Archive of Our Own

He was dead.

He was so, so, so dead.

Tattered sneakers scuff across the linoleum floors as Youngjae was escorted down a narrow hallway, arms secured behind his back with the metal of the handcuffs around his wrists rubbing uncomfortably against the tender skin there.

There was still a lot of disorientation from the entire situation that had played out not even an hour ago that led Youngjae to where he was now – but he was aware enough to know just what was happening.

Oh, he was seriously dead.

“Alright, kid. Looks like you’ll be spendin’ the night in the drunk tank.”

“D-Drunk tank?” Youngjae repeats with a slur, eyes widening a fraction when his legs stumble as they turn a corner abruptly and suddenly metal bars can be seen off in the distance.

“Yeah. The place where we let the drunks stew until the morning. You’ll be released then.”

The officer comes to a stop in front of the bars and Youngjae feels his eyes cross a bit as he tries to focus in on them, head swimming as he sways in his spot, trying to swallow down the feeling of dread that’s twisting in his stomach. He hears the loud clanging as the door to the so called ‘drunk tank’ was unlocked and opened, metal screeching loudly into the silence of the police station, and then Youngjae is stumbling again and into it with an encouraging push from the officer still holding his arms.

“If you need to piss or shit or throw up, there’s a toilet over there. Otherwise make yourself comfortable.”

“D-Don’t I get a phone call?” Youngjae mumbles out, briefly remembering the line from the multitude of television dramas and movies he’s seen before. The officer snorts while unlocking the handcuffs and releasing his hands. “You can have the phone call in a bit if you’re still awake and coherent. For now, you’re staying here until you can walk in a straight line when I ask.”

Youngjae brings his hands up to his chest to rub at his now red and irritated wrists, head turning to watch the officer walk out of the cell and then close the door behind him, hearing the click of the lock being placed once more. He doesn’t move a muscle until the footsteps from the officer’s shoes fade away and leaves him with nothing but a thrum of steady silence and buzzing from the lights overhead.

It's quiet for a moment until Youngjae briefly acknowledges the shuffle of something to the right of him but doesn’t actually react to it until the voice is speaking.

“First night in the tank?” The voice is casual and Youngjae slowly turns his head to look in front of him and off to the far corner of the room, blinking at the figure that’s stretched out across one of the benches mounted into the wall. The stranger is all dark features and it’s a little hard to see how he looks anyway with the horrible fluorescent lighting that keeps flickering above them, but if Youngjae were sober, he thinks he would have immediately been stamping the word ‘handsome’ across their forehead.

“M-Maybe,” Youngjae tries for casual, unsure of the situation he had gotten himself into. The stranger snorts in amusement.

“So that’s a yes.”

“It… it was a maybe.” He feels embarrassed and rightfully so. It’s pretty painfully obvious that he has no idea what to do right now, seeing as he was still standing in the same spot that the officer had left him in and has made no move to try and sit down or do anything, really. Youngjae feels himself sway again, not sure if it’s his body demanding he take a seat or if it’s just how the rooms spinning.

“You’re pretty smashed, aren’t you? How many drinks did it take to get you to this point? One and a half? Not even one?” the stranger sounds arrogant and Youngjae finds that despite being inebriated, he still has enough self-decency to defend himself. A frown pulls at his lips as he fixes the other with a glare, clearly disapproving of the jab.

“I lost count after the fifth shot,” Youngjae grumbles before finally moving towards the bench on the farthest wall opposite of the other, suddenly not in the mood to talk. His hands come out to grasp at the seat first, steadying himself for a moment before his body collapses into it with absolutely no grace. He thinks he can hear the guy on the other side of the holding cell snickering.

“Stop laughin’ at me,” Youngjae mumbles out, bringing his hands up to hold onto his head in an attempt to stop some of the dizziness. “I’m going to die.” He bemoans after a moment, eyes shutting tightly.

“You’re not that drunk. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“No. No- you—you don’t understand. She’s going to kill me,” Youngjae continued, knowing that he should probably shut up but apparently drunk Youngjae needed to express his future demise to someone. Perhaps to gain some sort of defense for when the morning came.

“Oh? Who’d you piss off?” the strangers muses, obviously entertaining himself with their conversation.

“She’s not pissed yet but she’s going to be. Oh my god she’s seriously going to kill me. I’m not even tw-twenty-five yet and I’m gonna be murdered when she finds out. I’ve done nothing with my life besides this!” Youngjae hiccups around his words, hands flailing out dramatically to motion towards his sorry excuse of a curled up body that’s trying to sink into the bench supporting it.

