not afraid to fall [chapter 17]
Title: not afraid to fall [chapter 17]
Author: ivoryroyale
Genre: supernatural, hurt/comfort, friendship, (sort of) romance, drama
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, brief hints of sexual abuse
Summary: in which a group of six aren't afraid to stand tall because they have each other.
Note: 4,427 words.
-----
[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [ chapter 7] [chapter 8] [ chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [ chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [ chapter 15] [ chapter 16] [ chapter 17] [ chapter 18] [ chapter 19] [ chapter 20]
not afraid to fall
chapter seventeen
There're a number of things that Daehyun's not capable of-things that he's long forgotten (like science and advanced arithmetic and the names of the different constellations in the sky) and things that nobody ever got to teach him (like how to throw a punch and how to drive and what it's like to fall in love). There're things that Daehyun never-never been allowed to do. Things that he'd be beaten black and blue for, and things that he avoid doing like the plague.
Confrontation is one of those things.
He doesn't talk about his own problems, and he was taught at a very young age not to confront anybody about anything-not even huge catastrophes-whenever it concerned him. It's against his nature to say what he wants when he wants to, and now that he has to-to save a friendship that he hasn't even had for a few weeks-Daehyun knows he's going to find some way to mess this up unintentionally.
So-in order to prevent potential disaster-Daehyun tries to take as long as possible in the bathroom, stringing together words to say for when he's done showering and has to talk to Jongup about the almost-kiss and why he did it, even if he doesn't really know why. (Why did he do it? Because he promised himself that he wouldn't go in too deep this time; he promised himself this would be different-different from his biological family.
This time, it was supposed to be beneficial for him-supposed to be easy-simple. He's not supposed to like Jongup; he's not supposed to be going around trying to kiss people. Hell, Daehyun isn't even supposed to be thinking about things like this-about being with someone. About loving someone in every way possible and having them love him back-every little part of him: his assets, his weaknesses, and all the things that make him who he is-flawed and lacking in so many ways.
Jongup's perfect. He's perfect, and Daehyun's too imperfect. It's impossible for someone like him to be with someone-especially someone like Jongup-sweet and adorable and absentminded and possibly the best thing that could ever be in Daehyun's life.
It's not some choice that Daehyun can selfishly make-he knows about every single fucking conseqeuce, so why did he ever try to kiss him?)
With a befuddled sigh, Daehyun finally starts up the shower water after spending minutes on end trying to figure out how the damn thing even worked (because at the base, they always just gave him a bucket of water and a washcloth that was so much easier and straightforward than adjusting shower knobs and trying to find a correct temperature with the combination of the different soaps and shampoos and scented body washes.)
Stripping down, Daehyun steps into the water, hissing slightly at the heat and curling his toes into the cold acrylic. After a moment of adjusting to the temperature, he closes his eyes, tilting his head back ever so slightly with a drawn out sigh.
This is much better than "bath time" at the base-way better, he decides, than cold water, too small in abundance to be much of any use. And he thinks, with another sigh, I can get used to this as he rakes his fingers through his hair slowly, blanching when he sees his hands dyed green.
Tugging at the ends of his blonde, tinted green-blue, hair, Daehyun just knows he's going to be spending hours on end in the shower trying to scrub this stuff out of his hair and skin, and he can't help but think maybe he's lucky, because if he's going to be completely honest, he doesn't want to talk to Jongup. He's afraid, more than anything, that he's going to be ignored, and Daehyun thinks he won't be able to handle that, not from someone like Jongup who's been nothing but kind to him.
Daehyun's not brave. He's spent his whole life cowering to the men around him, his whole life obeying, following others without a mind of his own. He's not like Youngjae, who's so sure that Jongup doesn't hate him, even if he wishes he was. He wants to be like that, but he doesn't feel good about this. He's not sure-he's never sure-because Daehyun's just a stranger. Jongup can live without him, because he's done it for years, and Daehyun-Daehyun quite frankly thinks that he, himself, can't, because he can't be alone-not again.
A minute passes, along with another, the shower water still running and streaming along his back, and with another sigh, Daehyun snaps himself out of his thoughts to scrub at his skin with soap, not stopping until the green-red-blue tinge to his skin starts to fade away and his skin starts to hurt.
"Do you think," Youngjae sighs, scooting himself further onto Junhong's bed, head leaned back to hit against the bed's long headboard with a dull thud, curling in on himself much like a vunerable animal would, "do you think they're going to end up together? I mean, they both obviously like each other a lot, but are they going to be together? Because Jongup for sure doesn't have any sort of dating experience, so Daehyun sure as hell doesn't, and with the situation right now, would it be the right time to?" He rambles more about Daehyun and Jongup, evaluating their relationship like the awful person he feels like, biting his lip and slowly inching a bit closer to Junhong every few words.
They made a sort of deal out of this: (Well, Youngjae made a sort of deal out of this; he didn't exactly consult this with the younger boy. He didn't think it was necessary though, and the sort-of-deal was beneficial enough for the both of them, so Youngjae didn't really need to discuss anything.) Youngjae complained about his problems, and in doing so, he would simultaneously try his hardest to fix, or at least lessen (or greaten, depending on how you're looking at it) Junhong's condition.
