyeol hums and whispers a good night that’s barely audible.
Later, Sungjong closes the door to his room quietly and listens to Howon snore as he kicks his slippers off. He curls up on his bed later and he can still feel the faint touch of Sungyeol’s fingers on his cheek, can still feel his heart beating. Willing the feeling of Sungyeol’s fingers on his face away as he pulls the blankets over his head, Sungjong forces himself to sleep.
-
Months fly by like an arrow let loose and Sungjong finds himself missing the Lee Sungyeol who would shriek “yah, Lee Sungjong!” when they’re out for dinner (despite the warnings of not letting people recognize them), the Lee Sungyeol who would add unhealthy amounts of lemon juice into maple syrup just to see Woohyun cringe at the taste when they have pancakes, the Lee Sungyeol who would whine about having one line in their songs, but would end up at their recording studio laughing at Woohyun and Sunggyu for having one too many lines.
It’s on a late night in November when Sungjong’s rudely shaken awake in the dead of the night, strong hands shaking his shoulders and a loud voice yelling into his ears. “Lee Sungjong! Nurungie took a shit in the kitchen again!”
Sungjong doesn’t need to see to know who this is. He manages to open his eyes a few seconds later and he whines at his attacker loudly. “God, hyung, if they catch you saying that on broadcast,” he mutters into his pillow weakly.
“To hell with them right now because the shit stinks and I am not doing it so Lee Sungjong get up please please please,” Sunggyu pleads, and Sungjong gets off the bed reluctantly.
“Fans associate me with fucking dog poop because of you, hyung, this is all your fucking fault, I swear - they’re even giving me shit nicknames, literally-” Sungjong rambles, but the space behind him is empty. “Went to sleep,” he grumbles quietly.
“Are you okay?”
Sungjong turns around and his eyes widen so much it probably looks overly dramatic but because it’s Sungyeol and they haven’t really spoken out of broadcast for months so -
“I’m - I’m fine,” Sungjong manages.
Nurungie makes a sad little whine from the side and Sungjong ruffles the fur behind its ear in soothing circles. “I’m fine, Nurungie, go to bed.”
After the puppy runs off, Sungyeol wordlessly takes the dustpan and brush from Sungjong and cleans the pile of poop on the clean marble floor. “You must be tired from all the things they make you do during filming, so I guess I can help you out with this one,” Sungyeol explains meekly, tossing the waste into the bin.
Sungjong’s heart clenches so tight he can’t breathe for a moment because he is so fucking blind. Sungyeol has always been there, behind him, to propel him forward, to keep him going if he slows and to catch him if he ever stops. Sungyeol, who used to whine about the one line they got in Come Back Again and who had stopped doing it now because now it is only Sungyeol without lines. A light ruffle of Sungjong’s hair would tell him I’m okay when they split the lines in their title tracks. Even when Sungyeol stares at the hyungs in envy as they record their new tracks, even when Sungyeol would sing out loud in the dorm sometimes, for fun, he says, Sungyeol who easily accepted the title of “member in charge of raising the average height in Infinite” because he knows Sungjong doesn’t want to feel alone.
He remembers dark nights in their practice room, mistakes and more mistakes Sungjong used to make during BTD, and how Sungyeol would pop by at 4 fucking am, just to tell Sungjong that he can’t catch the dance moves as well. When Sungjong watches him in the morning practices, he sees through the lies in Sungyeol’s movements but his eyes are bright and honest when he tells Sungjong he can’t push himself up when they do the scorpion dance and Sungjong wants to believe him so much.
There’s a sudden warm surge of emotion rushing through Sungjong’s heart as it continues to pound loudly, pulse ringing in his ears. He inhales sharply as he grips the rag in his hand tight and begins to clean the dirtied patch on the floor. “Go to sleep, hyung, I can manage this, no biggie.”
There’s a minute of silence as Sungjong works and Sungyeol stands wordlessly before he frowns. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Do you think your crying sessions at night go unnoticed? Howon might sleep through that, but I’ve always heard it. You… crying. Even though we’re not in the same room anymore, I hear it, I still do.” Sungyeol sighs as he leans against the window. “I’m just gonna make sure you don’t… for tonight, at least.”
“Why do you even care,” Sungjong mutters bitterly, hands threatening to shake as his knuckles turn white from the deathly grip on the handle of the dustpan.
“I feel like it,” Sungyeol replies, looking out of the window as he shrugs.
The moonlight entering from the kitchen window illuminates one side of Sungyeol’s face and he looks so very ethereal and surreal and Sungjong is afraid that if he stretches his hands out to reach him he might disappear into flakes of dusty moonlight, leaving Sungjong with nothing.
“I’m sorry for always making you worry,” Sungjong breathes, and slowly approaches Sungyeol with shaky steps. “I’m not very good with what I do, so I worry a lot. They say we are 99.9% in sync, and sometimes I don’t even know what we’re doing. I may just be the 0.01%. We have vocals and rappers and dancers and I am just the maknae. I have a pretty face and I like lemon candy and I apparently enjoy clearing the shit of puppies,” he laughs.
“Nothing can ever be perfect, Sungjong,” Sungyeol replies slowly, “and trying to attain that only brings about more problems. I like the way you behave as the maknae, and I like the way you curse when you clean the shit up. The fans lap up your lemon candy shit and they send a lot of tweets to Sunggyu on a daily basis on how he treats you on broadcasts. I would, too. Why would you even think that way?”