“Not even twenty-five and this is your first time spending the night in jail? Now I’m actually impressed. I was seventeen my first time.”

Youngjae frowns at the confession, lifting his head from his hands and moving to look over at him on the other side of the room, blinking a few times to try and focus in on him. “How old are you?” he mumbles out after a moment, unable to really tell.

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-seven and still spending your nights in jail? Am I s-supposed to be impressed?” Youngjae snips out, still feeling like the other was mocking him. The stranger is quiet for a moment before chuckling to himself, shifting forward from where he’s sitting and looking at him.

Or, at least Youngjae thinks he’s looking at him. His visions still kinda blurry.

“You’re pretty dumb for talking to a complete stranger like that, especially someone who’s also spending their night in jail. You don’t even know what I’m in here for.”

Well, shit, the guy has a point. Youngjae feels a heavy sense of dread begin to come over him and finds his thoughts immediately beginning to assume the worst of all situations that he just got himself into. Right now the one that’s winning out was that he just talked back to a potential murderer—but then his common sense decides to make it’s way back to him. They wouldn’t put a murderer in a cell like this. That's what maximum prison facilities were for.

At least, Youngjae’s pretty sure. He hopes so.

Otherwise those tv shows and movies all lied to him.

“This is the ‘drunk tank’ isn’t it? I’m guessing you’re here because you got drunk and then got arrested,” Youngjae counters after collecting himself, leaning his head back against the concrete walls and letting the frown remain on his face. His cheeks feel heavy from it and it feels foreign, mouth not used to down-turning in such a way for so long, but it was a little difficult to find anything enjoyable out of this situation right now.

“Do I seem drunk to you?” The guy questions, and Youngjae blinks again, noting that he definitely did not seem drunk if his clear pronunciation and speech wasn’t evident enough.

“Why are you 'sking me that? I’m drunk. There’s, like, four of you right now.” Playing dumb is his best defense currently and it seems to work when the other laughs in response, settling back against the wall as well.

“Alright. I’ll give you that one.”

“If you’re a murderer or something can you just do me a favor and handle me right now?” Youngjae finds himself babbling, suddenly remembering once more why he was originally so upset. “Kill me before I’m killed tomorrow. Show some mercy. Please?”

“What makes you think you deserve mercy from me?” The guy muses again and Youngjae has to stop himself from pouting like a child but he wants to. He really, really wants to. Badly.

“I’ve done nothing wrong in my life ever,” Youngjae explains before pausing and putting a finger up, “Besides right now. But other than r-right now, I’ve been the perfect son. I’ve done everything that she’s ever wanted for me to do but now I’ve completely fucked up and she’s going to kill me tomorrow when she finds out I’m in jail. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

He thinks he hears the guy chuckling again but the severity of the situation is being dampened by just how drunk Youngjae was at the moment. It made his ramblings seem a little comical, and he would have laughed at him too if he were just an observer – but there was a lot of truth to what he was saying. This guy just didn't realize.

His mother was not going to be happy with him when he had to call her tomorrow and explain where he was and why he hadn't ever updated her on when he got home. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Because that’s just what she did nowadays. It didn’t matter how many things he accomplished and did right in his life; she would find the negatives and hold those over his head until forever. Until Youngjae found himself incapable of reaching whatever full potential she always spoke of him having if he just did what she expected him to do. Until the title of 'disappointment' became a permanent word associated with him anytime he was brought up.

“Why did I let them talk me into going to that stupid party. This is so not cool,” Youngjae whimpers out a little, hands finding his head again as his fingers slip into his brown hair and pull at the strands there.

“It’s just one night in jail. It’s not like you did a crime,” He had almost forgotten the guy was there by how quiet he had gotten, Youngjae’s internal dilemma taking over and distracting him temporarily. Lifting his head to look at the guy again he can feel his eyes stinging now, the heavy weight and drunk stupor fogging his mind and making everything feel like it’s ending right now. It's all beginning to overwhelm him.

Fuck, he was seriously the worst drunk ever. He was making things worse for himself but he couldn’t stop.

“I might as well have,” Youngjae rasps out, ignoring how tight his voice sounds. “My mom’s going to kill me if you don’t first, so seriously, please show me some mercy. I won’t even fight it. I’ll make it so easy for you.”