The genius noticed the spark in Junhong's eyes the moment they made the slightest of contact with each other. Noticed the familiar, though duller than before, sparkle in the boy's eyes, like a match striking up a flame. He noticed the uncharacteristic intake of breath Junhong took when Youngjae brushed against his arm, and he saw the almost anger in the sudden purse of his lips. Junhong felt something, he felt something when he and Youngjae touched-felt Youngjae's emotions, sucking them up like a leech and apparently taking them for himself, because Youngjae was fairly certain Junhong felt everything he had if the sudden interrogation about how Youngjae felt, how he truthfully felt, meant anything at all.
Junhong feels things-feels emotion, whenever he touches another person, and although it meant Youngjae wouldn't be able to feel a thing at all, would be like Junhong-a machine-and Junhong would be like him-would know every little nitpick of Youngjae's emotions-he's certain, almost knows, it's the most efficient way to help Junhong.
(And Youngjae probably shouldn't admit it, probably should never feel this way, because the slight aspect of it is already too horrible to be voluntarily thought of by anybody, but Youngjae doesn't want to feel anything. He wants to be like Junhong: empty and unfeeling and uncaring. He wants to be cold, wants to not care at all. He doesn't want to feel the pain, thudding dully, sinking to the bottom of his gut slowly-too slow. Not anymore. He wants to be able to ignore it when he finally sees Daehyun and Jongup, so fucking happy with each other, acting like a couple, like nauseating soul mates. Like what Youngjae wishes for him and Daehyun.
Youngjae is tired, and he wishes, so fucking desperately, that he couldn't feel anything-couldn't feel anything at all.)
"Maybe," Junhong admits, quietly, and Youngjae inches his hands a little closer to Junhong's curled deep into his blankets, and resists the urge to shudder when they brush just slightly. The feeling's strange, like Youngjae is being enshrouded by a blanket made out of a thousand numb, little needles, poking at him harmlessly, almost as if they weren't even there, even if Youngjae knows they're there, it's like they're not, and it's unnerving. It's like they're poking at every part of his body-his head, his heart, his feelings, and his mobility-it's like it's taking everything away, but it feels so strange, because he doesn't feel anything at all, and it's almost good-it's almost a good thing. His jealousy is gone again, and his worry, and he can almost feel his thoughts slipping away when-
Junhong pulls away.
"Sorry," Junhong says, quickly-almost too quickly-scooting away slowly, mindful of his injuries that he can't even feel and looking away. Youngjae wonders what he felt-what he saw-that was so bad it made him want to move away. "you should probably keep your distance," He says, still in the monotone voice of his, uncommanding, but it makes Youngjae want to listen still. And Youngjae hates it, hates it all over again, because he can't hate anything else, can't hate Daehyun or even Jongup, because everything else isn't his fault-but Junhong's condition is. It's his fault. If he would've thought it through the moment he saw Junhong was gone, if he would've figured it out sooner, if he would've noticed those soldiers were mere illusions the moment they started fighting them, just a whole bunch of if he'd done this, if he'd done that, if he would've, if he could've, if, if, ifs then maybe they would've made it to Junhong on time, maybe he would have saved him.
But he didn't. He was too late. And maybe he won't be able to fix him now.
Youngjae inches his way closer again, out of pure stubbornness, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at Junhong. "What if I don't want to keep my distance?" It's meant to be playful, meant to sound teasing, but it just comes out angry, almost furious. Frustrating. Junhong blinks.
"Then you'll be like me," Junhong says simply, and Youngjae thinks for a brief second, maybe that's not such a bad thing anymore. Maybe that's what I need. "Then you won't be able to feel anything," His hands, cold now that Youngjae really thinks about it-ice cold-wind into the blanket, fingers tight-tighter than necessary-tighter than he probably realizes. "I doubt you want that."
But what if I do, Youngjae thinks, swallowing hard. "Look, I want to help you," He says instead, and it isn't a lie-he really, really wants to help, but he doesn't understand why it feels so wrong saying it, "and the best way to do that is to be as close as possible to you." With a pointed gaze, Youngjae moves closer again, staring straight at Junhong's brown eyes, duller than a tinted window, darker than Youngjae is really used to-colder. Youngjae forces a smile anyway. "So would you stop being a wuss about it already?"
Junhong blinks again, eyebrows furrowing in what Youngjae guesses is supposed to be Junhong's way of expressing some sort of confusion or maybe frustration or maybe even a mixture of both in a question. Youngjae can't tell what Junhong's thinking anymore. "I'm not a wuss."
And Youngjae laughs, and he's shocked to realize he's not even faking it. Junhong still sounds like a robot, but the words, the reaction; it's all Junhong-what he would say if he was okay. And he still laughs, even if he knows Junhong's probably faking it all. "Yes, you are,"
To get some sort of reaction out of Junhong, Youngjae playfully bumps into his shoulder, skin against skin, and like a burst of lightning, quick and ground stopping, Junhong laughs suddenly-something abrupt and almost surprising, bubbling into the air in a mere second before disappearing again.
Youngjae's mouth drops, and he looks at Junhong again. "You just laughed,"
Junhong seems to swallow then, eyes blinking rapidly again, and Youngjae might just be imagining it, but he looks shocked, and he's not even touching Youngjae anymore. "Yes. Because you were laughing, and you touched me. I felt what you felt, so... so I laughed, too."
