[fic] in the spirit of the spring
TITLE in the spirit of the spring
FANDOM block b
PAIRING jaehyo/kyung
SUMMARY it is easy, falling in love.
WORDS 3360
RATING pg
あなたの手を取りたい。(i want to hold your hand) *
It is easy, falling in love.
Kyung knows Jaehyo; it’s rather hard not to.
Jaehyo is the boy, without intention, everyone knows and likes despite him only being a second year student. He is the tall, unrealistically handsome boy who all girls adore; he’s the one they cast as the male lead in their fantasies. Kyung doesn’t blame them, though. Jaehyo does look like he stepped out of a panel from his sister’s manhwa, impeccably dressed in his pressed uniform.
No matter how good he is at sports (belonging to both the basketball and baseball teams) or how charming his looks are, his demeanor is cold, quite standoffish; however, Kyung has seen him with his friends, smiling and talking animatedly. This side of him interests Kyung the most because it seems to be almost secretive, like it must be kept from the rest of the world, only those closest to Jaehyo are allowed to see this part of him.
It’s still early in the second academic term, newly September, and Kyung skips his physical education class in favor of lying on the steps outside, watching his classmates run around the track field for the remainder of the hour.
Ever since the monsoon season came and went, the weather has been sticky. It settles in layers over the city, and the humid air practically suffocates everyone. His uniform shirt sticks to his arms and chest, his slacks are unbearable and almost scratchy against his legs; he’s already shrugged off his jacket and crumpled it into a ball beneath his head. How his peers can manage the laps is beyond him, but then again, he’s never been one for much exercise in the first place. He hopes his teacher, a thin woman with a powerfully assertive tone, doesn't catch him cutting class again.
“Yah, Park Kyung,” he hears from his left. Kyung keeps his eyes closed until the person blocks the sunlight beaming down on him. “Dumbfuck wake up.”
“Hello to you too, Jiho-yah,” Kyung greets, peering up at Jiho’s soured expression. A bead of sweat rolls down from Jiho’s chin and into the corner of his eye; Kyung scrunches his eyes shut in hopes of blinking it away. “Fuck, you’re raining on me.”
Jiho steps back, moves the to the lower tier of the steps, and when Kyung sits upright and pays him mind he says, “I was bored and came to see if you were dead.”
“Thanks; your concern for my health is moving, really,” Kyung says. He wipes at his brow with the back of his hand and squints into the distance. There seem to be more people on the field than earlier. “What’s going on?”
Jiho turns to glance back at the field momentarily. He shrugs. “Second years joined us today. Your pretty boy is probably out there somewhere.” He waves his hand in some vague gesture behind him.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Jiho sits in front of him. Kyung makes out the back of Jiho’s head, the hair that’s grown too long over the summer and the previous dye job faded back into an almost grayish color. Kyung shifts closer, digs his left knee into the space between Jiho’s shoulder blades, and props his chin atop Jiho’s sweaty hair. Jiho mumbles under his breath, half-hearted complaints about it being too hot for Kyung to cling, but he does not shove him away.
“Jiho-yah, no need to be jealous,” Kyung says, pitching his voice higher, cuter; he circles his arms around Jiho’s neck and drops a kiss to his crown. “You know you’ll always be number one in my heart.”
“You’re so fucking gross.” Jiho laughs when he says it. “Get off me, fucker.”
“No, you love me.” Kyung moves his hands from hanging limply over Jiho’s chest to his shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze; Jiho’s head falls forward automatically, and Kyung continues to knead the muscles of his back and neck, glancing out at the field. “Do you think he’s really out there?”
Jiho nods. “Yeah, should be, I guess. I dunno; I’m not the one who stalks him.”
Kyung pinches him for that before going back to massaging him absentmindedly. The sky is high overhead, signifying midday, and there are hardly any clouds to block out the sunlight. He hears the student body on the field, talking loud and laughing, and he hears the shrill cry of the coach’s whistle. It smells strongly of sweat and a collection of cologne and the overwhelming scent of the oranges in his bag; he’ll share those with Jiho and another friend, Yukwon, during the time between lunch and English. There are boys he might see around campus, a few familiar faces mingled in with the nameless upperclassmen, and among all the other figures on the field Kyung makes out Jaehyo’s.
He kneads a particularly hard knot in Jiho’s shoulder and ignores the following yelp, eyes trained ahead. Jaehyo stretches, face breaking into a wide smile when another boy (one Kyung identifies as Lee Minhyuk) says something, and Kyung thinks it’s cute that even with his long arms Jaehyo’s fingertips hardly reach his toes. Jaehyo opts instead to wear not the athletic shorts but the pants that cut off above his ankles; Kyung can see a sliver of white sock peeking out from his sneakers.
