Shampoo (High School AU Song Drabble #6)
Title: Shampoo
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): JoonHo, minor mentions of JunSeung and JongKey
Summary: He guesses he was wrong.
A/N: MAJOR spoilers so if you don't want to be spoiled for WFLT, then don't read this one, folks. I said a long, long, long while back when Shampoo first came out, that the MV would be kind of like what happens for JoonHo's plotline, and this is more or less what the epilogue of WFLT or the last few chapters, at least, will be almost exactly like. Only obviously, we'll have a lot more explanation and dialogue and details in the actual chapters, but it'll flow like this and what Joon does is the same. This is just a very vague description of it with as little detail as I could spare because I don't want to give everything away. Also, I'm determined to write a happy drabble next time because I feel like I keep writing angsty ones ;A;
Shampoo
A part of you thinks you knew.
A part of you thinks that you knew this was going to happen-and even if you didn’t know, even if you had never suspected, it’s not like everyone else hasn’t already told you again and again (too many times to count, by this point).
You just thought that maybe he’d have learned to trust you more than that.
(Maybe you didn’t show him how much you loved him-maybe it wasn’t enough-maybe he was still scared)
I wait everyday
“You stayed just for me?” Joon asks, grinning broadly. He tosses his arms around Seungho’s waist, pulling the teacher away from the chalkboard until Joon’s legs hits the desk and he turns Seungho around in his arms.
Seungho smiles dryly. “Definitely-I stayed four hours after school just for you.”
Joon blinks-frowns.
“I was grading papers, asshole,” Seungho says and points past Joon’s shoulder to the mountainous stack of sheets.
Joon’s frown deepens. “Y’know, I think I liked you better when you were all like shy and shit-you were all, like, Changsun-ah, Changsun-ah, you have to turn the page, Changsun-ah,” he mimics in a high breathy voice.
The teacher bursts into laughter, leaning forward and burying his face into Joon’s shoulder for as long as he’s laughing. When he emerges, his expression is faintly incredulous. “When the fuck did I ever sound like that?”
The student shrugs. “Fuck me if I know.”
“Also,” Seungho says. “It’s not being shy-it’s called having a sense of self-preservation to not attach your face to the first thing you see and like.”
Joon frowns again because he personally thinks that’s terribly unfair. There’s no point in seeing something, liking it, and not being able to throw himself at it from across the hallway. “I preserve myself,” he says defensively.
Seungho stares, no longer faintly incredulous-just completely and utterly amused. “Sure,” he grins, “Okay.”
I love this moment
You fall.
You run and run and you try to jump over a hurdle, but your foot catches on it and you fall. You hit the ground, fall the wrong way-something as basic as twisting yourself around so that you can at least break your own fall-it slipped your mind and when you hit the ground, you grimace.
You shout.
You don’t even know what you’re shouting.
You just know that you’re yelling and shouting and bellowing and none of it makes any sense-you don’t even know what’s coming out of your mouth aside from meaningless sound and you’re glad that you’re closed up in the winter track room-you’re glad it’s late after school and most everyone else is gone.
You’re glad that there’s almost no chance at all for Mir or Cheondoong or Byunghee to walk in because the season’s completely over-the school year’s almost over.
You’re graduating soon and you can’t even find it in yourself to care.
When we touch
Seungho is quiet in Joon’s arms. Joon would’ve thought that the other man is deep asleep if the third year isn’t still feeling the teacher’s racing heartbeat against his own bare chest. Their bodies are cooling down-still slick with perspiration, still naked beneath the covers.
“You believe me, right?” Joon asks softly. “I mean it.”
Seungho doesn’t tip his head up to meet Joon’s eyes-the teacher still doesn’t move, still stares straight ahead at Joon’s collarbone. “People say all kinds of things when they have sex, Changsun-ah,” Seungho says in an even quieter voice.
“I mean it,” Joon repeats firmly. “I mean it, hyung. I won’t do what he did-you know-”
“I know,” Seungho cuts him off. “I know, Changsun-ah.”