He's trying to be reasonable, trying to keep Youngjae from hoping-hoping something good has finally happened in this shitty week, but Youngjae's having none of it, not when he's been waiting for a breakthrough. So he purses his lips, huffs, and announces, "Still," making no apparent move to argue with Junhong, "you laughed."
"I... yes. I did."
"So this is a good thing."
"I," Junhong starts, breath wisping passed his lips suddenly, lips too tight to let any sort of air out, so his cheeks puff up like a balloon before deflating again. Youngjae thinks he doesn't even notice. "I don't know-maybe." He says decidedly, blinking again.
And Youngjae smiles. "This'll be good for the both of us," His shoulder bumps into Junhong's again. "You'll see. I know what I"m doing."
Even though he doesn't. He really doesn't.
And Junhong probably feels it when they bump shoulders-feels all of his doubt and lies and selfishness and how he has no idea what he's actually doing and what he's getting himself into and how his ability is making every single decision for him now-behind all the walls he's built up.
"Trust me."
After an hour and a half of scrubbing color out of his hair and skin, Daehyun turns the shower water off, stepping out and onto the shower matt while grabbing the off-white towel placed neatly on the shower rack. Stretching his arms, he wipes at his face with a whine. His eyes are irritated by what he thinks are the "shampoos" getting into his eyes a number of times, and he glowers weakly at the labeled bottles lined up on the side of the shower before turning toward the fogged up mirror-his fogged up mirror, he can't help but point out-leaning forward to swipe a clean stripe over the surface, big enough so he could see his face, now clean, and his hair, no longer a nasty green-blue.
He flashes a quick smile at his reflection before setting his mouth again in a confusing mixture of happiness and anxiousness. He's happy because he can smile-he just saw it himself-but he's anxious because he's thinking about Jongup and how he's going to have to talk to him after he gets dressed and what is he going to say and will he even want to see him and do I look good enough?
Maybe I should take another shower, Daehyun thinks, scowling at his reflection and scrubbing at his wet hair with his towel, tilting his head here and there, examining the face in the mirror. (His face, he has to remind himself. It's been awhile since he's gotten to look in a mirror and he looks a lot different than how he did when he was twelve-taller with a narrower face and sharper features.)
He looks decent enough, he supposes. A big improvement to what he looked like before, no doubt, all covered in fluorescent paint, and with a sigh, Daehyun turns his attention away from his mirror in search of his clothes, repreating in his head the big speech he plans to give Jongup about how sorry he is-how really sorry he is-and how he didn't mean to do what he he did and about how he understands if he hates him forever and-and-
Where the hell are my clothes? Daehyun thinks, eyebrows furrowing, opening the bathroom door to nothing but a bed and a room covered in paint.
And then he remembers they're all downstairs-everything he now owns-downstairs with Himchan and Yongguk. And he forgot to get them.
"Oh," Daehyun says, pursing his lips, "dammit."
Jongup realizes, back pressed against his door, after he's bitten back tears, gut twisting, throat clenching, and another coat of tears burning at the back of his eyes, that he's jealous.
He isn't entirely sure what jealousy should feel like, and he sure as hell hasn't felt it before, because he didn't even know what having a crush felt like even though he knew what it was by definition and by previous knowledge from the kids at school, but he's pretty sure jealousy and crushes are supposed to come hand in hand, and the sinking feeling in his stomach can't be anything but that.
He's never been jealous before-never even had a crush before-and he's come to the conclusion that he hates it. Hates it more than he ever thought he'd hate anything, hates it more than he should, hates it almost as much as he does the people who took his brother.
It's a horrible feeling, a horrible... horrible thing-horrible emotion-because it's a feeling of envy, of distaste, of hate, and Jongup doesn't want to hate two of his best friends. He doesn't want to feel like this every second of the day, everytime he sees Daehyun or Youngjae, and Jongup, as sure as he is about the stars in the sky, would destroy this feeling. Would rip his jealousy into a thousand pieces and bury it into the ground without a second thought if it meant no one else would have to feel it.
If he'd had the choice, he wouldn't have this stupid crush. If he'd had the choice, he would've picked someone else, would've let Youngjae and Daehyun be happy together without wanting to interfere.
(And Jongup thinks-thinks that that might be the worst part of it all, because he doesn't have a choice, and he's left feeling stupid, stupid, stupid.)
"God," Jongup mutters, rubbing at his eyes and biting back another wave of tears as he slides down so that he sits on the ground, laying his head back against the door to stare at his ceiling. "I'm acting like a coward," He tells himself, hugging his knees to his chest like he always does when he's upset, hoping that it'll make him stop-stop crying, stop feeling like this. "This is why Daehyun doesn't like you. You have super strength, you can take up to hundreds of people at a time, you smile when everyone else can't-you're not supposed to act like this."
With a hard swallow, Jongup closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair, eyes drifting down when he opens them again-down to his dark, black walls, down to the dark place picture frame on his dark, black nightstand, right next to the dark, black mask lying harmlessly next to it.
And Jongup sighs when he realizes right away that it's Daehyun's, that he must've left it in his room after Jongup stormed off, and he should probably return it to him before he comes knocking on his door for it.
And he promises a thousand times in his head that he won't act recklessly. He's not going to do anything to interfere with Youngjae and Daehyun, and he's going to act just like himself. He's going to act like nothing's wrong, and if they decide to be a couple, Jongup's going to be happy for them, because they deserve that much-to be happy-especially after all the crap that's been happening.