Sungjong has read many books on how people define love, and how does it feel when you fall in love, like a simple raindrop on cracked, parched ground, like watching a butterfly wriggle out of its chrysalis and taking flight for the first time, but nobody has ever mentioned about how love may just feel like dog poop all over hands. It’s warm, sticky, unbelievably gross and you can’t really get rid of it, try as you might. Falling in love also really feels like watching dust mites gather in the dim moonlight, and wondering how far this fascinating phenomenon will go before it all eventually comes to a stop.
Right now, falling in love is a dim realization under the moon with a dirty rag in his hands. Sungyeol’s looking at him like he’s waiting for an answer but Sungjong’s words are stuck at the back of his throat and he feels like if he breathes he might burst out in tears.
He settles for a “thank you” instead, and Sungyeol quietly wraps his arms around Sungjong’s body before resting his chin on Sungjong’s head. “Stop worrying,” Sungyeol says when Sungjong leans into the crook of Sungyeol’s neck and he wonders if love has always been this easy.
Sungjong wakes up in the morning feeling like he hasn’t slept so well in months.
-
When they first move from Cheongdam to their new apartment, they send Dongwoo out to check if there are nearby clubs they can sneak in without being recognized, but Dongwoo comes back with a little shrug and he shakes his head in silence. Hyoan laughs from the side; he’s probably the one who found an apartment where there are no party places nearby, Sungjong thinks, as he lets out a little laugh but Sungyeol scowls purposefully at the older man.
When the managers leave, Dongwoo eyes Sunggyu tentatively before Sunggyu nods.
“There is a loophole,” Dongwoo says, in hushed tones, and Sungyeol’s eyes gradually light up. “There’s a barbecue restaurant somewhere downstairs,” he explains slowly, hands clutching onto the rough fabric of his jeans, “and they have… soju.”
Sungyeol rolls his eyes and sighs loudly, leaning back into the couch. “I am not getting drunk on soju,” he whines.
“He’s definitely not getting drunk on soju,” Sunggyu comments lazily, watching Sungyeol down the shots as he swirls his glass iced coffee around, listening to the tinkling of ice against glass. “Definitely not.”
It’s about 3 when they finally decide to head back, heads held low in fatigue and faces entirely flushed. Sungyeol pushes the door open and stumbles over nothing as he toes his shoes off, hands flailing as he tries to regain his balance. “He can’t even drink,” Sunggyu muses, narrowing his eyes with a grin, “acts like he does.”
By the time they all get in (safely), Dongwoo seems like the only one sober enough to pat their heads and get them to go to sleep. Sunggyu pats Dongwoo on the shoulder before blacking out on the couch, snoring softly.
Dongwoo falls asleep half an hour later putting the rest to sleep and wakes up to Sungyeol hitting a fucking gong beside his ears. How on earth did that appear in their dorm? And what -
“What time is it? Well, it’s half past four, so let’s have some fun!” Sungyeol proclaims, standing on the couch with the gong on the table.
“Yeah, you…” Myungsoo replies, but yawns midway, “you go have fun yourself; some of us need to sleep.” He stands up drowsily and pulls Dongwoo up with some difficulty before they drag their feet to their room.
In the end, it’s only Sungyeol, Woohyun, Sunggyu and Sungjong left in the living room. Sungjong sniffs and blinks sleepily. “What are we doing?”
“Truth or dare!” Sungyeol replies brightly, spinning one of their old soju bottles under the couch on the floor as Sunggyu watches the spin wearily. Before he can open his mouth to protest what a lame idea, the bottle stops and points straight in Woohyun’s direction. “Truth or dare?” Sungyeol asks.
“Dare,” Woohyun answers easily, not blinking as Sungyeol thinks of possible ideas.
“Go kiss Howon.”
“He’s sleeping,” Woohyun tries, but once Sungyeol sets his mind on something the chance of getting him to change is near zero than one. From the corner of his eye Sungjong can see the tips of Woohyun’s ears flaring red and how Sunggyu had stayed quiet throughout the entire exchange. (Normally, he would have pushed the person being dared to do whatever they were tasked to, and laugh while it goes on.)
In the end, Woohyun gets the job done as Sungyeol takes multiple photos with his phone, clicking noises echoing in the room as he cackles silently.
Woohyun spins the bottle and fervently chants Sungyeol, like it’d help, and Sungjong shakes his head with a little smile and it falters when the bottle stops at Sungyeol. Sungyeol looks up, mortified as Woohyun begins to grin.
“This is easy,” Woohyun says when Sunggyu excuses himself to go to the toilet, “go find a way to take off Sunggyu’s underwear and you’ll have to kiss him while you’re at it.”
Sungyeol’s eyes flicker between Woohyun’s smug face and Sungjong’s shocked one and he opens his mouth to speak but closes it in resignation. Sungjong keeps his eyes on the floor even though he really wants to look up and scream you can’t, but yeah, he knows he is the one who can’t.
When Sunggyu returns, it’s strangely quiet. Woohyun pretends nothing is going on and Sungjong can almost feel the anxiety radiating from Sungyeol’s body. “You guys are scaring me,” Sunggyu quips, “talk.”
They don’t, but Sungyeol pounces onto Sunggyu so suddenly Sunggyu only manages to choke out profanities after Sungyeol has Sunggyu under him. Sungjong feels his guts churn as Sungyeol leans down to press his lips against Sunggyu’s and Sungjong can’t find it in him to stay and watch on any longer.
-
Some time later, Sungjong hears Woohyun bursting out in laughter as he lies in bed, heart pounding and head spinning. They must be done with the game. The door swings open slowly and Sungjong doesn’t want to bother. Closing his eyes, he pretends to be asleep but Sungyeol walks over and cards his fingers through Sungjong’s hair with a sigh.
“Don’t touch me,” Sungjong chokes out, palms sweaty from all the tension.