The stranger is making an exasperated sound, grunting as he pushes himself off from where he had been sitting to cross the distance of the room and plop down in the spot beside Youngjae’s folded up legs. Youngjae finds himself scooting back a bit, feeling the wall press back against him at the sudden lack of space between the two of them. Now that the guy is closer Youngjae can really see him now, and even his drunk eyes can catch the sharp angles and striking features the stranger possesses. Whatever complaints that had been about to slip from his lips are lost when his mouth snaps shut, unsure as to what the other was doing now.

“I’m not a murderer, sad to say,” The guy explains, and Youngjae feels his face fall, knowing that now he would truly have to deal with his mother in the morning.

“Listen, kid—“

“You’re, like, three years older than me. ‘m not a kid,” Youngjae complains, making a face and the guy rolls his eyes before continuing. “It’s one night in jail. You’re not fucking anything up for going to a party and getting drunk, you just got shit luck for being one of the ones to get caught when the cops crash it.”

“This is going to be on a record for me, isn’t it?” Youngjae asks, brow furrowing a bit as the realization hits him. “I-I’ve never even—I’ve never even gotten a ticket before. I drive the speed limit and I-I don’t jay walk or litter and I actually fucking recycle—“

“There are people in this world who have done a lot worse and their lives are just fine,” He isn’t sure why this guy is attempting to consul him right now. Maybe he just looks that pitiful? Whatever it was, Youngjae is trying to cling onto the words being offered, wanting to believe them himself but the fear and anxiety of what’s going to happen tomorrow to him are outweighing everything else.

“You don’t know my mom,” Youngjae mumbles out, sniffling a bit and sinking down into the bench, arms crossing over him as if acting as some sort of shield. “I should of never of let Bambam and Yugyeom talk me into that party. I should have just stayed in my dorm and studied.”

The guy leans back and gives him a thoughtful look.

“You’re in college?”

“Yeah. I’m—I’m getting my masters right now,” Youngjae pauses, lips turning down some more. “Or, I was, but I guess I won’t be anymore. Since I’ll be dead by the beginning of next week.”

The guy makes a noise of disapproval, clicking his tongue, “Stop saying that. No one is going to kill you.”

“You don’t get it!” Youngjae snaps, sitting forward suddenly and dropping the leg that has been balancing on the edge of the bench to the floor, and the two of them are suddenly much closer than he had anticipated. It’s distracting for a moment, and what he means by it is it being the guy’s face, and his eyes flicker to look at the two moles above the other’s left eye that he’s just now noticing.

“Are those real?” Fuck. He’s drunk and his mouth needed to learn how to stop.

The guy looks at him questioningly, seeming a little on edge as well with the lack of space but making no movement to move away. Like the drunk mistake that he is, Youngjae simply continues to take damage hits to his self, bringing his fingers up to gently poke at the moles he had questioned, finger nearly missing them.

A gasp slips from his lips when the guy’s hand shoots up and grabs ahold of his wrist with more strength than he had anticipated, his already sore skin aching under the grip and Youngjae makes a meek attempt to pull it back.

“They’re real,” the other answers back after a moment, moving his hand away. “You normally just touch people without asking?”

“N-No. I don’t. I’m sorry,” Youngjae whispers back quickly, eyes open and wide and feeling extremely out of his element but having no idea as to how to make it all stop. There was too much going on right now for him to comprehend, and his brain was going into overtime trying to find the sobriety he needed to understand everything.

“What are you getting your masters degree in?” The question comes suddenly and throws him off, an owlish expression morphing across his face but the other just stares at him with a look that really gave nothing about him away. Youngjae couldn’t even tell if the other was genuinely curious or if he was just trying to get him to talk for other reasons.

“M-Music therapy,” Youngjae finally answers after an extended moment of silence, pulling his hand back to his chest when the other finally releases it with another thoughtful look on his face.

“You play music?”

Nodding his head, Youngjae swallows the thickness in his throat and tries to ignore the swell of emotions that grow in his chest at the sheer thought of all that he’s done to get to where he is now in school. Was now the moment when you've gotten so piss drunk that you start getting emotional about every little thing? The ache in his chest told him that the answer to that was: Yes.

“I-I’ve played music all my life. It’s basically what I live and breathe.”

It sounds so cheesy but it’s honest and true, the alcohol in his system letting him feel more vulnerable than normal when it came to talking about the sole thing that he had chosen to dedicate his life to.

“You don’t want to be a musician though? Why therapy?”