We’re a fantasy
You don’t know how long you sit on the turf, upturned hurdles (hurdles that you knocked over when you tripped on them again and again and you don’t understand why you can’t seem to jump over even the shortest one) scattered all around you while sweat drips down your face and arms. You don’t know how long you sit there, you don’t know how many times your phone rings from messages and calls (probably wondering where you are this late) before Jonghyun shows up.
He doesn’t say anything-just walks up to you, kneels next to you, and wraps his arms around you tightly. You bury your face in his neck and his fingers grip your hair and there’s pain in his voice (but it’s nothing compared to the amount of pain in your chest-nothing compared to what you’re feeling as the pieces fall apart and scratch against your lungs-it’s hard to breathe).
“Stop it, hyung,” Jonghyun almost sounds terrified while he talks into your hair. “Seriously, stop-it’s fucking scary. Stop it, okay? You’re scaring me-you’re scaring everyone.”
Your hands come up and grip the back of his shirt-you hadn’t realized he’d waited after school for you this late-you thought he’d already gone home.
“Sorry,” you say because you don’t know what else to do.
When your wind blows
Joon is glad that even though Seungho usually sleeps and does his grading and assigning at Junhyung’s house because it’s closer to school-he’s glad that Seungho has his own apartment that the teacher spends the weekends in. He’s glad, but at the same time, it makes him sad-makes him more eager for graduation because then he won’t have to sneak around after school or after practice or drive off by himself during the weekends.
He’s glad that, for now, he has somewhere where he can make Seungho laugh and smile (even at Joon’s own expense, even though he doesn’t even understand why because 75% of the time he tries to make Seungho laugh, it doesn’t even work-and 75% of the time he’s trying to be serious, Seungho laughs) without anyone hurting them.
He can’t wait until he can make Seungho laugh and smile where everyone can see.
I get swept away by it
It’s done.
Black caps in the air, crisp diplomas given out, hands shaken, speeches spoken-it’s all done and finished and you have a dinner tonight with your family (your sister came back from university to watch you graduate), then a graduation party for you and Doojoon and Yoseob and Junhyung and Hyunseung (planned by Jonghyun), and then an after-party at the club right next door (planned by Kim Kibum who insisted that Jonghyun has neither the mental capacity nor the creativity quota to plan two parties in succession).
It’s done, and you have a couple of hours before you have to be back home for the dinner, so you waved your parents and your sister off since you didn’t take the driver this time around. You’d driven Doojoon and Yoseob and Junhyung and Hyunseung to the ceremony (and all of you almost died during the process, with no thanks to Doojoon, little thanks to Yoseob, negative thanks to Junhyung, and Hyunseung as the one who seemed to want to die on their graduation day the most).
And since they all went off on different rides after the end of the ceremony, you have the car to yourself.
You drive yourself back to school.
Tears wash me
The third years graduate before the school year ends for the rest of the students, but it’s a Saturday so even though the school is open for maintenance, there aren’t any students inside of it doing activities.
Most of the shades are down, so it’s dark inside despite the bright late afternoon, and you slip through the doors just as a custodian makes his way outside-he holds the door open for you and you bow your head in thanks.
My heart is drilled
You walk through the halls, hands in the pockets of your dress pants, the flaps of your suit jacket lightly tapping against your wrists with the movement of your legs.
It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.
Instead of stinging like a freshly open wound, it’s a dull ache-and it’s only been months, not even half a year-not even a quarter of a year. But you can already feel it healing and you think that maybe he was right. Things change fast when you’re young-the younger you are, the quicker things heal-physically, mentally, and emotionally.
You’re healing-you know that-but you don’t think the scar will ever disappear.
I’ll be your scent
You wonder where he went-wonder where he is-wonder what he’s doing.
You wonder if he’ll ever come back (but you don’t want to ask Junhyung-you won’t ask him because he’s finally happy with Hyunseung and you don’t want to bring anything that might make Junhyung even the least bit sad-not when he’s already done so much for you and Seungho-not when it’s Junhyung’s turn to be happy).
You wonder if he loves you-if he loved you even nearly as much as you still love him (will probably always love him).
Obvious love, goodbye