Jongup won't be some self-pitying teenager who needs to grow up and learn to stop wallowing. He's going to stand up, he's going to pick up that mask, he's going to march straight to Daehyun's room, he's going to return it, and then he's going to smile, because nothing's wrong. Because he wants Daehyun and Youngjae to be happy. And he's not going to get in the way of that, because he loves them. Loves the both of them (even though he silently adds in the back of his head that he might love one of them more than the other).
And there's nothing wrong at all.
He sighs again.
Daehyun has no idea what he's doing, sitting just outside of his bathroom, inside his room, with nothing but a towel. He knows he needs clothes-should probably go get some, but he doesn't know exactly where he's going to get them.
He figures he could just sneak downstairs and grab some clothes from the shopping bags, but then he'd risk getting caught by Himchan and Yongguk. Daehyun's still pretty cautious from years and years of being locked in a cage, and from men-awful, awful men-who would stare at him as he bathed-who would lean forward and call out to him and promise him that they'd let him out-just for a little awhile, I'll even let you walk down the hall-just as long as he did them one little, tiny favor. One little, tiny favor that involved him holding back sobs as grubby hands defiled his body at the pure age of fourteen. One little, tiny favor that counted for nothing because afterward-after the men were sated and satisfied-the promise would end up being lies and the men would say things like I can't do that, that would be against the rules. (Kind of like how the things they did to him just seconds before were, but apparently, that doesn't count.)
Daehyun knows Himchan and Yongguk are nothing like those men, and he's fairly certain that the two of them wouldn't do anything like that to him-fairly certain that all five of them would never, never do anything to hurt him if they could help it and would do anything in their power to protect him, but, after an incident like that, Daehyun's learned not to trust anybody so easily.
So instead of doing the logical thing, like going to ask Youngjae, who's trustworthy and a friend and who would probably never let him live this down, for clothes, Daehyun decides to sit there, on the ground, where he can't bother anyone and where nobody can bother him.
Right as he decides that though, there's a knock on his door.
"Five bucks says Jongup chickens out,"
An eyebrow raises, and Yongguk says, "You're betting on him chickening out after you gave him that whole speech about telling Daehyun how he feels?" There's a crease in the middle of Yongguk's forehead, like he's trying to find the sense or logic Himchan says he has, but-coming up short-he just slouches back in his chair, mumbling a quiet, "Well, you're offically a genius. Congratualations on your amazing common sense."
Himchan smiles, snorting a little at the look on his best friend's face. "You know me, Yongguk," Leaning forward in his chair casually, he takes a glimpse at Yongguk, leaning back in his own chair with a much too sarcastic and all too puzzled look playing across his face. He crosses his ankles calmly. "You should know I've always been a genius. I've just been hiding it, so as not to threaten Youngjae and his super brain." He flashes a cocky smile at him, and Yongguk rolls his eyes.
"Seriously though," Yongguk says, staring at Himchan with serious eyes. "Why would you tell him to confess if you knew he wouldn't be able to in the first place?"
Himchan licks his lips, and looks at Yongguk again-the browns of his eyes and how he's furrowing his eyebrows. He's probably trying to think it through himself, trying to toss the idea around in his head like it's some kind of battle plan, like one of his other missions-what he would do, what he should do, what happens if this happens and what happens if that happens and so on and so forth.
(What would he do if Himchan finally confessed to him? Would he have that same look on his face? Would he be thinking about what he should do-how to control the situation? Would he try to convince Himchan otherwise, like he was making some sort of mistake?)
His throats gone dry and Himchan feels his lips drying up, so he licks his lips again, Yongguk staring at him all the while, waiting for a response. "I don't know," He says honestly. "It's just... easier said than it is done, you know? I mean, you can't just go up to someone and be like, 'Okay, so, I know this is sort of sudden, but hey, I think I'm in love with you!'" He sort of shrinks at the little quirk Yongguk's mouth makes as he says it, and he has to cough to clear his clenching throat before he can continue, "It's terrifying. You never know if the person is going to like you back, and you have to build up all this courage and stuff before you even get the slightest bit of nerve to actually do it."
Yongguk looks like he's going to burst out into laughter or something in a few seconds, and Himchan feels his cheeks flush the taddest bit before he's saying, voice higher than usual, "You know what? I didn't expect you to get it. You're Bang Yongguk afterall-unafraid and omnipotent Bang Yongguk-what does someone like you have to be afraid of?" It sounds more bitter than he intended it to be, so Himchan adds in a little sarcastic smirk at the end to reassure Yongguk he isn't mad or disappointed or anything.
The older man still frowns though, and before Himchan even has the chance to open his mouth to apologize, because he knows Yongguk has fears too-that he's scared every single fucking day-Yongguk beats him to it, saying, straightforward and clear without a doubt or waver, "That's not true; I'm afraid of losing you." with the most innocent and confused look in the world and Yongguk has got to stop saying things like that so recklessly or else Himchan is going to fucking lose it, he's so fucking happy-
"Um, thanks?" Himchan laughs nervously, face redder than he'd want to admit and Yongguk finally has this look on his face like he just said something completely weird.
"Uh," Yongguk says, scratching the back of his neck, scrambling for something to say. "You know, cause then I wouldn't have anyone to laugh at and joke around with and... stuff."
Himchan smartly changes the subject after that.