“I didn’t mean anything with that - just now -” Sungyeol starts, but Sungjong clicks his tongue.
“I really don’t want to know, hyung, you don’t need to explain anything to me. There’s no need to.”
-
In the morning, Sungjong wakes up to see Howon carrying a tray of food into their room. Sungjong looks up in question and Howon shrugs. “The atmosphere at the table was fucking weird. What happened last night? Ah anyway, I have your food here too so we can just eat in here and go out later.”
“Shit happened last night,” Sungjong says, and doesn’t elaborate.
“Flush it down,” Howon replies around a mouthful of rice.
“It’s clogged and it’s overflowing. I don’t think the flush would work anymore,” Sungjong says bitterly, jabbing his chopsticks into the bowl of rice.
“Wish I could help, but I’m no plumber.” Howon grins, and Sungjong grins back, thankful for the company.
When Sungjong opens their room door, Sungyeol is there, a fist raised in the air like he’s about to knock. He swiftly brings it down, and steps back. They’re too close.
“About last night -”
“I don’t want to hear it, hyung, I already told you. I have no interest, and I have no idea why you’re trying to explain it to me,” Sungjong huffs.
“You mean a lot to me,” Sungyeol replies.
“Yeah, and so do drinks, getting drunk, and winning bets. They’re all important, too. I thought we had something between us, Sungyeol, I thought we did. But that’s great, because you proved me wrong, so now I won’t hang on for wrong reasons.”
“Why won’t you even listen to me explain?!” Sungyeol then shouts. Sungjong turns to storm out of the house without another word. Sungyeol hurriedly slips on his shoes to follow, but is stopped as Myungsoo pulls his arm and shakes his head sadly. “Let him cool down before you go,” Myungsoo says, and Sungyeol stays rooted to the ground for two hours, hands shaking and eyes red.
When Sungyeol finally decides that it’s time to go look for the maknae, he ruffles his hair in annoyance because he’s scoured all through their neighborhood and Sungjong is nowhere to be seen. Where could he be?
The other members would definitely kick up a fuss when they see him go home without Sungjong, the fans might find him if he stays a minute longer in Hongdae, and that means Sungjong might never talk to him again, so Sungyeol pulls his cap lower and heads to the large park beside a rundown shopping mall they used to frequent before they debuted.
He gently brushes a passing ant away from a spot under a tree and plops down heavily beside the thick trunk, sighing as he stares out at the open field nearby. He has completely no idea what to do, and it doesn’t help that his stomach is churning and flipping and he has this very strong urge to throw up and cry and just maybe die out here because dying in a park is pretty poetic.
Instead, he closes his eyes and imagines a bright blue sky behind his eyelids. It feels relaxing, and if he focuses he feels like there are soft raindrops falling on his face, and it feels really good.
Except he opens his eyes and it begins raining for real and the kids are running away from the fields, screaming and shrieking and Sungyeol looks around before spotting a lone figure on the see-saw and he doesn’t need to take a second look to know it’s Sungjong.
Sungyeol quietly walks up to Sungjong and Sungjong looks up wordlessly. His eyes doesn’t show any bit of anger anymore but his lips are still pressed into an emotionless thin line and Sungyeol decides that his indifference is scarier than any other kind of emotion.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, but Sungjong continues to keep his eyes downcast.
“You’re an idiot,” Sungjong growls, rolling his eyes and kicking sand on the ground.
The raindrops are now huge and fat and they make Sungyeol jerk and blink when they land on his face and his hair is starting to stick to his face irritably but he squats to get a better view of Sungjong’s face before anything. “I am,” he says softly, and Sungjong frowns.
“You’re really an idiot,” Sungjong repeats, this time without much bite, and blinks before brushing the wet bangs out of his eyes. “Only an idiot would admit to being one. Only an idiot would so stupidly squat down here in the rain and listen to someone else call him an idiot. Only an idiot would be able to pull off fucking stupid pranks but get away scot-free. Only an idiot can make someone forgive him regardless, and only an idiot can make me do this, ha ha, fucking sitting in the rain crying over an idiot.”
“I really am,” Sungyeol repeats, and he sighs. “Only an idiot would come out looking for you two hours too late, only an idiot would run around the entire neighborhood looking for you, only an idiot would try to construct pranks to try to get you closer to him, only an idiot would come down and stay here under the rain to listen to you scold him, only an idiot would endure that scolding but still want to kiss you.”
Sungjong looks away silently, water dripping from the tips of his hair and Sungyeol doesn’t know if they’re rain or tears. Regardless, he wants them away from Sungjong’s face because it makes Sungjong look like he’s crying and Sungyeol doesn’t like that. Sungjong mustn’t cry.
“Stop escaping from me,” Sungyeol whispers, and leans in close. “I hate running.”
Sungyeol thinks Sungjong tastes like vanilla in the rain when their lips meet and all he knows is that Sungjong’s lips are impossibly cold and they keep trembling so Sungyeol tries to lean in even closer, press his lips a little closer; get Sungjong a little warmer.
When he pulls away, Sungjong’s cheeks are a pretty tint of red and Sungyeol can’t help but to grin at that.
“I really hate you,” Sungjong mutters, but his hands are small and warm against Sungyeol’s neck, chest flush against Sungyeol’s back as Sungyeol piggybacks him home.
“At least you’re not mad at me,” Sungyeol says with a huge grin as he dries Sungjong’s hair with a large towel. Sungjong grimaces.
The next time they win on a music broadcast, Sungyeol sneaks out to the convenience store beside their dorm (with the lady who lets them buy their alcohol just because she’s a fan) and comes back with bottles of cold soju. Sungjong looks up and Sungyeol meets his eyes with the bright call of a challenge.