“Yah, you two, what do you think you’re doing?”
Kyung startles away from Jaehyo’s ankles, and Jiho jerks into consciousness against his palms.
“Shit,” Jiho mutters before standing up and gripping his right hand.
Jiho tugs harder on his wrist, successfully snapping him out of his daydream. “Little fucks get back here,” the person calls out to them, but Kyung does not see them when he turns back.
He sees Jaehyo staring back at him.
The first time Kyung officially meets Jaehyo is at the bus stop in November.
He’s running late, his cell buzzing with angry texts from Jiho and Yukwon, and he’d skipped out on breakfast to make it to the last bus. As it turns out, Jaehyo happens to be off schedule as well.
Jaehyo stands next to him, shoulders slouching, as they wait; there’s a can of Hot Six cradled in his left hand and the other hand fiddles with the straps of his backpack. Kyung observes him from the corner of his eyes for a moment before turning back to his phone, sending Jiho a few texts of ㅗㅗㅗㅗㅗㅗㅗ and Yukwon late ㅠㅠ wait for me; he studiously ignores Jaehyo’s very obvious presence at his side, his body heat against Kyung’s shoulder, and thinks he’s successful at it too. That is, until:
“I forgot to set my alarm earlier,” Jaehyo says, voice low. Kyung’s never actually heard him speak till now, but the sound is unexpected and warm. Jaehyo laughs at himself, and such a self-deprecating sound does not suit his idea of Jaehyo. “I didn’t have time to brush my hair,” he continues as he removes his right hand from his straps to comb down his messy hair.
Kyung thinks he looks nice, albeit rumpled, but it’s something new for him in seeing the seemingly perfect Ahn Jaehyo as anything but. His fingers itch to reach up and help him calm his wayward locks, but he stands firm.
“I just slept in. Saehim-noona’s already there,” Kyung grouses, mostly to himself.
They continue in silence for a moment; the bus won’t show for another minute or two, and Kyung considers chancing it and running. Even if he started running now he’d never make it in time, and he’d rather not waste the energy attempting this impossible feat. He sighs and slumps his shoulders in defeat, his stomach whining pitifully at him; he shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.
“Here.” An orange slice fills his vision, perched between Jaehyo’s fingertips, and Kyung bites his bottom lip and glances to his left. Jaehyo smiles at him and waves the orange slice a bit in his right hand. There is orange peeling beneath his fingernails and the tips of his fingers smell like citrus juice; Kyung accepts the offering with his head bowed.
“Thank you, Jaehyo-ssi,” he says; it’s nothing more than a whisper of gratitude, and in the silence, he’s certain Jaehyo hears him. He leans forward, bowing, remembering a few of his manners in light of this event.
Jaehyo laughs, and this time it sounds happier, lighter. “Let’s speak comfortably with one another,” his voice trails off, and there’s a flush that spreads high on his cheeks. He smooths down his sideburns, and Kyung’s grip on his phone tightens.
It’s when Jaehyo tilts his head, still flustered, that Kyung realizes Jaehyo wants his name. He bows again. “Kyung; Park Kyung.” A silly part of him wishes that Jaehyo had known already, but he knows the idea is ludicrous; he is,after all, only a first year and nowhere near as well-known or popular as others.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Jaehyo says, piecing apart another orange slice for Kyung as the headlights of the bus cut through the early morning still.
Kyung nods and takes the slice from Jaehyo, his voice drowned out by the bus, but Jaehyo leans forward to hear him say: “You too Jaehyo-hyung.”
Jaehyo appears more in Kyung’s daily life after that one instance.
He sees him in the library around five, when the other students spend their time cramming for tests or working in extra tutoring lessons; he glances him across the campus, walking to one of his classes; he stumbles into him at the quick-mart just down the street from the campus, bulk buying energy drinks and potato chips. Sometimes Kyung crosses paths with Jaehyo in the hall; sometimes Jaehyo greets him, “Hello,” and Kyung always replies with a slight inclination of his head and a greeting in turn; sometimes Jaehyo smiles his way; sometimes Kyung waves discretely, hoping Jaehyo sees it.
Before, Jaehyo was a fantasy for Kyung - a make-believe character that the girls in his homeroom liked to gush over - but now he’s real, no longer a phantom presence but a solid being not so distant anymore.