-----
Previous | Next
Author: ivoryroyale
Genre: supernatural, hurt/comfort, friendship, (sort of) romance, drama
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, brief hints of sexual abuse
Summary: in which a group of six aren't afraid to stand tall because they have each other.
Note: 4,427 words.
-----
[prologue] [chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [ chapter 7] [chapter 8] [ chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [ chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [ chapter 15] [ chapter 16] [ chapter 17] [ chapter 18] [ chapter 19] [ chapter 20]
not afraid to fall
chapter seventeen
There're a number of things that Daehyun's not capable of-things that he's long forgotten (like science and advanced arithmetic and the names of the different constellations in the sky) and things that nobody ever got to teach him (like how to throw a punch and how to drive and what it's like to fall in love). There're things that Daehyun never-never been allowed to do. Things that he'd be beaten black and blue for, and things that he avoid doing like the plague.
Confrontation is one of those things.
He doesn't talk about his own problems, and he was taught at a very young age not to confront anybody about anything-not even huge catastrophes-whenever it concerned him. It's against his nature to say what he wants when he wants to, and now that he has to-to save a friendship that he hasn't even had for a few weeks-Daehyun knows he's going to find some way to mess this up unintentionally.
So-in order to prevent potential disaster-Daehyun tries to take as long as possible in the bathroom, stringing together words to say for when he's done showering and has to talk to Jongup about the almost-kiss and why he did it, even if he doesn't really know why. (Why did he do it? Because he promised himself that he wouldn't go in too deep this time; he promised himself this would be different-different from his biological family.
This time, it was supposed to be beneficial for him-supposed to be easy-simple. He's not supposed to like Jongup; he's not supposed to be going around trying to kiss people. Hell, Daehyun isn't even supposed to be thinking about things like this-about being with someone. About loving someone in every way possible and having them love him back-every little part of him: his assets, his weaknesses, and all the things that make him who he is-flawed and lacking in so many ways.
Jongup's perfect. He's perfect, and Daehyun's too imperfect. It's impossible for someone like him to be with someone-especially someone like Jongup-sweet and adorable and absentminded and possibly the best thing that could ever be in Daehyun's life.
It's not some choice that Daehyun can selfishly make-he knows about every single fucking conseqeuce, so why did he ever try to kiss him?)
With a befuddled sigh, Daehyun finally starts up the shower water after spending minutes on end trying to figure out how the damn thing even worked (because at the base, they always just gave him a bucket of water and a washcloth that was so much easier and straightforward than adjusting shower knobs and trying to find a correct temperature with the combination of the different soaps and shampoos and scented body washes.)
Stripping down, Daehyun steps into the water, hissing slightly at the heat and curling his toes into the cold acrylic. After a moment of adjusting to the temperature, he closes his eyes, tilting his head back ever so slightly with a drawn out sigh.
This is much better than "bath time" at the base-way better, he decides, than cold water, too small in abundance to be much of any use. And he thinks, with another sigh, I can get used to this as he rakes his fingers through his hair slowly, blanching when he sees his hands dyed green.
Tugging at the ends of his blonde, tinted green-blue, hair, Daehyun just knows he's going to be spending hours on end in the shower trying to scrub this stuff out of his hair and skin, and he can't help but think maybe he's lucky, because if he's going to be completely honest, he doesn't want to talk to Jongup. He's afraid, more than anything, that he's going to be ignored, and Daehyun thinks he won't be able to handle that, not from someone like Jongup who's been nothing but kind to him.
Daehyun's not brave. He's spent his whole life cowering to the men around him, his whole life obeying, following others without a mind of his own. He's not like Youngjae, who's so sure that Jongup doesn't hate him, even if he wishes he was. He wants to be like that, but he doesn't feel good about this. He's not sure-he's never sure-because Daehyun's just a stranger. Jongup can live without him, because he's done it for years, and Daehyun-Daehyun quite frankly thinks that he, himself, can't, because he can't be alone-not again.
A minute passes, along with another, the shower water still running and streaming along his back, and with another sigh, Daehyun snaps himself out of his thoughts to scrub at his skin with soap, not stopping until the green-red-blue tinge to his skin starts to fade away and his skin starts to hurt.
"Do you think," Youngjae sighs, scooting himself further onto Junhong's bed, head leaned back to hit against the bed's long headboard with a dull thud, curling in on himself much like a vunerable animal would, "do you think they're going to end up together? I mean, they both obviously like each other a lot, but are they going to be together? Because Jongup for sure doesn't have any sort of dating experience, so Daehyun sure as hell doesn't, and with the situation right now, would it be the right time to?" He rambles more about Daehyun and Jongup, evaluating their relationship like the awful person he feels like, biting his lip and slowly inching a bit closer to Junhong every few words.
They made a sort of deal out of this: (Well, Youngjae made a sort of deal out of this; he didn't exactly consult this with the younger boy. He didn't think it was necessary though, and the sort-of-deal was beneficial enough for the both of them, so Youngjae didn't really need to discuss anything.) Youngjae complained about his problems, and in doing so, he would simultaneously try his hardest to fix, or at least lessen (or greaten, depending on how you're looking at it) Junhong's condition.