There’s a grin across Sungyeol’s face when Woohyun starts popping the bottles open.
The game’s on.
a/n: so……. this was the thing that kept me busy the entire january and february. i’d like to extend my greeeeatest thanks to my team canon, with ma mates who were always there (timezones) and for holding my hand despite the many ~difficulties~ i’ve overcome (like the rejection of my initial plot… ;A;) and i feel like i owe you guys so much because i keep on neglecting my olymfics account because of school ;n; also a big thank you to tlist and pizza gang for the neverending support and encouragement, of course ♥ i owe everything to tlist lbr.
congrats to team au and cheers to team future as well! ♥ \o/
sungjong/sungyeol
pg-13, 5,000w
sungyeol has always been like a bad mix of drinks, so tempting yet dangerous and piques sungjong’s interest to no end.
(originally written for kpop_olymfics here.)
They’re at their eleventh glass of soju by now, and Sungjong doesn’t know if he’s drunk, tired, out of his mind, or a generous mix of everything. He thinks it’s probably the last one. The Plusle and Minun plush toys on top of their TV set blurs to become one and Sungjong thinks that’s something really bad because it hasn’t happened before. He manages to raise a hand weakly, waving it around while shaking his head as Sungyeol pours him another glass.
“Fuck you,” Sungjong whines weakly, although he’s already lifting the glass to his lips, “I refuse to be Howon-hyung’s servant for another month if I throw up on his bed.”
“Your fault for choosing the top bunk,” Sungyeol replies easily, and flashes a quick grin as he chucks the bottle opener to the side.
“Excuse me,” Sungjong interrupts, face flushed and pupils blown, “he demanded for the bottom bunk. There is no way in hell I could ever beat him in arm wrestling,” he groans, burying his face in his hands.
“One more won’t kill you, you lost the bet anyway. Take it like a man.”
Oh, the bet, the bet. They had bet on whether Dongwoo could take the revolting mix of lime sorbet, vodka, three spoonfuls of expired cherry cough syrup (thanks to Sunggyu who had reluctantly dug it out from the depths of their messy fridge), and a handful of mixed nuts from the packet on the table which their manager had bought for the new year. The drink looked awfully gross, even if Sungjong wasn’t the one drinking it: with pieces of soggy crackers and peanuts floating about, and the color a dark, toxic pink.
Of course, the rest had guffawed (as usual) and said that Dongwoo would “take a sip and run to the toilet crying”, as quoted from Woohyun, but Sungjong, being the residential sunshine beam, had bet that Dongwoo could finish it.
Dongwoo didn’t.
So Sungjong ended up with roughly twelve glasses of suspiciously colored drinks, and when he spots the glint in Sungyeol’s eyes, he knows it has to be trouble.
“Drink it,” is all Sungyeol says when he pushes the first shot glass filled with soju into Sungjong’s face, and it’s not long until they’re at the fifth.
-
Sungjong doesn’t really remember what happened next, but he wakes up with a throbbing head, heavy limbs and a very heavy weight on his chest. Maybe all the alcohol was going to be detrimental after all, he muses, and attempts to shift his body to the side until he hears a muffled groan.
From his chest.
Sungjong tries not to scream, because there are noises coming from his body, but he squirms and squints and from the corner of his eyes he sees a head of hair.
“Get off me,” he grunts, and notices his hoarse voice with a resigned sigh.
Sungyeol whines in reply, long limbs coiled around Sungjong’s petite frame as he sighs blissfully, head sinking deep back into the mattress.
It’s after that that he looks around at this very familiar room, his room, and realizes that he’s not on his bed. He’s on Howon’s bed, they’re on Howon’s bed, and he wonders if Howon might kill him if he sees this, and why Howon hasn’t killed him yet.
Maybe this is how heaven looks like, Sungjong thinks for a scary moment, waking up in a quiet place with nothing but soft sunlight filtering through from the window and the soft sounds of Sungyeol sleeping. On his chest. He cracks a smile at the last thought and hums to a little tune and decides that heaven is great.
The wind blows and Sungjong feels the breeze from the gap in the window that Howon loves keeping open, and Sungyeol murmurs something unintelligible into the blue sheets. Sungjong distractedly imagines soft, white wings on Sungyeol’s back -
“Get the fuck up, you idiots,” Sunggyu shouts from the door as he swings it open, and Sungjong jumps in shock before Sungyeol rolls off Sungjong's body slowly. “I don’t know how you guys can sleep and dream after causing all that shit last night,” he grumbles, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.
“Told you we shouldn’t have brought the fucking drinks back,” Sungjong growls, and shoves his fist into Sungyeol’s tummy weakly.
“It was fun,” Sungyeol replies with a huge grin, and bats his eyelashes and Sungjong’s breath catches in his throat.
He doesn’t even try to answer as he hops off the bed and out of the room.
-
“Morning, hyung,” Sungjong says as he plops down on the couch, sending the best morning smile he can manage to Howon beside him.
Howon eyes him wearily and blinks pointedly. “Morning, I hope you slept well,” he says sardonically, “considering it was your first time sleeping in the lower bunk.”
Sungjong’s eyes widen and he chokes back a gulp before laughing nervously. “Ha ha hyung, it really wasn’t intentional! God, I don’t even know what happened last night after we began drinking -”
“Let me tell you, then,” Woohyun chirps, crossing his ankles on the couch beside with a cup of milk, “you got so drunk last night you stood on the dining table and started dancing to Gee.”