There is one moment on the bus, in December just before their winter break, where they are both running behind again. All the seats seem to be taken, so they stand together in the middle, packed between grim-faced businessmen and other teenagers like themselves. It’s oddly intimate, the way their chests press together, and Kyung had never known how tall Jaehyo was in comparison to himself; the top of his head hardly skims Jaehyo’s shoulders, and Kyung stares resolutely at a button on Jaehyo’s shirt and ignores the way his skin seems to prickle and shiver every time Jaehyo breathes out, warm and damp, against his ear.
Winter break rolls through, and Kyung spends much of it indoors, catching up on popular dramas his sister has recorded, wrestling Chan for the recliner, and playing video games with Jiho. On the first day of January, his mother shoos him out of the house, reminding him that how one starts the new year sets the precedent for the months to come.
(He thinks she is tired of seeing his face; even “Chan has a pretty girlfriend to spend time with”. Kyung grumbles but acquiesces, trading his crumpled tee and sweatpants for sweaters and jeans.)
He wanders aimlessly around, peeking in shop windows and winding his arms tighter around himself; January’s far too cold for his liking, and the weather has a particular bite to it. The chill creeps through his skin and settles into his joints until his whole body is stiff and he craves the comfort of his bed once again.
“Kyung?” He whirls around from the pastry display to find Jaehyo just meters away. “Happy New Year, Kyung-ah.”
Kyung inclines his head, not quite used to Jaehyo knowing his name - saying his name. “Happy New Year, Hyung,” he says, voice warbling at the end.
“Please look kindly upon me in the year to come,” Jaehyo says. The tips of his ears are red as are his cheeks and nose. Kyung’s too distracted by them to notice Jaehyo’s spoken again, but he flounders and stammers out similar sentiments anyway. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere really, I guess.” Kyung shrugs. He glances back toward the pastry display and asks, “Hungry?”
Jaehyo launches into conversation as soon as they tuck themselves into a corner table.
“Did you watch the end of the year award shows?”
“Uh, no,” he answers, biting his lip when Jaehyo’s expression seems to drop. “But, uh, tell me about them.”
“Oh, well, you’re not missing much,” Jaehyo says, and he goes on to describe a few of the stages; he talks of the Song of the Year, one Kyung can distantly recall being a ringtone on his sister’s cell, and he must look a bit lost because Jaehyo hums and sings a few lines for him. “You should listen to it sometime - thank you,” he interrupts himself to smile at their waitress, and Kyung nods in thanks as well, wanting Jaehyo to keep talking like this, comfortably as though they were longtime friends. “You might like it,” he finishes off, sheepishly touching the back of his neck.
“If Jaehyo-hyung suggests it then it must be good,” Kyung says in a tease. He cradles his mug of hot chocolate in his hands, uses it more for a hand warmer than a beverage while it’s still hot, and finds himself smiling down at the whipped topping.
They talk more about other things - favorite colors (“black’s a shade, not a color, Jaehyo-hyung.”), favorite songs, movies, dramas, whatever comes to mind. Kyung is thankful that he left his room now.
During the first term of his second year, Kyung cheers on Jiho at the local track meet.
“There’s your boyfriend,” Jiho says in the midst of their conversation, around the top of his water bottle. Kyung punches Jiho’s shoulder. “Fuck your hands are cold.”
“We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Jiho doesn’t look convinced, but he rolls his eyes and drops the subject. “I gotta warm up. Go keep him company or something.”
“Woo Jiho fighting,” Kyung calls out to Jiho’s back, laughing when Jiho turns to flip him off.
He scales the bleachers, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, and wanders over toward Jaehyo when he sees the other waving him over. “Hi, Hyung.” He settles next to him, and even though the temperatures have begun to rise again the bleachers still retain a bite to them. The cold bleeds through his jeans and numbs his legs. “Who’re you here for?”
“Minhyukie,” he says and points toward the familiar face. His nose is red again, Kyung notes. “You?”
“Woo Jiho.” Kyung pulls Jaehyo closer and points to the far left where Jiho is doing warm up exercises. “I’m betting he comes in last place, but don’t tell him I have no faith in him. It’d break his heart.”
Jaehyo laughs, and Kyung’s hand slips from the cuff of his sweater to his wrist. Jaehyo startles at the touch; Kyung draws back, laughing nervously, ready to apologize for disrespecting his personal space.
“Your hands are cold, Kyungie-yah.”
“Ah, yeah,” he says, fumbling for words because of the sudden affection in Jaehyo’s voice; Jaehyo’s eyebrows furrow. “I have poor circulation.”