The genius noticed the spark in Junhong's eyes the moment they made the slightest of contact with each other. Noticed the familiar, though duller than before, sparkle in the boy's eyes, like a match striking up a flame. He noticed the uncharacteristic intake of breath Junhong took when Youngjae brushed against his arm, and he saw the almost anger in the sudden purse of his lips. Junhong felt something, he felt something when he and Youngjae touched-felt Youngjae's emotions, sucking them up like a leech and apparently taking them for himself, because Youngjae was fairly certain Junhong felt everything he had if the sudden interrogation about how Youngjae felt, how he truthfully felt, meant anything at all.
Junhong feels things-feels emotion, whenever he touches another person, and although it meant Youngjae wouldn't be able to feel a thing at all, would be like Junhong-a machine-and Junhong would be like him-would know every little nitpick of Youngjae's emotions-he's certain, almost knows, it's the most efficient way to help Junhong.
(And Youngjae probably shouldn't admit it, probably should never feel this way, because the slight aspect of it is already too horrible to be voluntarily thought of by anybody, but Youngjae doesn't want to feel anything. He wants to be like Junhong: empty and unfeeling and uncaring. He wants to be cold, wants to not care at all. He doesn't want to feel the pain, thudding dully, sinking to the bottom of his gut slowly-too slow. Not anymore. He wants to be able to ignore it when he finally sees Daehyun and Jongup, so fucking happy with each other, acting like a couple, like nauseating soul mates. Like what Youngjae wishes for him and Daehyun.
Youngjae is tired, and he wishes, so fucking desperately, that he couldn't feel anything-couldn't feel anything at all.)
"Maybe," Junhong admits, quietly, and Youngjae inches his hands a little closer to Junhong's curled deep into his blankets, and resists the urge to shudder when they brush just slightly. The feeling's strange, like Youngjae is being enshrouded by a blanket made out of a thousand numb, little needles, poking at him harmlessly, almost as if they weren't even there, even if Youngjae knows they're there, it's like they're not, and it's unnerving. It's like they're poking at every part of his body-his head, his heart, his feelings, and his mobility-it's like it's taking everything away, but it feels so strange, because he doesn't feel anything at all, and it's almost good-it's almost a good thing. His jealousy is gone again, and his worry, and he can almost feel his thoughts slipping away when-
Junhong pulls away.
"Sorry," Junhong says, quickly-almost too quickly-scooting away slowly, mindful of his injuries that he can't even feel and looking away. Youngjae wonders what he felt-what he saw-that was so bad it made him want to move away. "you should probably keep your distance," He says, still in the monotone voice of his, uncommanding, but it makes Youngjae want to listen still. And Youngjae hates it, hates it all over again, because he can't hate anything else, can't hate Daehyun or even Jongup, because everything else isn't his fault-but Junhong's condition is. It's his fault. If he would've thought it through the moment he saw Junhong was gone, if he would've figured it out sooner, if he would've noticed those soldiers were mere illusions the moment they started fighting them, just a whole bunch of if he'd done this, if he'd done that, if he would've, if he could've, if, if, ifs then maybe they would've made it to Junhong on time, maybe he would have saved him.
But he didn't. He was too late. And maybe he won't be able to fix him now.
Youngjae inches his way closer again, out of pure stubbornness, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at Junhong. "What if I don't want to keep my distance?" It's meant to be playful, meant to sound teasing, but it just comes out angry, almost furious. Frustrating. Junhong blinks.
"Then you'll be like me," Junhong says simply, and Youngjae thinks for a brief second, maybe that's not such a bad thing anymore. Maybe that's what I need. "Then you won't be able to feel anything," His hands, cold now that Youngjae really thinks about it-ice cold-wind into the blanket, fingers tight-tighter than necessary-tighter than he probably realizes. "I doubt you want that."
But what if I do, Youngjae thinks, swallowing hard. "Look, I want to help you," He says instead, and it isn't a lie-he really, really wants to help, but he doesn't understand why it feels so wrong saying it, "and the best way to do that is to be as close as possible to you." With a pointed gaze, Youngjae moves closer again, staring straight at Junhong's brown eyes, duller than a tinted window, darker than Youngjae is really used to-colder. Youngjae forces a smile anyway. "So would you stop being a wuss about it already?"
Junhong blinks again, eyebrows furrowing in what Youngjae guesses is supposed to be Junhong's way of expressing some sort of confusion or maybe frustration or maybe even a mixture of both in a question. Youngjae can't tell what Junhong's thinking anymore. "I'm not a wuss."
And Youngjae laughs, and he's shocked to realize he's not even faking it. Junhong still sounds like a robot, but the words, the reaction; it's all Junhong-what he would say if he was okay. And he still laughs, even if he knows Junhong's probably faking it all. "Yes, you are,"
To get some sort of reaction out of Junhong, Youngjae playfully bumps into his shoulder, skin against skin, and like a burst of lightning, quick and ground stopping, Junhong laughs suddenly-something abrupt and almost surprising, bubbling into the air in a mere second before disappearing again.
Youngjae's mouth drops, and he looks at Junhong again. "You just laughed,"
Junhong seems to swallow then, eyes blinking rapidly again, and Youngjae might just be imagining it, but he looks shocked, and he's not even touching Youngjae anymore. "Yes. Because you were laughing, and you touched me. I felt what you felt, so... so I laughed, too."