“That’s not all,” he continues when Sungjong tries to interrupt, taking a quick sip of the milk before he continues, “you also fell off the table and Sungyeol caught you and you started kissing him. God, Sungjong, we all knew you liked Sungyeol, but please, we really didn’t need that -”
“What?” Sungjong spits, “what did you say?”
Woohyun shrugs and lifts an eyebrow before resting his head on Howon’s shoulder before pretending to sleep. Howon shrugs as well, turning the TV volume up.
Sungjong momentarily thinks of Sungyeol sleeping on his chest, legs entangled with his own and face warm and guilt coils and pools uncomfortably in the deepest pits of his stomach. It makes him feel queasy, and he feels like the world is spinning off its axis when Sungyeol walks out without his regular sparkly eyes but a pair of wounded ones. Sungjong buries his head into Howon’s other shoulder and pretends he’s asleep.
-
Sungyeol doesn’t initiate conversation with Sungjong like he usually would, playful flicks at Sungjong’s forehead right before performances just because it would be visible on screen, or undoing his shoelaces just so Sungyeol could push Sungjong and make him topple over.
It feels weird to have Sungyeol remaining quiet the entire time before they perform, and Sunggyu shoots Sungjong a worried glance when their eyes meet. Sungjong shrugs sheepishly when Sunggyu asks why, and even Woohyun leaned over with concern in his eyes.
In the end, Myungsoo was the only one who dared to go up to Sungyeol and ask him what’s wrong. Sungyeol shakes his head and forces a weak smile before replying that he’s just tired. Sungjong knows better. But Myungsoo doesn’t press on, patting him on the back softly before resuming his nap on the small couch.
At night, when they return home after their many schedules, Sungyeol goes straight to bed without a word. Myungsoo stares at the closed door with worried eyes and Dongwoo blinks in confusion.
“He says he’s fine,” Myungsoo states plainly, “but he obviously isn’t. I’ll... help you look after him, I guess. You owe me one, Lee Sungjong.”
The next time Sungjong goes out to buy food, he buys an extra set of kimchi stew for Myungsoo.
After placing the lukewarm stew on the table, he curls up on the couch and covers his eyes with one arm, sighing against the artificial leather.
“Hyung? Are you back?” A voice calls from the rooms, and Sungjong doesn’t have to bat an eyelash to figure that it’s Sungyeol. The door swings open and Sungyeol’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees Sungjong on the couch.
“Hyung,” Sungjong starts, “I heard about what happened that night from Woohyun-hyung. I’m sorry, can we talk?”
“You don’t remember? You needed Woohyun-hyung to tell you that?”
Sungjong’s left sitting on the edge of the couch uneasily, an uncomfortable feeling sitting in his guts as Sungyeol breezes out of the house without another word.
-
The next time they smuggle alcohol back to their dorm, it’s when they win first place on M! Countdown, with everyone crying and thanking their parents and bosses and managers and even the stray dog they’d found outside their dorm that one time.
Surprisingly, it’s not Sungyeol who brings the idea up, but Myungsoo.
But then again, he’s the only one who managed to stop himself from crying during broadcast, so nothing from Myungsoo is really surprising anymore, actually.
Sungjong remembers the rustle of the plastic bags and the gentle clinking of bottle against bottle, and he remembers the wry grin Woohyun had on his face when they had emptied the bags.
That’s all he remembers, he figures, because the next moment he blinks and he’s faced with an armful of Sungyeol, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded.
“Jong,” Sungyeol mutters, “get me more,” he says, finger pointing at the empty bottles weakly.
Sungjong takes a moment to look around: there’s Sunggyu sprawled face-down on the floor with the Mnet trophy standing lopsided on his butt, there’s Howon sitting still with lazy eyes as he tries hiccup the alcohol away, there’s Myungsoo on the couch with his face under one of the cushions, and there’s Sungyeol - in his lap.
God, does Sungjong always lose his rationale when he gets drunk? How come it’s always Sungyeol? “Maybe it would be better if it’s someone else,” he muses aloud, and casts a glance at the snoring Sungyeol before flushing red.
Definitely better.
“Jong,” Sungyeol slurs again, “Jong, I can't see you,” he whines, “come closer.”
“I am not Sungjong,” Sungjong replies, pinching his nose with two fingers so his voice comes out all nasally. Howon looks over in mild amusement and Sungyeol cringes visibly.
“Don’t… don’t lie,” Sungyeol says, long arms stretching up weakly to pull Sungjong down. He traces slow fingers across the span of Sungjong’s jaw, and Sungjong’s planned a reply but it gets caught in the back of his throat and nothing comes out instead. “You’re Sungjong alright,” Sungyeol smiles with his eyes closed, hands falling back down to his sides as he turns and falls back asleep.
When Howon staggers over to offer help to bring Sungyeol back to his room, Sungjong says nothing, nods weakly and stands up. Thank God Sungyeol is a great drinker and he doesn’t throw up or anything because Sungjong, with Howon, hauls him onto his bed and prays they don’t wake up to the sick smell of vomit.
When Sungjong yanks the blankets over Sungyeol later, Sungyeol hums and whispers a good night that’s barely audible.
Later, Sungjong closes the door to his room quietly and listens to Howon snore as he kicks his slippers off. He curls up on his bed later and he can still feel the faint touch of Sungyeol’s fingers on his cheek, can still feel his heart beating. Willing the feeling of Sungyeol’s fingers on his face away as he pulls the blankets over his head, Sungjong forces himself to sleep.
-
Months fly by like an arrow let loose and Sungjong finds himself missing the Lee Sungyeol who would shriek “yah, Lee Sungjong!” when they’re out for dinner (despite the warnings of not letting people recognize them), the Lee Sungyeol who would add unhealthy amounts of lemon juice into maple syrup just to see Woohyun cringe at the taste when they have pancakes, the Lee Sungyeol who would whine about having one line in their songs, but would end up at their recording studio laughing at Woohyun and Sunggyu for having one too many lines.
