Running from Rain [Part II]
Title: Running from Rain
Pairing: BangHim (Yongguk/Himchan)
Rating: PG (for this chapter)
Genre: Angst, Romance
Length: 1,731 words
Type: Multi-chaptered
Summary: Yongguk is in B.A.P, Himchan isn't. Yet somehow, they make it work. Or try, at least.
Warning: Swearing
Fast forward a few more weeks and Himchan starts making Yongguk a regular part of his Friday night routine. The next Friday after the barbeque restaurant dinner, Himchan treats Yongguk out for rice cakes and soju because finally, the company is giving him the night off and Yongguk wants to get trashed. Himchan, on the other hand, lies and says he doesn’t have money after Yongguk’s fourth bottle.
“Cheap bastard.” Yongguk slurs and stumbles after the next step and Himchan’s head hurts. He thinks Yongguk is too old for piggy-back rides but when Himchan hails a taxi he opts for his left leg because his arms are too busy keeping Yongguk from face planting against the pavement. He doesn’t really want to care but a trainee soon to debut coming down to practice with a busted lip and a broken nose with scratches probably isn’t the best thing and could cost Yongguk his career. Himchan decides he would rather bear his weight than see Yongguk’s dreams come crashing down.
And then he suddenly isn’t too sure if he really doesn’t care.
He sleeps on the floor that night, knocked awake when Yongguk accidentally trips over his hip on the way to the bathroom. Yongguk snaps, asks him why his stupid hip was in the way and Himchan asks him why he hasn’t sobered up yet. He almost leaves, primarily because Yongguk was being an annoying dick but Yongguk runs to the bathroom and vomits all the rice cakes from earlier and Himchan’s hand is down his back. He thinks he’s too busy to be taking care of a drunken person but Himchan doesn’t think any further when Yongguk asks for water and aspirin.
Yongguk apologizes about his hip. Himchan tells him it’s fine.
It’s three in the morning when they go back to sleep and Himchan wakes up five hours, eleven minutes, and some twelve seconds later in Yongguk’s bed, wrapped up in blankets and pillows and Yongguk.
And then it’s Yongguk who’s on the floor and Himchan is stomping off to the bathroom. Yongguk is barely awake, rubbing his eyes almost absentmindedly and Himchan slams the door shut, blames his hard-on on mornings and not the warmth of his body against Yongguk’s or his breath upon his neck.
Himchan leaves after breakfast, but not before they decide where to go to for next Friday. It’s a silent promise, an open secret, a consensus; to never bring up the previous night again.
They spend the next Friday in the mall. Himchan needs new drum sticks because he broke his set during practice and Yongguk tells him he must be really good at fighs with classmates on school rooftops with a fist like his and Himchan smacks his shoulder. Yongguk bites back the pain and somehow the better part of him wants to hit him, but he finds his arms wound around Himchan’s neck and he settles for ruffling his hair.
“Idiot.” Himchan mutters and Yongguk doesn’t let go until Himchan has to ask a saleslady where the musical equipment are. Yongguk tells him he swears his world stopped at the sight of the really pretty lady and Himchan rolls his eyes because how could he bear someone with weird blue almost green hair. Himchan could pay where it’s closer - to them and to miss blue-green hair - but he doesn’t mind walking a few more aisles away. He’d really like to know why her hair’s colored that way, though.
Other Fridays, however, are a bit more quiet and a bit more simple.
Yongguk tells Himchan about his dreams at the top of the mountain next to Yongguk’s dorm - dreams about music, about performing, about inspiring people. Himchan downs his first can of beer and laughs. That night he doesn’t speak. Instead, he lets Yongguk talk and he waits for all the words to unfold until he’s wrapped in them, each word ghosting upon his skin so he wouldn’t forget. It’s the last in a while, as Himchan would like to put it.
Yongguk shows him his schedule. Himchan holds the paper up where the light from the lamppost to his left touches it and the number of words squeezed in a small gap in the time table amounting to an hour overwhelms him. The first thing Himchan looks for is sleep.
“You have a ten-hour dance practice?” He asks after checking for the fourth time.
“I apparently suck at it.” Yongguk stretches his legs out, still sore from practicing a choreography involving sliding towards the floor sideways then crawling to the next position. Their choreographer calls it sliding; Yongguk calls it slowly planning to have your leg amputated. “They say my body’s too stiff so I need to be loosened up a bit. I didn’t sign up for this crap. I wanted to do music, not murder my body.” Yongguk pops open the second can and Himchan slaps his thigh as a reminder.
“I’m not carrying you back home, asshole.”