He's trying to be reasonable, trying to keep Youngjae from hoping-hoping something good has finally happened in this shitty week, but Youngjae's having none of it, not when he's been waiting for a breakthrough. So he purses his lips, huffs, and announces, "Still," making no apparent move to argue with Junhong, "you laughed."
"I... yes. I did."
"So this is a good thing."
"I," Junhong starts, breath wisping passed his lips suddenly, lips too tight to let any sort of air out, so his cheeks puff up like a balloon before deflating again. Youngjae thinks he doesn't even notice. "I don't know-maybe." He says decidedly, blinking again.
And Youngjae smiles. "This'll be good for the both of us," His shoulder bumps into Junhong's again. "You'll see. I know what I"m doing."
Even though he doesn't. He really doesn't.
And Junhong probably feels it when they bump shoulders-feels all of his doubt and lies and selfishness and how he has no idea what he's actually doing and what he's getting himself into and how his ability is making every single decision for him now-behind all the walls he's built up.
"Trust me."
After an hour and a half of scrubbing color out of his hair and skin, Daehyun turns the shower water off, stepping out and onto the shower matt while grabbing the off-white towel placed neatly on the shower rack. Stretching his arms, he wipes at his face with a whine. His eyes are irritated by what he thinks are the "shampoos" getting into his eyes a number of times, and he glowers weakly at the labeled bottles lined up on the side of the shower before turning toward the fogged up mirror-his fogged up mirror, he can't help but point out-leaning forward to swipe a clean stripe over the surface, big enough so he could see his face, now clean, and his hair, no longer a nasty green-blue.
He flashes a quick smile at his reflection before setting his mouth again in a confusing mixture of happiness and anxiousness. He's happy because he can smile-he just saw it himself-but he's anxious because he's thinking about Jongup and how he's going to have to talk to him after he gets dressed and what is he going to say and will he even want to see him and do I look good enough?
Maybe I should take another shower, Daehyun thinks, scowling at his reflection and scrubbing at his wet hair with his towel, tilting his head here and there, examining the face in the mirror. (His face, he has to remind himself. It's been awhile since he's gotten to look in a mirror and he looks a lot different than how he did when he was twelve-taller with a narrower face and sharper features.)
He looks decent enough, he supposes. A big improvement to what he looked like before, no doubt, all covered in fluorescent paint, and with a sigh, Daehyun turns his attention away from his mirror in search of his clothes, repreating in his head the big speech he plans to give Jongup about how sorry he is-how really sorry he is-and how he didn't mean to do what he he did and about how he understands if he hates him forever and-and-
Where the hell are my clothes? Daehyun thinks, eyebrows furrowing, opening the bathroom door to nothing but a bed and a room covered in paint.
And then he remembers they're all downstairs-everything he now owns-downstairs with Himchan and Yongguk. And he forgot to get them.
"Oh," Daehyun says, pursing his lips, "dammit."
Jongup realizes, back pressed against his door, after he's bitten back tears, gut twisting, throat clenching, and another coat of tears burning at the back of his eyes, that he's jealous.
He isn't entirely sure what jealousy should feel like, and he sure as hell hasn't felt it before, because he didn't even know what having a crush felt like even though he knew what it was by definition and by previous knowledge from the kids at school, but he's pretty sure jealousy and crushes are supposed to come hand in hand, and the sinking feeling in his stomach can't be anything but that.
He's never been jealous before-never even had a crush before-and he's come to the conclusion that he hates it. Hates it more than he ever thought he'd hate anything, hates it more than he should, hates it almost as much as he does the people who took his brother.
It's a horrible feeling, a horrible... horrible thing-horrible emotion-because it's a feeling of envy, of distaste, of hate, and Jongup doesn't want to hate two of his best friends. He doesn't want to feel like this every second of the day, everytime he sees Daehyun or Youngjae, and Jongup, as sure as he is about the stars in the sky, would destroy this feeling. Would rip his jealousy into a thousand pieces and bury it into the ground without a second thought if it meant no one else would have to feel it.
If he'd had the choice, he wouldn't have this stupid crush. If he'd had the choice, he would've picked someone else, would've let Youngjae and Daehyun be happy together without wanting to interfere.
(And Jongup thinks-thinks that that might be the worst part of it all, because he doesn't have a choice, and he's left feeling stupid, stupid, stupid.)
"God," Jongup mutters, rubbing at his eyes and biting back another wave of tears as he slides down so that he sits on the ground, laying his head back against the door to stare at his ceiling. "I'm acting like a coward," He tells himself, hugging his knees to his chest like he always does when he's upset, hoping that it'll make him stop-stop crying, stop feeling like this. "This is why Daehyun doesn't like you. You have super strength, you can take up to hundreds of people at a time, you smile when everyone else can't-you're not supposed to act like this."
With a hard swallow, Jongup closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair, eyes drifting down when he opens them again-down to his dark, black walls, down to the dark place picture frame on his dark, black nightstand, right next to the dark, black mask lying harmlessly next to it.
And Jongup sighs when he realizes right away that it's Daehyun's, that he must've left it in his room after Jongup stormed off, and he should probably return it to him before he comes knocking on his door for it.
And he promises a thousand times in his head that he won't act recklessly. He's not going to do anything to interfere with Youngjae and Daehyun, and he's going to act just like himself. He's going to act like nothing's wrong, and if they decide to be a couple, Jongup's going to be happy for them, because they deserve that much-to be happy-especially after all the crap that's been happening.