It’s on a late night in November when Sungjong’s rudely shaken awake in the dead of the night, strong hands shaking his shoulders and a loud voice yelling into his ears. “Lee Sungjong! Nurungie took a shit in the kitchen again!”
Sungjong doesn’t need to see to know who this is. He manages to open his eyes a few seconds later and he whines at his attacker loudly. “God, hyung, if they catch you saying that on broadcast,” he mutters into his pillow weakly.
“To hell with them right now because the shit stinks and I am not doing it so Lee Sungjong get up please please please,” Sunggyu pleads, and Sungjong gets off the bed reluctantly.
“Fans associate me with fucking dog poop because of you, hyung, this is all your fucking fault, I swear - they’re even giving me shit nicknames, literally-” Sungjong rambles, but the space behind him is empty. “Went to sleep,” he grumbles quietly.
“Are you okay?”
Sungjong turns around and his eyes widen so much it probably looks overly dramatic but because it’s Sungyeol and they haven’t really spoken out of broadcast for months so -
“I’m - I’m fine,” Sungjong manages.
Nurungie makes a sad little whine from the side and Sungjong ruffles the fur behind its ear in soothing circles. “I’m fine, Nurungie, go to bed.”
After the puppy runs off, Sungyeol wordlessly takes the dustpan and brush from Sungjong and cleans the pile of poop on the clean marble floor. “You must be tired from all the things they make you do during filming, so I guess I can help you out with this one,” Sungyeol explains meekly, tossing the waste into the bin.
Sungjong’s heart clenches so tight he can’t breathe for a moment because he is so fucking blind. Sungyeol has always been there, behind him, to propel him forward, to keep him going if he slows and to catch him if he ever stops. Sungyeol, who used to whine about the one line they got in Come Back Again and who had stopped doing it now because now it is only Sungyeol without lines. A light ruffle of Sungjong’s hair would tell him I’m okay when they split the lines in their title tracks. Even when Sungyeol stares at the hyungs in envy as they record their new tracks, even when Sungyeol would sing out loud in the dorm sometimes, for fun, he says, Sungyeol who easily accepted the title of “member in charge of raising the average height in Infinite” because he knows Sungjong doesn’t want to feel alone.
He remembers dark nights in their practice room, mistakes and more mistakes Sungjong used to make during BTD, and how Sungyeol would pop by at 4 fucking am, just to tell Sungjong that he can’t catch the dance moves as well. When Sungjong watches him in the morning practices, he sees through the lies in Sungyeol’s movements but his eyes are bright and honest when he tells Sungjong he can’t push himself up when they do the scorpion dance and Sungjong wants to believe him so much.
There’s a sudden warm surge of emotion rushing through Sungjong’s heart as it continues to pound loudly, pulse ringing in his ears. He inhales sharply as he grips the rag in his hand tight and begins to clean the dirtied patch on the floor. “Go to sleep, hyung, I can manage this, no biggie.”
There’s a minute of silence as Sungjong works and Sungyeol stands wordlessly before he frowns. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Do you think your crying sessions at night go unnoticed? Howon might sleep through that, but I’ve always heard it. You… crying. Even though we’re not in the same room anymore, I hear it, I still do.” Sungyeol sighs as he leans against the window. “I’m just gonna make sure you don’t… for tonight, at least.”
“Why do you even care,” Sungjong mutters bitterly, hands threatening to shake as his knuckles turn white from the deathly grip on the handle of the dustpan.
“I feel like it,” Sungyeol replies, looking out of the window as he shrugs.
The moonlight entering from the kitchen window illuminates one side of Sungyeol’s face and he looks so very ethereal and surreal and Sungjong is afraid that if he stretches his hands out to reach him he might disappear into flakes of dusty moonlight, leaving Sungjong with nothing.
“I’m sorry for always making you worry,” Sungjong breathes, and slowly approaches Sungyeol with shaky steps. “I’m not very good with what I do, so I worry a lot. They say we are 99.9% in sync, and sometimes I don’t even know what we’re doing. I may just be the 0.01%. We have vocals and rappers and dancers and I am just the maknae. I have a pretty face and I like lemon candy and I apparently enjoy clearing the shit of puppies,” he laughs.
“Nothing can ever be perfect, Sungjong,” Sungyeol replies slowly, “and trying to attain that only brings about more problems. I like the way you behave as the maknae, and I like the way you curse when you clean the shit up. The fans lap up your lemon candy shit and they send a lot of tweets to Sunggyu on a daily basis on how he treats you on broadcasts. I would, too. Why would you even think that way?”
Sungjong has read many books on how people define love, and how does it feel when you fall in love, like a simple raindrop on cracked, parched ground, like watching a butterfly wriggle out of its chrysalis and taking flight for the first time, but nobody has ever mentioned about how love may just feel like dog poop all over hands. It’s warm, sticky, unbelievably gross and you can’t really get rid of it, try as you might. Falling in love also really feels like watching dust mites gather in the dim moonlight, and wondering how far this fascinating phenomenon will go before it all eventually comes to a stop.
Right now, falling in love is a dim realization under the moon with a dirty rag in his hands. Sungyeol’s looking at him like he’s waiting for an answer but Sungjong’s words are stuck at the back of his throat and he feels like if he breathes he might burst out in tears.
He settles for a “thank you” instead, and Sungyeol quietly wraps his arms around Sungjong’s body before resting his chin on Sungjong’s head. “Stop worrying,” Sungyeol says when Sungjong leans into the crook of Sungyeol’s neck and he wonders if love has always been this easy.