“You didn’t carry me, you dragged me. I still remember the faint pain from stubbing my toe, you dick.”
“You tripped, stupid. On me, I might add.”
“I dragged you to bed with me after, didn’t I? So stop complaining.”
Himchan drops it because for the first time in weeks, even after their first meeting, they’re awkward. And if anything, Himchan hates awkward.
The night pans into something deeper, heavier, and when Yongguk says goodbye he settles for a pat on the shoulder. He’s limping as he walks and Himchan asks him for the fifth time if he needs help, but he waves him off.
“I’ll call you,” Yongguk shouts just as he’s about to disappear from the horizon. Himchan knows Yongguk doesn’t need an answer.
---
The Monday after, Jaehyo shoves him against the lockers a little harder than he had hoped and before Himchan could even start finding the right reactions Jaehyo is apologizing too much it becomes a little weird. Then again, Jaehyo doesn’t regret it. He was upset, after all.
“I haven’t seen you in months!”
Himchan rubs his elbow and recalls the satisfaction of the fantasy of giving Jaehyo a good punch or two.
But he keeps his hands to himself, not because he cares but because Yongguk tells him violence is never the answer to anything. Says the freak who is supposedly addicted to war movies.
Yongguk’s voice rings through his mind it’s almost deafening. It’s a fucking concept.
“You saw the annual pyro show downtown with him. That was ours, Kim Himchan. Our tradition.” Jaehyo nags him for the fifth time that day and Himchan is close to thinking he was being extremely immature, bordering on terribly annoying.
“You were busy.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Well you didn’t tell me.”
“You wouldn’t answer your phone.”
Himchan’s running out of arguments. He could easily go for well you’re an asshole for ditching me that one Friday night but that was almost two months ago and Himchan doesn’t want to look like a five year-old holding grudges. He could also choose to say he didn’t notice the calls, but that would be a lie because the seventh time Jaehyo calls he pulls his battery out. And if there’s one thing Himchan is terrible at, it’s lying.
Himchan, however, never thought to say something along the lines of I wanted to spend it with Yongguk what’s your problem because Himchan settles for the safety of denial. He tells himself it’s because Jaehyo can be overprotective and he doesn’t want to upset his friend. Then he remembers how he’s been itching to punch him and he’s a mess of right or wrong and he decides on the only remaining option in any given situation - walking away.
Jaehyo calls out to him but he doesn’t look back and it’s the last time Himchan sees him that day. Or in three days.
---
Himchan hates Thursdays.
Mainly because of gym class.
He asks his academic adviser why they need to run one kilometer then do hurdles and high jumps for two hours every week but his adviser brings him back to the mission of his school which includes creating an environment for proper holistic development and Himchan tells him he’s fine not developing a few other aspects.
However, today is by far the worst Thursday yet because instead of the usual routine, they go through a military drill and Himchan scrapes his chin ducking from supposed gunshots. The dust tastes awful and Himchan almost gags but his drill officer is screaming in his ear and he summons all his willpower not to shove the fake rifle he has in hand down his throat.
This time around, it’s Himchan who’s limping when he makes his way out of the school gates and he’s greeted by a familiar smile.
“Well, aren’t you a gorgeous sight?” Yongguk was never good at sarcasm.
“You’re not too bad yourself.” Himchan was worse.
“Come on, let’s go somewhere.” Something in Yongguk’s hand crunches and when he disposes of it in a trash bin a few inches away Himchan knows it’s from the carp bread stand just outside his school. He wonders how long Yongguk has been waiting.
“It’s a Thursday.” Himchan doesn’t take one step when Yongguk beckons, but he doesn’t step back when Yongguk pulls him.
“So? I want to stop being a Friday person with you.”
Himchan can think of a million and more reasons why his whole body felt like it went ablaze on the first contact of Yongguk’s hand on his wrist - the obvious heat, the drill they went through earlier, the warmth in Yongguk’s hand from holding onto the carp bread, or the aftermath of rigorous drum practice. He, however, doesn’t acknowledge the warmth morphing into something almost close to affection, and he blames the butterflies in his stomach on hunger.
“And now we’re Thursday people?” Himchan hopes not because he hates Thursdays.
Yongguk chuckles.
Himchan is still too rigid, too stunned, and too sore to walk properly so Yongguk softens the grip on his hand until he lets go and Himchan silently aches at the loss. But he feels a hand over his shoulders and he’s relieved.
“Can’t I see you more than once, whenever I want to, in a week? Let’s be the any day, everyday kind.”
Himchan doesn’t say anything and just nods.