“Here.” And Jaehyo tucks tiny hand-warmers into his palms; Kyung’s unsure what was the actual cause of the sudden warmth, the tiny packs enclosed in his fist or Jaehyo’s fingers against his skin. “You need them more than I do. I’m a human space-heater,” he says confidently, a slight tease to his words.
“I guess I need to keep you around then, huh?” He knocks his shoulder into Jaehyo’s, teasing him back, but there’s a truth to his words.
Jaehyo nods, but whatever he is about to say is lost on Kyung’s ears as the gunshot pierces the air and all eyes turn toward the track.
(Jiho ends up coming in third for his division; Kyung takes him out to celebrate with soju and tteokbokki. He forgets about Jaehyo’s hand-warmers until much later that night when he’s looking for a peppermint in his jacket pocket.)
It’s raining in late May; this is normal for the time period, just a light shower, because the monsoon season is well on its way. Kyung sighs and waits for the bus beneath his umbrella.
Jaehyo holds his jacket over his head, splashing water with every step he takes, and Kyung takes a moment to laugh at him before maneuvering the umbrella over both their heads.
“I forgot my umbrella,” Jaehyo says, pointing out the obvious. His hair is much darker wet, and it curls around his ears; he hunches his shoulders and Kyung raises the umbrella higher to accommodate Jaehyo’s height. “Thanks.”
Kyung watches as Jaehyo checks the pockets of his slacks. “I forgot my phone, too,” he mumbles to himself, but Kyung hears it.
“I think Jaehyo-hyung is very forgetful.” He looks forward at the bus schedule; the next bus will arrive soon. “It seems to be his worst quality.”
“I probably have worse,” comes Jaehyo’s quiet admission, laughing once more at himself.
The rain continues to hit Jaehyo in the shoulder, staining his green jacket darker, and Kyung shifts the umbrella closer to Jaehyo. Water droplets drip from Jaehyo’s bangs down his nose and catch in his eyelashes. Kyung doesn’t know how to read a mood or if there’s a moment, but he feels like if there was any time for him to say something to Jaehyo, now would be it.
He opens his mouth at the same time the bus’s engine roars. Jaehyo looks at him expectantly. Kyung shies away.
There are more missed chances throughout the rest of the term. Kyung and Jaehyo grow closer with every passing week, and Kyung thinks he’s come to know the real Ahn Jaehyo and not the one the girls like to gossip and daydream about. A feeling pools in his middle with this knowledge that he holds. With every “Kyungie-yah” and wave and “good morning” and smile, the feeling grows until his little heart is stumbling to keep up.
But as close as they become Kyung still does not find the words to confess.
Kyung spies Jaehyo one evening in July, just after his birthday, lying near the banks near the river. He looks oddly conflicted, pensive from this angle. The sun hangs between skyscrapers, casting a liquid orange glow against the sides of gray buildings, and the humid air has Kyung’s body unreasonably warm and sweaty. Kyung leaves his bicycle at the top of the hill and slowly makes his way to sit beside Jaehyo.
He supposes Jaehyo has a lot on his mind; it’s his third and final year, and he knows that Saehim is already stressed over college preparations and extra cram lessons. Some nights she doesn’t come home till midnight, exhausted and falling asleep in her uniform. There’s no doubt Jaehyo is probably feeling the same stress.
Kyung jostles him a bit, hand kneading out the kinks in his shoulder. Jaehyo stares back at him, his smile worse for wear; Kyung frowns.
“You can do it,” Kyung says, hoping that he at least sounds encouraging and not as lost as he feels. He’s not used to seeing Jaehyo so down. So he settles for talking about anything and everything, until he has no words left and starts using his hands to gesticulate, until Jaehyo is smiling and laughing beside him.
Jaehyo rests his head on Kyung’s shoulder; Kyung’s fingers come up to play with his hair.
“Jaehyo-hyung fighting, ok?”
They sit in that spot and watch the sunset, the skyline illuminated in its faint glow, and Kyung finally says, after a long moment of quiet companionship, “I like you, Jaehyo-hyung.”
It’s later, when Kyung is picking his bike off the ground and Jaehyo is hovering awkwardly at his side, that Jaehyo kisses him, soft and slow, just a touch of lips and nothing more. Kyung’s left reeling, lips tingling, long after Jaehyo draws away.
Jaehyo kisses him again.
for s because she wanted a shoujo manga -esque fic for her (our!) otp. since I love her as much as I do and always aim to please, this is for her and her (hopefully!) happy nineteenth birthday ♥ peanut: this isn’t exactly what you wanted, but maybe you will find something in this that you like (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)
addendum my lovely princess (youniqorn) has contributed to this 'verse and has written the cutest fic ever! please do read it if you can!