Sungjong wakes up in the morning feeling like he hasn’t slept so well in months.
-
When they first move from Cheongdam to their new apartment, they send Dongwoo out to check if there are nearby clubs they can sneak in without being recognized, but Dongwoo comes back with a little shrug and he shakes his head in silence. Hyoan laughs from the side; he’s probably the one who found an apartment where there are no party places nearby, Sungjong thinks, as he lets out a little laugh but Sungyeol scowls purposefully at the older man.
When the managers leave, Dongwoo eyes Sunggyu tentatively before Sunggyu nods.
“There is a loophole,” Dongwoo says, in hushed tones, and Sungyeol’s eyes gradually light up. “There’s a barbecue restaurant somewhere downstairs,” he explains slowly, hands clutching onto the rough fabric of his jeans, “and they have… soju.”
Sungyeol rolls his eyes and sighs loudly, leaning back into the couch. “I am not getting drunk on soju,” he whines.
“He’s definitely not getting drunk on soju,” Sunggyu comments lazily, watching Sungyeol down the shots as he swirls his glass iced coffee around, listening to the tinkling of ice against glass. “Definitely not.”
It’s about 3 when they finally decide to head back, heads held low in fatigue and faces entirely flushed. Sungyeol pushes the door open and stumbles over nothing as he toes his shoes off, hands flailing as he tries to regain his balance. “He can’t even drink,” Sunggyu muses, narrowing his eyes with a grin, “acts like he does.”
By the time they all get in (safely), Dongwoo seems like the only one sober enough to pat their heads and get them to go to sleep. Sunggyu pats Dongwoo on the shoulder before blacking out on the couch, snoring softly.
Dongwoo falls asleep half an hour later putting the rest to sleep and wakes up to Sungyeol hitting a fucking gong beside his ears. How on earth did that appear in their dorm? And what -
“What time is it? Well, it’s half past four, so let’s have some fun!” Sungyeol proclaims, standing on the couch with the gong on the table.
“Yeah, you…” Myungsoo replies, but yawns midway, “you go have fun yourself; some of us need to sleep.” He stands up drowsily and pulls Dongwoo up with some difficulty before they drag their feet to their room.
In the end, it’s only Sungyeol, Woohyun, Sunggyu and Sungjong left in the living room. Sungjong sniffs and blinks sleepily. “What are we doing?”
“Truth or dare!” Sungyeol replies brightly, spinning one of their old soju bottles under the couch on the floor as Sunggyu watches the spin wearily. Before he can open his mouth to protest what a lame idea, the bottle stops and points straight in Woohyun’s direction. “Truth or dare?” Sungyeol asks.
“Dare,” Woohyun answers easily, not blinking as Sungyeol thinks of possible ideas.
“Go kiss Howon.”
“He’s sleeping,” Woohyun tries, but once Sungyeol sets his mind on something the chance of getting him to change is near zero than one. From the corner of his eye Sungjong can see the tips of Woohyun’s ears flaring red and how Sunggyu had stayed quiet throughout the entire exchange. (Normally, he would have pushed the person being dared to do whatever they were tasked to, and laugh while it goes on.)
In the end, Woohyun gets the job done as Sungyeol takes multiple photos with his phone, clicking noises echoing in the room as he cackles silently.
Woohyun spins the bottle and fervently chants Sungyeol, like it’d help, and Sungjong shakes his head with a little smile and it falters when the bottle stops at Sungyeol. Sungyeol looks up, mortified as Woohyun begins to grin.
“This is easy,” Woohyun says when Sunggyu excuses himself to go to the toilet, “go find a way to take off Sunggyu’s underwear and you’ll have to kiss him while you’re at it.”
Sungyeol’s eyes flicker between Woohyun’s smug face and Sungjong’s shocked one and he opens his mouth to speak but closes it in resignation. Sungjong keeps his eyes on the floor even though he really wants to look up and scream you can’t, but yeah, he knows he is the one who can’t.
When Sunggyu returns, it’s strangely quiet. Woohyun pretends nothing is going on and Sungjong can almost feel the anxiety radiating from Sungyeol’s body. “You guys are scaring me,” Sunggyu quips, “talk.”
They don’t, but Sungyeol pounces onto Sunggyu so suddenly Sunggyu only manages to choke out profanities after Sungyeol has Sunggyu under him. Sungjong feels his guts churn as Sungyeol leans down to press his lips against Sunggyu’s and Sungjong can’t find it in him to stay and watch on any longer.
-
Some time later, Sungjong hears Woohyun bursting out in laughter as he lies in bed, heart pounding and head spinning. They must be done with the game. The door swings open slowly and Sungjong doesn’t want to bother. Closing his eyes, he pretends to be asleep but Sungyeol walks over and cards his fingers through Sungjong’s hair with a sigh.
“Don’t touch me,” Sungjong chokes out, palms sweaty from all the tension.
“I didn’t mean anything with that - just now -” Sungyeol starts, but Sungjong clicks his tongue.
“I really don’t want to know, hyung, you don’t need to explain anything to me. There’s no need to.”
-
In the morning, Sungjong wakes up to see Howon carrying a tray of food into their room. Sungjong looks up in question and Howon shrugs. “The atmosphere at the table was fucking weird. What happened last night? Ah anyway, I have your food here too so we can just eat in here and go out later.”
“Shit happened last night,” Sungjong says, and doesn’t elaborate.
“Flush it down,” Howon replies around a mouthful of rice.
“It’s clogged and it’s overflowing. I don’t think the flush would work anymore,” Sungjong says bitterly, jabbing his chopsticks into the bowl of rice.