“I always told myself that I wanted to help others heal with music… just like it helped heal me,” Youngjae tries to explain, finding the words he would normally so passionately go on about a little harder to grasp onto and verbally explain with his lips feeling so heavy right now. “I-I can always play if I want to. Goin’ into therapy just seemed more like a future career...”

“And what do you play?” Youngjae can’t help but make a face now, eyes lifting to look at the other again and when their gazes meet, something about the guy doesn’t seem as off-putting as he had been just moments before. Had he just been imagining the bad attitude all along? Youngjae was pretty positive it had been there; but this guy seemed much more friendly.

It makes him anxious.

“Why do you want to know all these things?” Youngjae finds himself asking instead, brow furrowing to display his confusion.

“I’ve been sitting in here for three hours with no one to talk to. It’s been boring.” Is the casual response that he gets in return, but for some reason, it doesn’t sound convincing.

“You normally just ask about people’s personal lives like this?”

The other raises a brow, leaning back a little bit and giving him a perplexed look before shrugging his shoulders. “I used to make a lot of music when I was younger. In my high school days, at least. I guess you just made me feel a little nostalgic.”

Well… Youngjae couldn’t really say that wasn’t believable. If anything, it made a little more sense to him now why the guy seemed so curious. Something in his stomach churns but he ignores it, keeping their eye contact and not sure how to break it just yet.

“You stopped, though?” He asks instead.

Another brow raise. Youngjae continues. “Making music. You stopped making music. Y-You’re talkin’ all past tense. You used to make music.”

The guy nods his head slowly, shifting against the wall behind him. “I stopped after graduating. Went through some dumb shit. Got my shit together, eventually, but none of what I had at that point needed my music. So it’s been awhile since I’ve written.”

“You ‘got your shit together’ but you’re still here sitting in this drunk tank with me right now?”

Youngjae watches the smirk that curls onto the other’s lips and scoffs when he gets a simple shrug in return, finding the other’s aloof nature on him being in this place irritating compared to his ongoing breakdown that came and went.

The silence stretches between the two of them, words suddenly not being exchanged and Youngjae doesn’t really know what it is. There is a weird energy between the two of them now and he’s slowly becoming aware and attuned to it the soberer he becomes. This odd, misplaced small talk between them was certainly helping with that, as well.

They sit in silence for ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. He's not sure how long it's been.

“I play the piano,” Youngjae mumbles out after another minute or so, suddenly remembering the question that had been asked before he had diverted away from it.

“I can tell.” The other answers, tone smug as if he had called it all along. It’s Youngjae’s turn to raise a brow now, and the guy motions towards his hands. “You’ve got pianist’s hands.”

He raises his own hands up and peeks down at them, lips pressing together a bit as he turns them over and under, fingers wiggling a bit as if trying to see them himself. They were true to the title though. Youngjae had learned the piano when he was five years old and he hadn’t been able to turn away from it since. He could play a piano blind at this point and still know exactly where he needed to place them.

“Thanks,” Youngjae mumbles out seconds later, dropping his hands back into his lap and looking up at him again.

Something about this guy’s story makes him feel almost sad. The sheer thought of Youngjae losing his music and never getting it back again makes his chest hurt. There could be nothing more painful in his life than losing the one thing that helped him through so much. Guilt builds up, along with sorrow, and it must be written all over his face because the guy is giving him an odd look, watching him carefully.

“Stop looking at me like that,” He mutters out gruffly.

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae replies back in a weird voice, “It’s just sad.”

“What is?”

He can see the hesitance in the other’s question of his words, as if he knows what Youngjae is about to comment on but Youngjae’s always been emotional when it comes to music and how it helped him and how it helped others. The alcohol still running through his veins only enhanced those emotions and made them harder to quell.

“That—that you lost the music in your life.”

There’s a pang of something suddenly there between the two of them, the look in the guy’s intense gaze making Youngjae want to sink further into the bench or perhaps take back the words he had just said. He feels his cheeks reddening some, unsure of how to make up for saying something so personal to a complete stranger, but the other is speaking up before he can attempt any damage control.

“I didn’t lose it. It’s still there sometimes. I just usually find it in different places and in moments I don’t expect it.”

He wants to question that. Youngjae wants to know what that means, but that churning feeling comes back and it’s right then and there that he suddenly understands what it is.

It’s nausea.