FANDOM block b
PAIRING jaehyo/kyung
SUMMARY it is easy, falling in love.
WORDS 3360
RATING pg
あなたの手を取りたい。(i want to hold your hand) *
It is easy, falling in love.
Kyung knows Jaehyo; it’s rather hard not to.
Jaehyo is the boy, without intention, everyone knows and likes despite him only being a second year student. He is the tall, unrealistically handsome boy who all girls adore; he’s the one they cast as the male lead in their fantasies. Kyung doesn’t blame them, though. Jaehyo does look like he stepped out of a panel from his sister’s manhwa, impeccably dressed in his pressed uniform.
No matter how good he is at sports (belonging to both the basketball and baseball teams) or how charming his looks are, his demeanor is cold, quite standoffish; however, Kyung has seen him with his friends, smiling and talking animatedly. This side of him interests Kyung the most because it seems to be almost secretive, like it must be kept from the rest of the world, only those closest to Jaehyo are allowed to see this part of him.
It’s still early in the second academic term, newly September, and Kyung skips his physical education class in favor of lying on the steps outside, watching his classmates run around the track field for the remainder of the hour.
Ever since the monsoon season came and went, the weather has been sticky. It settles in layers over the city, and the humid air practically suffocates everyone. His uniform shirt sticks to his arms and chest, his slacks are unbearable and almost scratchy against his legs; he’s already shrugged off his jacket and crumpled it into a ball beneath his head. How his peers can manage the laps is beyond him, but then again, he’s never been one for much exercise in the first place. He hopes his teacher, a thin woman with a powerfully assertive tone, doesn't catch him cutting class again.
“Yah, Park Kyung,” he hears from his left. Kyung keeps his eyes closed until the person blocks the sunlight beaming down on him. “Dumbfuck wake up.”
“Hello to you too, Jiho-yah,” Kyung greets, peering up at Jiho’s soured expression. A bead of sweat rolls down from Jiho’s chin and into the corner of his eye; Kyung scrunches his eyes shut in hopes of blinking it away. “Fuck, you’re raining on me.”
Jiho steps back, moves the to the lower tier of the steps, and when Kyung sits upright and pays him mind he says, “I was bored and came to see if you were dead.”
“Thanks; your concern for my health is moving, really,” Kyung says. He wipes at his brow with the back of his hand and squints into the distance. There seem to be more people on the field than earlier. “What’s going on?”
Jiho turns to glance back at the field momentarily. He shrugs. “Second years joined us today. Your pretty boy is probably out there somewhere.” He waves his hand in some vague gesture behind him.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Jiho sits in front of him. Kyung makes out the back of Jiho’s head, the hair that’s grown too long over the summer and the previous dye job faded back into an almost grayish color. Kyung shifts closer, digs his left knee into the space between Jiho’s shoulder blades, and props his chin atop Jiho’s sweaty hair. Jiho mumbles under his breath, half-hearted complaints about it being too hot for Kyung to cling, but he does not shove him away.
“Jiho-yah, no need to be jealous,” Kyung says, pitching his voice higher, cuter; he circles his arms around Jiho’s neck and drops a kiss to his crown. “You know you’ll always be number one in my heart.”
“You’re so fucking gross.” Jiho laughs when he says it. “Get off me, fucker.”
“No, you love me.” Kyung moves his hands from hanging limply over Jiho’s chest to his shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze; Jiho’s head falls forward automatically, and Kyung continues to knead the muscles of his back and neck, glancing out at the field. “Do you think he’s really out there?”
Jiho nods. “Yeah, should be, I guess. I dunno; I’m not the one who stalks him.”
Kyung pinches him for that before going back to massaging him absentmindedly. The sky is high overhead, signifying midday, and there are hardly any clouds to block out the sunlight. He hears the student body on the field, talking loud and laughing, and he hears the shrill cry of the coach’s whistle. It smells strongly of sweat and a collection of cologne and the overwhelming scent of the oranges in his bag; he’ll share those with Jiho and another friend, Yukwon, during the time between lunch and English. There are boys he might see around campus, a few familiar faces mingled in with the nameless upperclassmen, and among all the other figures on the field Kyung makes out Jaehyo’s.
He kneads a particularly hard knot in Jiho’s shoulder and ignores the following yelp, eyes trained ahead. Jaehyo stretches, face breaking into a wide smile when another boy (one Kyung identifies as Lee Minhyuk) says something, and Kyung thinks it’s cute that even with his long arms Jaehyo’s fingertips hardly reach his toes. Jaehyo opts instead to wear not the athletic shorts but the pants that cut off above his ankles; Kyung can see a sliver of white sock peeking out from his sneakers.