“Wish I could help, but I’m no plumber.” Howon grins, and Sungjong grins back, thankful for the company.
When Sungjong opens their room door, Sungyeol is there, a fist raised in the air like he’s about to knock. He swiftly brings it down, and steps back. They’re too close.
“About last night -”
“I don’t want to hear it, hyung, I already told you. I have no interest, and I have no idea why you’re trying to explain it to me,” Sungjong huffs.
“You mean a lot to me,” Sungyeol replies.
“Yeah, and so do drinks, getting drunk, and winning bets. They’re all important, too. I thought we had something between us, Sungyeol, I thought we did. But that’s great, because you proved me wrong, so now I won’t hang on for wrong reasons.”
“Why won’t you even listen to me explain?!” Sungyeol then shouts. Sungjong turns to storm out of the house without another word. Sungyeol hurriedly slips on his shoes to follow, but is stopped as Myungsoo pulls his arm and shakes his head sadly. “Let him cool down before you go,” Myungsoo says, and Sungyeol stays rooted to the ground for two hours, hands shaking and eyes red.
When Sungyeol finally decides that it’s time to go look for the maknae, he ruffles his hair in annoyance because he’s scoured all through their neighborhood and Sungjong is nowhere to be seen. Where could he be?
The other members would definitely kick up a fuss when they see him go home without Sungjong, the fans might find him if he stays a minute longer in Hongdae, and that means Sungjong might never talk to him again, so Sungyeol pulls his cap lower and heads to the large park beside a rundown shopping mall they used to frequent before they debuted.
He gently brushes a passing ant away from a spot under a tree and plops down heavily beside the thick trunk, sighing as he stares out at the open field nearby. He has completely no idea what to do, and it doesn’t help that his stomach is churning and flipping and he has this very strong urge to throw up and cry and just maybe die out here because dying in a park is pretty poetic.
Instead, he closes his eyes and imagines a bright blue sky behind his eyelids. It feels relaxing, and if he focuses he feels like there are soft raindrops falling on his face, and it feels really good.
Except he opens his eyes and it begins raining for real and the kids are running away from the fields, screaming and shrieking and Sungyeol looks around before spotting a lone figure on the see-saw and he doesn’t need to take a second look to know it’s Sungjong.
Sungyeol quietly walks up to Sungjong and Sungjong looks up wordlessly. His eyes doesn’t show any bit of anger anymore but his lips are still pressed into an emotionless thin line and Sungyeol decides that his indifference is scarier than any other kind of emotion.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, but Sungjong continues to keep his eyes downcast.
“You’re an idiot,” Sungjong growls, rolling his eyes and kicking sand on the ground.
The raindrops are now huge and fat and they make Sungyeol jerk and blink when they land on his face and his hair is starting to stick to his face irritably but he squats to get a better view of Sungjong’s face before anything. “I am,” he says softly, and Sungjong frowns.
“You’re really an idiot,” Sungjong repeats, this time without much bite, and blinks before brushing the wet bangs out of his eyes. “Only an idiot would admit to being one. Only an idiot would so stupidly squat down here in the rain and listen to someone else call him an idiot. Only an idiot would be able to pull off fucking stupid pranks but get away scot-free. Only an idiot can make someone forgive him regardless, and only an idiot can make me do this, ha ha, fucking sitting in the rain crying over an idiot.”
“I really am,” Sungyeol repeats, and he sighs. “Only an idiot would come out looking for you two hours too late, only an idiot would run around the entire neighborhood looking for you, only an idiot would try to construct pranks to try to get you closer to him, only an idiot would come down and stay here under the rain to listen to you scold him, only an idiot would endure that scolding but still want to kiss you.”
Sungjong looks away silently, water dripping from the tips of his hair and Sungyeol doesn’t know if they’re rain or tears. Regardless, he wants them away from Sungjong’s face because it makes Sungjong look like he’s crying and Sungyeol doesn’t like that. Sungjong mustn’t cry.
“Stop escaping from me,” Sungyeol whispers, and leans in close. “I hate running.”
Sungyeol thinks Sungjong tastes like vanilla in the rain when their lips meet and all he knows is that Sungjong’s lips are impossibly cold and they keep trembling so Sungyeol tries to lean in even closer, press his lips a little closer; get Sungjong a little warmer.
When he pulls away, Sungjong’s cheeks are a pretty tint of red and Sungyeol can’t help but to grin at that.
“I really hate you,” Sungjong mutters, but his hands are small and warm against Sungyeol’s neck, chest flush against Sungyeol’s back as Sungyeol piggybacks him home.
“At least you’re not mad at me,” Sungyeol says with a huge grin as he dries Sungjong’s hair with a large towel. Sungjong grimaces.
The next time they win on a music broadcast, Sungyeol sneaks out to the convenience store beside their dorm (with the lady who lets them buy their alcohol just because she’s a fan) and comes back with bottles of cold soju. Sungjong looks up and Sungyeol meets his eyes with the bright call of a challenge.
There’s a grin across Sungyeol’s face when Woohyun starts popping the bottles open.
The game’s on.
a/n: so……. this was the thing that kept me busy the entire january and february. i’d like to extend my greeeeatest thanks to my team canon, with ma mates who were always there (timezones) and for holding my hand despite the many ~difficulties~ i’ve overcome (like the rejection of my initial plot… ;A;) and i feel like i owe you guys so much because i keep on neglecting my olymfics account because of school ;n; also a big thank you to tlist and pizza gang for the neverending support and encouragement, of course ♥ i owe everything to tlist lbr.
congrats to team au and cheers to team future as well! ♥ \o/