“I-I’m ‘na ‘row up,” He heaves the words out suddenly, feeling his gums begin to salivate as the heavy need to puke washes over him even more. Both his legs drop so that his feet can hit the floor and Youngjae’s stumbling forward and nearly falling onto his face in his rush to get to something—anything—besides the lap of the other sitting beside him.

“You what?” Jaebum asks in a confused voice, not making a movement to stand just yet but seeming on edge.

“I’m gonna throw up!” Youngjae gasps out again before somehow finding the stainless steel toilet off to the side and collapsing down in front of it. He has no time to think about the cleanliness—or lack of—and just closes his eyes tightly when everything in his system empties into the steel confines of the toilet bowl. His body jerks with the force, hands coming up to grasp at the edge of it and using it to stabilize himself.

He’s panting by the time everything leaves his stomach, the exhaustion creeping through his limbs and he’s about to just collapse with his face on the toilet seat before a hand suddenly comes between it's dirty surface and his cheek, keeping the two from connecting.

“You might want to rethink that,” the familiar voice reprimands from beside him, slowly pushing his head up and Youngjae groans at how heavy it feels.

“I don’t care—“ Youngjae rasps out, throat sore and scratchy from overuse. He hated throwing up so much.

“You say that now but you will when you wake up in a few hours and realize your mouths been pressed against a toilet seat that hasn’t been wiped off in days. You really wanna think about how many nasty, old, drunk, bare asses have sat on this?”

“That’s—that’s so fucking disgusting—Stop using so many adjectives!“ Youngjae whines out, pushing himself away from the toilet completely and ignoring how it flushes loudly seconds later. The guy must’ve been the one to do that because he’s still pretty useless right now. Bringing a hand up to wipe at the sides of his mouth, Youngjae falls backwards and catches himself with his other hand, head swiveling around to find where the other went.

He ends up tilting it back far enough to see the other standing above him and looking down at him with another expression that Youngjae can’t figure out. They blink at each other before he feels his shoulders sag.

“This sucks,” Youngjae mumbles out, contemplating sinking down onto the floor completely to lay down and maybe rest his eyes but a hand is grabbing his forearm and pulling him up instead. He’s distinctly reminded of the way the officer from before had grabbed him in the same spot and it makes him jerk away a little in complaint. “What’s with the manhandling? I can stand up just fine.”

“Don’t fall asleep on the floor. That’s almost just as bad as the toilet. Go back to the bench and lay down.”

“I—I wasn’t falling asleep…” Youngjae says defensively, but not sure if that’s actually true or not. He had really just wanted to lay down. And rest his eyes.

Now that he was thinking about sleep, though, his eyes felt a little heavier than they had before.

He scuffles back over to his previous spot, collapsing back down onto the bench but this time sliding down enough to stretch his whole body out. He fidgets a bit to get more comfortable before sighing and sitting up, pulling off the hoodie he had been wearing over his t-shirt and folding it into a make-shift pillow.

“What time is it?” Youngjae asks with a yawn, grimacing at how hard the bench is underneath him but his head appreciates the new position, still swimming despite him not feeling as drunk as he had a bit ago.

“It’s probably somewhere around one in the morning. Maybe closer to two. Not sure.”

Humming in response he shifts around a bit more, hearing movement from the other side of the room again and forcing his eyes open to watch as the guy took his place in his original spot once more, stretching out his legs and resembling the position he had been in when Youngjae first came in. He watches him for a moment, feeling his eyelids trying to close but he fights the sleep off a little bit longer.

“What’s your name?” Youngjae asks loud enough for the other to hear. There is no answer for a bit there, and he’s close to passing out when it’s finally given.

“Jaebeom.”

His head nods even though he’s sure the other, Jaebeom, can’t see him doing so. “Youngjae,” He responds back with even though the other didn’t ask. “Thanks for not lettin’ my mouth touch that toilet seat, Jaebeom.” Youngjae mumbles out a little deliriously, not catching the huff of amusement that slips from Jaebeom's chest.

“No problem.”

“I hope—“ A yawn cuts him off and he’s pressing his face into his hoodie some more, ignoring how his elbow aches a little at the awkward position he has it in. “I hope you find your music again. Like—I-I mean really find it. Not jus’ when you least expect it.”

There were some more sentimental and emotional words he wanted to say but they're fading away with his consciousness.

The silence stretches for even longer now, and this time Youngjae finally accepts the temptation of sleep. It’s right when he’s about to fall into it completely that he hears the faint mumble of a response somewhere intermixed with the thrum of their silence and the buzzing of fluorescent lights.