Suddenly Thursdays don’t seem so bad anymore.
Pairing: BangHim (Yongguk/Himchan)
Rating: PG (for this chapter)
Genre: Angst, Romance
Length: 1,731 words
Type: Multi-chaptered
Summary: Yongguk is in B.A.P, Himchan isn't. Yet somehow, they make it work. Or try, at least.
Warning: Swearing
Fast forward a few more weeks and Himchan starts making Yongguk a regular part of his Friday night routine. The next Friday after the barbeque restaurant dinner, Himchan treats Yongguk out for rice cakes and soju because finally, the company is giving him the night off and Yongguk wants to get trashed. Himchan, on the other hand, lies and says he doesn’t have money after Yongguk’s fourth bottle.
“Cheap bastard.” Yongguk slurs and stumbles after the next step and Himchan’s head hurts. He thinks Yongguk is too old for piggy-back rides but when Himchan hails a taxi he opts for his left leg because his arms are too busy keeping Yongguk from face planting against the pavement. He doesn’t really want to care but a trainee soon to debut coming down to practice with a busted lip and a broken nose with scratches probably isn’t the best thing and could cost Yongguk his career. Himchan decides he would rather bear his weight than see Yongguk’s dreams come crashing down.
And then he suddenly isn’t too sure if he really doesn’t care.
He sleeps on the floor that night, knocked awake when Yongguk accidentally trips over his hip on the way to the bathroom. Yongguk snaps, asks him why his stupid hip was in the way and Himchan asks him why he hasn’t sobered up yet. He almost leaves, primarily because Yongguk was being an annoying dick but Yongguk runs to the bathroom and vomits all the rice cakes from earlier and Himchan’s hand is down his back. He thinks he’s too busy to be taking care of a drunken person but Himchan doesn’t think any further when Yongguk asks for water and aspirin.
Yongguk apologizes about his hip. Himchan tells him it’s fine.
It’s three in the morning when they go back to sleep and Himchan wakes up five hours, eleven minutes, and some twelve seconds later in Yongguk’s bed, wrapped up in blankets and pillows and Yongguk.
And then it’s Yongguk who’s on the floor and Himchan is stomping off to the bathroom. Yongguk is barely awake, rubbing his eyes almost absentmindedly and Himchan slams the door shut, blames his hard-on on mornings and not the warmth of his body against Yongguk’s or his breath upon his neck.
Himchan leaves after breakfast, but not before they decide where to go to for next Friday. It’s a silent promise, an open secret, a consensus; to never bring up the previous night again.
They spend the next Friday in the mall. Himchan needs new drum sticks because he broke his set during practice and Yongguk tells him he must be really good at fighs with classmates on school rooftops with a fist like his and Himchan smacks his shoulder. Yongguk bites back the pain and somehow the better part of him wants to hit him, but he finds his arms wound around Himchan’s neck and he settles for ruffling his hair.
“Idiot.” Himchan mutters and Yongguk doesn’t let go until Himchan has to ask a saleslady where the musical equipment are. Yongguk tells him he swears his world stopped at the sight of the really pretty lady and Himchan rolls his eyes because how could he bear someone with weird blue almost green hair. Himchan could pay where it’s closer - to them and to miss blue-green hair - but he doesn’t mind walking a few more aisles away. He’d really like to know why her hair’s colored that way, though.
Other Fridays, however, are a bit more quiet and a bit more simple.
Yongguk tells Himchan about his dreams at the top of the mountain next to Yongguk’s dorm - dreams about music, about performing, about inspiring people. Himchan downs his first can of beer and laughs. That night he doesn’t speak. Instead, he lets Yongguk talk and he waits for all the words to unfold until he’s wrapped in them, each word ghosting upon his skin so he wouldn’t forget. It’s the last in a while, as Himchan would like to put it.
Yongguk shows him his schedule. Himchan holds the paper up where the light from the lamppost to his left touches it and the number of words squeezed in a small gap in the time table amounting to an hour overwhelms him. The first thing Himchan looks for is sleep.
“You have a ten-hour dance practice?” He asks after checking for the fourth time.
“I apparently suck at it.” Yongguk stretches his legs out, still sore from practicing a choreography involving sliding towards the floor sideways then crawling to the next position. Their choreographer calls it sliding; Yongguk calls it slowly planning to have your leg amputated. “They say my body’s too stiff so I need to be loosened up a bit. I didn’t sign up for this crap. I wanted to do music, not murder my body.” Yongguk pops open the second can and Himchan slaps his thigh as a reminder.
“I’m not carrying you back home, asshole.”