“Yah, you two, what do you think you’re doing?”
Kyung startles away from Jaehyo’s ankles, and Jiho jerks into consciousness against his palms.
“Shit,” Jiho mutters before standing up and gripping his right hand.
Jiho tugs harder on his wrist, successfully snapping him out of his daydream. “Little fucks get back here,” the person calls out to them, but Kyung does not see them when he turns back.
He sees Jaehyo staring back at him.
The first time Kyung officially meets Jaehyo is at the bus stop in November.
He’s running late, his cell buzzing with angry texts from Jiho and Yukwon, and he’d skipped out on breakfast to make it to the last bus. As it turns out, Jaehyo happens to be off schedule as well.
Jaehyo stands next to him, shoulders slouching, as they wait; there’s a can of Hot Six cradled in his left hand and the other hand fiddles with the straps of his backpack. Kyung observes him from the corner of his eyes for a moment before turning back to his phone, sending Jiho a few texts of ㅗㅗㅗㅗㅗㅗㅗ and Yukwon late ㅠㅠ wait for me; he studiously ignores Jaehyo’s very obvious presence at his side, his body heat against Kyung’s shoulder, and thinks he’s successful at it too. That is, until:
“I forgot to set my alarm earlier,” Jaehyo says, voice low. Kyung’s never actually heard him speak till now, but the sound is unexpected and warm. Jaehyo laughs at himself, and such a self-deprecating sound does not suit his idea of Jaehyo. “I didn’t have time to brush my hair,” he continues as he removes his right hand from his straps to comb down his messy hair.
Kyung thinks he looks nice, albeit rumpled, but it’s something new for him in seeing the seemingly perfect Ahn Jaehyo as anything but. His fingers itch to reach up and help him calm his wayward locks, but he stands firm.
“I just slept in. Saehim-noona’s already there,” Kyung grouses, mostly to himself.
They continue in silence for a moment; the bus won’t show for another minute or two, and Kyung considers chancing it and running. Even if he started running now he’d never make it in time, and he’d rather not waste the energy attempting this impossible feat. He sighs and slumps his shoulders in defeat, his stomach whining pitifully at him; he shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.
“Here.” An orange slice fills his vision, perched between Jaehyo’s fingertips, and Kyung bites his bottom lip and glances to his left. Jaehyo smiles at him and waves the orange slice a bit in his right hand. There is orange peeling beneath his fingernails and the tips of his fingers smell like citrus juice; Kyung accepts the offering with his head bowed.
“Thank you, Jaehyo-ssi,” he says; it’s nothing more than a whisper of gratitude, and in the silence, he’s certain Jaehyo hears him. He leans forward, bowing, remembering a few of his manners in light of this event.
Jaehyo laughs, and this time it sounds happier, lighter. “Let’s speak comfortably with one another,” his voice trails off, and there’s a flush that spreads high on his cheeks. He smooths down his sideburns, and Kyung’s grip on his phone tightens.
It’s when Jaehyo tilts his head, still flustered, that Kyung realizes Jaehyo wants his name. He bows again. “Kyung; Park Kyung.” A silly part of him wishes that Jaehyo had known already, but he knows the idea is ludicrous; he is,after all, only a first year and nowhere near as well-known or popular as others.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Jaehyo says, piecing apart another orange slice for Kyung as the headlights of the bus cut through the early morning still.
Kyung nods and takes the slice from Jaehyo, his voice drowned out by the bus, but Jaehyo leans forward to hear him say: “You too Jaehyo-hyung.”
Jaehyo appears more in Kyung’s daily life after that one instance.
He sees him in the library around five, when the other students spend their time cramming for tests or working in extra tutoring lessons; he glances him across the campus, walking to one of his classes; he stumbles into him at the quick-mart just down the street from the campus, bulk buying energy drinks and potato chips. Sometimes Kyung crosses paths with Jaehyo in the hall; sometimes Jaehyo greets him, “Hello,” and Kyung always replies with a slight inclination of his head and a greeting in turn; sometimes Jaehyo smiles his way; sometimes Kyung waves discretely, hoping Jaehyo sees it.
Before, Jaehyo was a fantasy for Kyung - a make-believe character that the girls in his homeroom liked to gush over - but now he’s real, no longer a phantom presence but a solid being not so distant anymore.