“Me too, Youngjae."

*

Was he dead?

He felt a little dead, if he was being honest with himself.

Youngjae’s mouth shuts and feels like a desert, the dryness of it the first thing he notices before a slow and dull ache of a brutal hangover begins to take over as consciousness finds him more and more. His face crumples as the pain spreads from his temples to his forehead, and he's rolling over onto his back and bringing his hands up to press against the sides of his head in complaint, squeezing in an attempt to alleviate some of it.

“Shit—“ Youngjae hisses out, blearily opening one eye only to close it immediately when the bright lights flickering above him blind him. He can see how light they are from underneath his eye lids, and it takes him a solid ten minutes before he can finally manage to open both of his eyes and adjust to the brightness and his surroundings.

He feels disoriented again but this time for different reasons. There’s no windows and there’s no clock to tell him what time it is. Youngjae doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep for but it feels like it’s been years.

Sitting up slowly with a groan, his hands stay pressed to his head. “I should of just slept on the toilet,” Youngjae complains out loud, popping his back and feeling the ache in his shoulders and neck from the awkward position he had been lying in all night.

Silence is the only thing that greets him though and that catches his attention moments later, head turning to look towards the other side of the cell and blinking when Jaebeom is no where to be found. The drunk tank is only so big. It’s not like there are places for someone to hide if they wanted to. It really was just Youngjae in here now, and for a moment he wonders if he completely imagined Jaebeom.

Had he really been that drunk?

No, no—Jaebeom had touched him multiple times and Youngjae knows that that had to be real. Would they of let him out before letting Youngjae out? Is that how it worked in jail? Jaebeom had been there before him but he figured they would of let them out to be released around the same time or something like that.

Frowning to himself Youngjae moves to sit upright, planting his feet onto the ground and trying to pop his neck.

It’s right then and there that the realization that he’s going to die soon hits him once more.

“She’s going to kill me!” Youngjae whimpers out, fingers sifting through his hair again to stress and pull at it, knowing that his time was coming to an end. He would get his phone call eventually and he would have to face the music of what he had done and where he had spent the night last night. There was no way he was going to get around this.

Youngjae stays slumped forward in that position for awhile, elbows on his knees and head held up by his hands, playing out as many scenarios as he can in his mind as to what he can say to his mom when he calls her or what she was going to say to him.

His concentration doesn’t stray until the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway catch his attention, his heartbeat immediately accelerating in his chest because: This Is It.

It was time. His time had finally come.

He had had a good run, hadn’t he? He had lost all the baby fat and chub he had held onto for so long during his high school years. He made it to college. Got his bachelor’s degree. Got into the master's program. Had at least one semi-serious relationship to give him some experience. Managed to lose his virginity. Perhaps Youngjae hadn’t made it as far as he had planned to, but that was all pretty commendable and there were a few things there that he accomplished that he had seriously wondered if he’d ever actually achieve.

Of course he’s referring to losing his baby fat and getting into the master's program.

Definitely not the virginity thing.

The figure of an officer enters his peripherals and Youngjae can’t find it in him to look up just yet until a familiar voice breaks the tense silence.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”

Eyes widening comically Youngjae jerks up and immediately regrets it, a sound of pain slipping from his lips when his head complains at the fast movement. He’s too caught off guard to cripple into it though, looking in shock as Jaebeom stares at him from the other side of the bars—but this time he's wearing a nicely pressed uniform that he had definitely not been wearing last night before he fell asleep.

“What?“ Youngjae awkwardly asks out, face open with his confusion. Jaebeom simply smirks.

“Why are you wearing that?” It’s the first thing he can think of to actually ask and although it seems obvious, for some reason, it still just doesn’t want to fully compute with his brain right this second.

“Wearing what? My uniform?” Jaebeom questions, feigning a curious look that just seeps with sarcasm. “It’s required when I’m on the job.”

“On the job…” Youngjae repeats, feeling as if his brain might be short-circuiting a bit.

“Yeah. I work here.”

“But you—?“ The confusion is back tenfold now. “You were in here last night. With me. You were already in here when I got brought in! What the hell were you doing in the drunk tank if you work here and you weren’t wearing that outfit. I might’ve been drunk but I wasn’t that drunk!”

Jaebeom hums to himself, fixing him with a calm expression that is practically the opposite of Youngjae’s own one of confusion. He looks far too at ease right now but then again, why would he be freaking out about this at all. It had been Youngjae who had been duped.

