Fic: Of Cherry Popsicles and Cloudy Days
Youngjae likes to count things.
It brings him peace of mind to know how many steps he has to take to get to school, and how many times he has to run the brush through his hair to make it presentable. It makes him feel better to know he’s got six buttons on his uniform shirt, that it takes exactly four days to finish a carton of milk, and how many times Hyosung snaps her gum as she says
“So are you feeling any numbing in your extremities?”
But this is just during the week.
The weekends are a completely different set of numbers.
Except.
He’s never been able to put a number to Choi Junhong.
“Do you ever wonder how it feels to be a cloud, hyung?”
Youngjae pauses with a banana popsicle half way to his lips.
(Two hundred and thirty six to finish it down to the stick. He just hit thirty two.)
“What?”
Youngjae’s gaze moves from the clouds to Junhong’s arm, held out above them with the end of his own cherry popsicle nudging one of the fluffy shapes in question.
“Do you ever wonder how it feels to be a cloud? Drifting across the sky, making shapes..”
Junhong has always had a unique perspective on the world. This is why Youngjae knows it’s not just the altitude gone to his head - Five stories up, exactly two square tiles in, they lounge against the roof of the younger boy’s apartment complex and stare up at the early afternoon sky.
But he’s doing just fine.
Fifty eight, fifty nine..
“Not really,” He answers, bringing the sweet treat back to his mouth.
Sixty, sixty-one..
“Well..Do you think..Do you think the sky ever gets mad at the clouds?”
Youngjae glances at Junhong, but the boy’s gaze is steadfastly on the clouds above them.
“Why would the sky be mad?”
It’s a testament to the time they’ve known one another (Since Junhong was just a tubby little toddler across the hall in 36A that liked to smile at him and drool all over his toys) that Youngjae doesn’t ignore him completely.
Sixty seven, sixty eight..
Junhong sighs, and for a moment, Youngjae doesn’t think he’ll answer.
“Well..the sky is always telling the clouds what to do, where to go.. What if the clouds don’t want to? What if they want to be a different shape, what if they want to go somewhere else?”
Youngjae hums, letting his gaze drift with the breeze that buffets his hair and the laundry on the next building over.
“But the sky can’t get mad at the clouds.. They go where the wind takes them..”
Seventy four, seventy five..
When Youngjae turns to look at him again, Junhong’s eyes are glassy. They’re almost the same shade of clear blue as the expanse high above them.
“Then why does the sky cry at night, hyung? It yells and screams and throws bowling balls..and then it cries..and it’s so, so loud! Why does it do that, hyung?”
“Maybe..”
Eighty-six, eighty-seven..
“Maybe the sky just..doesn’t understand. Maybe the sky is just worried about the clouds, worried that they might get hurt..”
“Hyung..”
Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two..
Suddenly Youngjae finds himself counting Junhong’s eyelashes, resting gently against his scrunched cheeks. This close, there must be over thirty on each side, feather soft and light, just a bit wet.
He tastes like a cherry popsicle.
Youngjae’s eyes are still wide and his own popsicle is long forgotten as it melts beside him. He stares into Junhong’s eyes as the boy bites his red-tinted lips.
“Will you be my wind, hyung?” He murmurs.
Youngjae’s only response is to pull him in again and close his eyes tight.
The beating in his ears grows louder, and his lips curve into a smile to match Junhong’s.
One-two, three-four, five-six..
Youngjae finds counting this so much better.
The mingling of their heartbeats.