There is one moment on the bus, in December just before their winter break, where they are both running behind again. All the seats seem to be taken, so they stand together in the middle, packed between grim-faced businessmen and other teenagers like themselves. It’s oddly intimate, the way their chests press together, and Kyung had never known how tall Jaehyo was in comparison to himself; the top of his head hardly skims Jaehyo’s shoulders, and Kyung stares resolutely at a button on Jaehyo’s shirt and ignores the way his skin seems to prickle and shiver every time Jaehyo breathes out, warm and damp, against his ear.
Winter break rolls through, and Kyung spends much of it indoors, catching up on popular dramas his sister has recorded, wrestling Chan for the recliner, and playing video games with Jiho. On the first day of January, his mother shoos him out of the house, reminding him that how one starts the new year sets the precedent for the months to come.
(He thinks she is tired of seeing his face; even “Chan has a pretty girlfriend to spend time with”. Kyung grumbles but acquiesces, trading his crumpled tee and sweatpants for sweaters and jeans.)
He wanders aimlessly around, peeking in shop windows and winding his arms tighter around himself; January’s far too cold for his liking, and the weather has a particular bite to it. The chill creeps through his skin and settles into his joints until his whole body is stiff and he craves the comfort of his bed once again.
“Kyung?” He whirls around from the pastry display to find Jaehyo just meters away. “Happy New Year, Kyung-ah.”
Kyung inclines his head, not quite used to Jaehyo knowing his name - saying his name. “Happy New Year, Hyung,” he says, voice warbling at the end.
“Please look kindly upon me in the year to come,” Jaehyo says. The tips of his ears are red as are his cheeks and nose. Kyung’s too distracted by them to notice Jaehyo’s spoken again, but he flounders and stammers out similar sentiments anyway. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere really, I guess.” Kyung shrugs. He glances back toward the pastry display and asks, “Hungry?”
Jaehyo launches into conversation as soon as they tuck themselves into a corner table.
“Did you watch the end of the year award shows?”
“Uh, no,” he answers, biting his lip when Jaehyo’s expression seems to drop. “But, uh, tell me about them.”
“Oh, well, you’re not missing much,” Jaehyo says, and he goes on to describe a few of the stages; he talks of the Song of the Year, one Kyung can distantly recall being a ringtone on his sister’s cell, and he must look a bit lost because Jaehyo hums and sings a few lines for him. “You should listen to it sometime - thank you,” he interrupts himself to smile at their waitress, and Kyung nods in thanks as well, wanting Jaehyo to keep talking like this, comfortably as though they were longtime friends. “You might like it,” he finishes off, sheepishly touching the back of his neck.
“If Jaehyo-hyung suggests it then it must be good,” Kyung says in a tease. He cradles his mug of hot chocolate in his hands, uses it more for a hand warmer than a beverage while it’s still hot, and finds himself smiling down at the whipped topping.
They talk more about other things - favorite colors (“black’s a shade, not a color, Jaehyo-hyung.”), favorite songs, movies, dramas, whatever comes to mind. Kyung is thankful that he left his room now.
During the first term of his second year, Kyung cheers on Jiho at the local track meet.
“There’s your boyfriend,” Jiho says in the midst of their conversation, around the top of his water bottle. Kyung punches Jiho’s shoulder. “Fuck your hands are cold.”
“We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Jiho doesn’t look convinced, but he rolls his eyes and drops the subject. “I gotta warm up. Go keep him company or something.”
“Woo Jiho fighting,” Kyung calls out to Jiho’s back, laughing when Jiho turns to flip him off.
He scales the bleachers, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, and wanders over toward Jaehyo when he sees the other waving him over. “Hi, Hyung.” He settles next to him, and even though the temperatures have begun to rise again the bleachers still retain a bite to them. The cold bleeds through his jeans and numbs his legs. “Who’re you here for?”
“Minhyukie,” he says and points toward the familiar face. His nose is red again, Kyung notes. “You?”
“Woo Jiho.” Kyung pulls Jaehyo closer and points to the far left where Jiho is doing warm up exercises. “I’m betting he comes in last place, but don’t tell him I have no faith in him. It’d break his heart.”
Jaehyo laughs, and Kyung’s hand slips from the cuff of his sweater to his wrist. Jaehyo startles at the touch; Kyung draws back, laughing nervously, ready to apologize for disrespecting his personal space.
“Your hands are cold, Kyungie-yah.”
“Ah, yeah,” he says, fumbling for words because of the sudden affection in Jaehyo’s voice; Jaehyo’s eyebrows furrow. “I have poor circulation.”