For some reason he feels a little wronged but he’s not entirely sure why that is.

“It’s a long story.” Jaebeom replies nonchalantly.

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere soon,” Youngjae comments with a bitter—but slightly hysteric—laugh, motioning to the room he’s stuck in.

“It’s a long story—" the other repeats, "And its business. Between myself and my job. Meaning, it’s none of your business.”

Something about the way Jaebeom talks to him right then strikes him wrong too. Youngjae feels somewhat belittled, and he certainly feels that the levels of comparison between their lives that he had thought were there just the night before were suddenly in two completely different realms. Youngjae was far below and Jaebeom was far above; seemingly untouchable now.

It makes him uncomfortable.

But, mostly, it just makes him sad.

“Can I get my phone call now?” Youngjae asks after a moment, ignoring the tone his voice has fallen into and looking down to avoid Jaebeom’s intense gaze.

“No.”

The avoidance clearly doesn’t last long. Youngjae jerks up once more, looking over at him incredulously and feeling his face heat up in anger and frustration.

“I have rights! I’m allowed to have a phone call if I want one. I’m asking for the phone call so I’d appreciate it if you let me have it, officer.” Youngjae sneers the last word out a little harsher than he intends but his head hurts, his body hurts, he’s emotionally stunted right now with how he’s supposed to feel after going through last night and now going through this, and he hasn’t even talked to his mother yet.

The anxiety begins to build up even more and Youngjae’s finding it a little harder to breathe.

“I said no—” Jaebeom says once more, and it’s right when Youngjae forces himself onto his feet and is finding the strength to yell at the other in a moment of anxiety and panic that Jaebeom finally stops him and continues, “Because I’m going to take you home.”

The words die from his mouth instantly, leaving Youngjae’s chapped lips parted around nothing but the stale air of the drunk tank, breath raggedly pushing through them as he tries to calm down. He felt like he was being twisted and thrown through the wringer. 

“You’re going to what?” Youngjae asks, brow furrowing.

Jaebeom pulls out a set of keys from his belt, flipping through them before finding the one that goes to the drunk tank door and unlocking it, pulling it open slowly and stepping aside, motioning for him to exit through.

Youngjae hesitates for a moment, a rush of emotions coursing through him that he’s not sure what to do with but he knows he doesn’t want to be in this stupid fucking drunk tank anymore, so he turns to snatch up his hoodie and is roughly pulling it over his head when he takes the exit provided by Jaebeom. The hood catches on his head as he pulls the rest of the garment down and Youngjae makes no effort to brush it off, choosing to let it hide away tousled brown hair and appreciating how it shields his face from the other right now.

“Follow me,” Jaebeom orders, hand coming up to grip at his arm much like it had last night and Youngjae rips his arm away from the hold again, bringing them in and around himself instead.

“I can walk just fine. And I’m not going to run away from you, so you don’t have to manhandle me to your car.”

In all honesty, there was no real reason for him to be this upset about Jaebeom being an officer and not telling him. Youngjae is actually pretty sure that once all of this is over with and he has time to settle down from the aftermath once it hits and does the damage that it does, he won’t be upset at all about this.

Because Jaebeom is a complete stranger who never owed an explanation to him in the first place.

Youngjae just feels a little too vulnerable right now. He had spent his first night in jail. He had puked into a cell's unsanitary toilet. He had to sleep on a bench. In a cell. By himself. And the one person who he had thought was riding in the same boat as he had ended up being an officer which—now that he thought about it—only made everything ten times more embarrassing for him.

Jaebeom had witnessed first hand his drunk stupidity and was probably going to personally write up the entire police report himself.

The two of them walk in silence through the police station, Youngjae dropping his head and pulling his hood down further to avoid catching anyone’s gaze as people buzzed around them and didn’t seem to give them a second glance. His hand comes up to shield his eyes when they exit the building and the sun is there to greet him much like the fluorescent lights had done so earlier.

“What time is it?” Youngjae asks, suddenly wondering where his cell phone is. They had taken it and his other things when they admitted him last night. “My phone—“

“It’s right here.”

Blinking, Youngjae looks up when the familiar (and now dead) device is presented in front of him, along with his wallet and set of keys held together on a lanyard decorated with designs from his favorite video game.

“Isn’t there some sort of paperwork or something I’m supposed to sign? Do you really just let people walk out of here after spending a night in jail?”