“You didn’t carry me, you dragged me. I still remember the faint pain from stubbing my toe, you dick.”
“You tripped, stupid. On me, I might add.”
“I dragged you to bed with me after, didn’t I? So stop complaining.”
Himchan drops it because for the first time in weeks, even after their first meeting, they’re awkward. And if anything, Himchan hates awkward.
The night pans into something deeper, heavier, and when Yongguk says goodbye he settles for a pat on the shoulder. He’s limping as he walks and Himchan asks him for the fifth time if he needs help, but he waves him off.
“I’ll call you,” Yongguk shouts just as he’s about to disappear from the horizon. Himchan knows Yongguk doesn’t need an answer.
---
The Monday after, Jaehyo shoves him against the lockers a little harder than he had hoped and before Himchan could even start finding the right reactions Jaehyo is apologizing too much it becomes a little weird. Then again, Jaehyo doesn’t regret it. He was upset, after all.
“I haven’t seen you in months!”
Himchan rubs his elbow and recalls the satisfaction of the fantasy of giving Jaehyo a good punch or two.
But he keeps his hands to himself, not because he cares but because Yongguk tells him violence is never the answer to anything. Says the freak who is supposedly addicted to war movies.
Yongguk’s voice rings through his mind it’s almost deafening. It’s a fucking concept.
“You saw the annual pyro show downtown with him. That was ours, Kim Himchan. Our tradition.” Jaehyo nags him for the fifth time that day and Himchan is close to thinking he was being extremely immature, bordering on terribly annoying.
“You were busy.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Well you didn’t tell me.”
“You wouldn’t answer your phone.”
Himchan’s running out of arguments. He could easily go for well you’re an asshole for ditching me that one Friday night but that was almost two months ago and Himchan doesn’t want to look like a five year-old holding grudges. He could also choose to say he didn’t notice the calls, but that would be a lie because the seventh time Jaehyo calls he pulls his battery out. And if there’s one thing Himchan is terrible at, it’s lying.
Himchan, however, never thought to say something along the lines of I wanted to spend it with Yongguk what’s your problem because Himchan settles for the safety of denial. He tells himself it’s because Jaehyo can be overprotective and he doesn’t want to upset his friend. Then he remembers how he’s been itching to punch him and he’s a mess of right or wrong and he decides on the only remaining option in any given situation - walking away.
Jaehyo calls out to him but he doesn’t look back and it’s the last time Himchan sees him that day. Or in three days.
---
Himchan hates Thursdays.
Mainly because of gym class.
He asks his academic adviser why they need to run one kilometer then do hurdles and high jumps for two hours every week but his adviser brings him back to the mission of his school which includes creating an environment for proper holistic development and Himchan tells him he’s fine not developing a few other aspects.
However, today is by far the worst Thursday yet because instead of the usual routine, they go through a military drill and Himchan scrapes his chin ducking from supposed gunshots. The dust tastes awful and Himchan almost gags but his drill officer is screaming in his ear and he summons all his willpower not to shove the fake rifle he has in hand down his throat.
This time around, it’s Himchan who’s limping when he makes his way out of the school gates and he’s greeted by a familiar smile.
“Well, aren’t you a gorgeous sight?” Yongguk was never good at sarcasm.
“You’re not too bad yourself.” Himchan was worse.
“Come on, let’s go somewhere.” Something in Yongguk’s hand crunches and when he disposes of it in a trash bin a few inches away Himchan knows it’s from the carp bread stand just outside his school. He wonders how long Yongguk has been waiting.
“It’s a Thursday.” Himchan doesn’t take one step when Yongguk beckons, but he doesn’t step back when Yongguk pulls him.
“So? I want to stop being a Friday person with you.”
Himchan can think of a million and more reasons why his whole body felt like it went ablaze on the first contact of Yongguk’s hand on his wrist - the obvious heat, the drill they went through earlier, the warmth in Yongguk’s hand from holding onto the carp bread, or the aftermath of rigorous drum practice. He, however, doesn’t acknowledge the warmth morphing into something almost close to affection, and he blames the butterflies in his stomach on hunger.
“And now we’re Thursday people?” Himchan hopes not because he hates Thursdays.
Yongguk chuckles.
Himchan is still too rigid, too stunned, and too sore to walk properly so Yongguk softens the grip on his hand until he lets go and Himchan silently aches at the loss. But he feels a hand over his shoulders and he’s relieved.
“Can’t I see you more than once, whenever I want to, in a week? Let’s be the any day, everyday kind.”
Himchan doesn’t say anything and just nods.
Suddenly Thursdays don’t seem so bad anymore.