Jongup won't be some self-pitying teenager who needs to grow up and learn to stop wallowing. He's going to stand up, he's going to pick up that mask, he's going to march straight to Daehyun's room, he's going to return it, and then he's going to smile, because nothing's wrong. Because he wants Daehyun and Youngjae to be happy. And he's not going to get in the way of that, because he loves them. Loves the both of them (even though he silently adds in the back of his head that he might love one of them more than the other).
And there's nothing wrong at all.
He sighs again.
Daehyun has no idea what he's doing, sitting just outside of his bathroom, inside his room, with nothing but a towel. He knows he needs clothes-should probably go get some, but he doesn't know exactly where he's going to get them.
He figures he could just sneak downstairs and grab some clothes from the shopping bags, but then he'd risk getting caught by Himchan and Yongguk. Daehyun's still pretty cautious from years and years of being locked in a cage, and from men-awful, awful men-who would stare at him as he bathed-who would lean forward and call out to him and promise him that they'd let him out-just for a little awhile, I'll even let you walk down the hall-just as long as he did them one little, tiny favor. One little, tiny favor that involved him holding back sobs as grubby hands defiled his body at the pure age of fourteen. One little, tiny favor that counted for nothing because afterward-after the men were sated and satisfied-the promise would end up being lies and the men would say things like I can't do that, that would be against the rules. (Kind of like how the things they did to him just seconds before were, but apparently, that doesn't count.)
Daehyun knows Himchan and Yongguk are nothing like those men, and he's fairly certain that the two of them wouldn't do anything like that to him-fairly certain that all five of them would never, never do anything to hurt him if they could help it and would do anything in their power to protect him, but, after an incident like that, Daehyun's learned not to trust anybody so easily.
So instead of doing the logical thing, like going to ask Youngjae, who's trustworthy and a friend and who would probably never let him live this down, for clothes, Daehyun decides to sit there, on the ground, where he can't bother anyone and where nobody can bother him.
Right as he decides that though, there's a knock on his door.
"Five bucks says Jongup chickens out,"
An eyebrow raises, and Yongguk says, "You're betting on him chickening out after you gave him that whole speech about telling Daehyun how he feels?" There's a crease in the middle of Yongguk's forehead, like he's trying to find the sense or logic Himchan says he has, but-coming up short-he just slouches back in his chair, mumbling a quiet, "Well, you're offically a genius. Congratualations on your amazing common sense."
Himchan smiles, snorting a little at the look on his best friend's face. "You know me, Yongguk," Leaning forward in his chair casually, he takes a glimpse at Yongguk, leaning back in his own chair with a much too sarcastic and all too puzzled look playing across his face. He crosses his ankles calmly. "You should know I've always been a genius. I've just been hiding it, so as not to threaten Youngjae and his super brain." He flashes a cocky smile at him, and Yongguk rolls his eyes.
"Seriously though," Yongguk says, staring at Himchan with serious eyes. "Why would you tell him to confess if you knew he wouldn't be able to in the first place?"
Himchan licks his lips, and looks at Yongguk again-the browns of his eyes and how he's furrowing his eyebrows. He's probably trying to think it through himself, trying to toss the idea around in his head like it's some kind of battle plan, like one of his other missions-what he would do, what he should do, what happens if this happens and what happens if that happens and so on and so forth.
(What would he do if Himchan finally confessed to him? Would he have that same look on his face? Would he be thinking about what he should do-how to control the situation? Would he try to convince Himchan otherwise, like he was making some sort of mistake?)
His throats gone dry and Himchan feels his lips drying up, so he licks his lips again, Yongguk staring at him all the while, waiting for a response. "I don't know," He says honestly. "It's just... easier said than it is done, you know? I mean, you can't just go up to someone and be like, 'Okay, so, I know this is sort of sudden, but hey, I think I'm in love with you!'" He sort of shrinks at the little quirk Yongguk's mouth makes as he says it, and he has to cough to clear his clenching throat before he can continue, "It's terrifying. You never know if the person is going to like you back, and you have to build up all this courage and stuff before you even get the slightest bit of nerve to actually do it."
Yongguk looks like he's going to burst out into laughter or something in a few seconds, and Himchan feels his cheeks flush the taddest bit before he's saying, voice higher than usual, "You know what? I didn't expect you to get it. You're Bang Yongguk afterall-unafraid and omnipotent Bang Yongguk-what does someone like you have to be afraid of?" It sounds more bitter than he intended it to be, so Himchan adds in a little sarcastic smirk at the end to reassure Yongguk he isn't mad or disappointed or anything.
The older man still frowns though, and before Himchan even has the chance to open his mouth to apologize, because he knows Yongguk has fears too-that he's scared every single fucking day-Yongguk beats him to it, saying, straightforward and clear without a doubt or waver, "That's not true; I'm afraid of losing you." with the most innocent and confused look in the world and Yongguk has got to stop saying things like that so recklessly or else Himchan is going to fucking lose it, he's so fucking happy-
"Um, thanks?" Himchan laughs nervously, face redder than he'd want to admit and Yongguk finally has this look on his face like he just said something completely weird.
"Uh," Yongguk says, scratching the back of his neck, scrambling for something to say. "You know, cause then I wouldn't have anyone to laugh at and joke around with and... stuff."
Himchan smartly changes the subject after that.
-----
Previous | Next