“Here.” And Jaehyo tucks tiny hand-warmers into his palms; Kyung’s unsure what was the actual cause of the sudden warmth, the tiny packs enclosed in his fist or Jaehyo’s fingers against his skin. “You need them more than I do. I’m a human space-heater,” he says confidently, a slight tease to his words.
“I guess I need to keep you around then, huh?” He knocks his shoulder into Jaehyo’s, teasing him back, but there’s a truth to his words.
Jaehyo nods, but whatever he is about to say is lost on Kyung’s ears as the gunshot pierces the air and all eyes turn toward the track.
(Jiho ends up coming in third for his division; Kyung takes him out to celebrate with soju and tteokbokki. He forgets about Jaehyo’s hand-warmers until much later that night when he’s looking for a peppermint in his jacket pocket.)
It’s raining in late May; this is normal for the time period, just a light shower, because the monsoon season is well on its way. Kyung sighs and waits for the bus beneath his umbrella.
Jaehyo holds his jacket over his head, splashing water with every step he takes, and Kyung takes a moment to laugh at him before maneuvering the umbrella over both their heads.
“I forgot my umbrella,” Jaehyo says, pointing out the obvious. His hair is much darker wet, and it curls around his ears; he hunches his shoulders and Kyung raises the umbrella higher to accommodate Jaehyo’s height. “Thanks.”
Kyung watches as Jaehyo checks the pockets of his slacks. “I forgot my phone, too,” he mumbles to himself, but Kyung hears it.
“I think Jaehyo-hyung is very forgetful.” He looks forward at the bus schedule; the next bus will arrive soon. “It seems to be his worst quality.”
“I probably have worse,” comes Jaehyo’s quiet admission, laughing once more at himself.
The rain continues to hit Jaehyo in the shoulder, staining his green jacket darker, and Kyung shifts the umbrella closer to Jaehyo. Water droplets drip from Jaehyo’s bangs down his nose and catch in his eyelashes. Kyung doesn’t know how to read a mood or if there’s a moment, but he feels like if there was any time for him to say something to Jaehyo, now would be it.
He opens his mouth at the same time the bus’s engine roars. Jaehyo looks at him expectantly. Kyung shies away.
There are more missed chances throughout the rest of the term. Kyung and Jaehyo grow closer with every passing week, and Kyung thinks he’s come to know the real Ahn Jaehyo and not the one the girls like to gossip and daydream about. A feeling pools in his middle with this knowledge that he holds. With every “Kyungie-yah” and wave and “good morning” and smile, the feeling grows until his little heart is stumbling to keep up.
But as close as they become Kyung still does not find the words to confess.
Kyung spies Jaehyo one evening in July, just after his birthday, lying near the banks near the river. He looks oddly conflicted, pensive from this angle. The sun hangs between skyscrapers, casting a liquid orange glow against the sides of gray buildings, and the humid air has Kyung’s body unreasonably warm and sweaty. Kyung leaves his bicycle at the top of the hill and slowly makes his way to sit beside Jaehyo.
He supposes Jaehyo has a lot on his mind; it’s his third and final year, and he knows that Saehim is already stressed over college preparations and extra cram lessons. Some nights she doesn’t come home till midnight, exhausted and falling asleep in her uniform. There’s no doubt Jaehyo is probably feeling the same stress.
Kyung jostles him a bit, hand kneading out the kinks in his shoulder. Jaehyo stares back at him, his smile worse for wear; Kyung frowns.
“You can do it,” Kyung says, hoping that he at least sounds encouraging and not as lost as he feels. He’s not used to seeing Jaehyo so down. So he settles for talking about anything and everything, until he has no words left and starts using his hands to gesticulate, until Jaehyo is smiling and laughing beside him.
Jaehyo rests his head on Kyung’s shoulder; Kyung’s fingers come up to play with his hair.
“Jaehyo-hyung fighting, ok?”
They sit in that spot and watch the sunset, the skyline illuminated in its faint glow, and Kyung finally says, after a long moment of quiet companionship, “I like you, Jaehyo-hyung.”
It’s later, when Kyung is picking his bike off the ground and Jaehyo is hovering awkwardly at his side, that Jaehyo kisses him, soft and slow, just a touch of lips and nothing more. Kyung’s left reeling, lips tingling, long after Jaehyo draws away.
Jaehyo kisses him again.
for s because she wanted a shoujo manga -esque fic for her (our!) otp. since I love her as much as I do and always aim to please, this is for her and her (hopefully!) happy nineteenth birthday ♥ peanut: this isn’t exactly what you wanted, but maybe you will find something in this that you like (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)
addendum my lovely princess (youniqorn) has contributed to this 'verse and has written the cutest fic ever! please do read it if you can!