Youngjae is tempted to run back into the police station and ask for his phone call, but he thinks better of it. So, he takes his things instead, pressing them close to his chest.

“You were told to spend the night because you were drunk. You didn’t actually commit a crime,” Jaebeom explains while pulling out the keys to unlock the squad car they’re both approaching. Youngjae pauses for a moment before moving towards the door that leads to the back seat.

“What are you doing?”

Jaebeom’s voice makes him retract his hand immediately from the door handle, flustering him and making him look up with a huff. “Why would I sit in the front seat?” Youngjae objects, hands tightening around the items in them as he tries not to let the embarrassment and onslaught of feelings get to him even more.

“Why would you sit in the back seat?" Jaebeom challenges back. "Get in the passenger side, Youngjae.”

His name coming from Jaebeom’s lips sounds odd to him now, but Youngjae doesn’t bother fighting him on this. He steps up and opens the passenger side door instead, slipping into the car and settling into the plush interior of it while holding his breath.

It’s a sequence of motions then. Jaebeom gets into the driver’s seat. He unclips a few things from his belt and then turns the car on. He presses a few buttons on the radio and turns down the volume as the static breaks through and a women’s voice speaks through in codes that Youngjae can’t even comprehend as to what they could mean. The whole time Jaebeom gets adjusted Youngjae stays still, only moving to put on his seat belt when he sees the other do it and then give him a look.

This silence is drowning and he knows he can’t be the only one affected by it. Or, at least Youngjae hopes he isn’t. There was a part of him that wanted so badly for Jaebeom to be bothered in some way about this entire situation but what did he have to be bothered about? He had been in on the whole thing and Youngjae was the one who looked like the dumbass right now.

“Where am I taking you?” Jaebeom asks after a moment. Youngjae gives the name and address to his college campus like he’s on autopilot, head turning to look out the window as they begin to drive in that direction.

The quiet stretches until Jaebeom decides to finally break it.

“I’m not going to file a report of your overnight stay. I’ve already talked to the officers who brought you in and handled it. I didn’t give you your phone call for that reason.”

Youngjae’s ears are ringing and he can hear the steady thump of his heart beat in them at Jaebeom’s words. The anxiety that had been building and building suddenly stops, wavering as if not sure if it should go further and it leaves Youngjae shaking just the slightest. His head slowly turns to look over at the other, his eyes wide.

“W—Why would you do that?” he asks in disbelief, feeling the tremble that's slipped in his voice but not acknowledging it.

“Like I told you before,” Jaebeom mumbles out, keeping his attention on the road in front of them. “There are people in this world who have done a lot worse and their lives are just fine.”

The words are familiar – he remembers them being said in the midst of his drunk breakdown, but Youngjae still doesn’t get it.

“No I mean—why would you do that for me?”

Jaebeom’s mouth presses together and he seems to frown further, almost looking annoyed at having to answer it but Youngjae doesn’t know how else to respond. It feels wrong to accept relief so easily and he’s almost waiting for the catch. There has to be a catch.

“I’m just trying to help,” Jaebeom says.

“But why?” Youngjae presses.

“Can I not just help you because I want to help you?” Jaebeom retorts quickly in a tense voice, inhaling through his nose slowly and letting out the breath a moment later. They come to a stop at a red light and Youngjae still hasn’t taken his eyes off the other.

“You don’t even know me,” Youngjae says, feeling far too emotionally distressed for someone who is getting out of such a shitty situation practically scot free.

“Look, just—“ Jaebeom sighs heavily again, bringing a hand up to run through his black hair. “Just go back to school and forget yesterday happened, okay? You don’t have to tell your mom about it. There’ll be no record. No one is going to find out that this happened so you can stop freaking out about it. You’re not going to die anymore. So just focus on your music and work and get your degree and please, for the love of god, don’t let your ass end up back in that drunk tank ever again.”

Any words are suddenly hard for him to form; so Youngjae doesn’t bother responding back anymore. Instead he lets the silence fall over them again, slowly turning his gaze to look directly in front of him as they make their way back to his college campus.

The drive itself takes about twenty minutes and when Jaebeom pulls into one of the empty parking spots near his dorm building after a few quick directions on his part, Youngjae still makes no effort to move or leave, body feeling numb in the seat.

Jaebeom puts the car in park but leaves it running, arm resting on top of the steering wheel as he turns to look at Youngjae completely now.

“Well?” His deep voice asks when Youngjae still hadn't made an effort to do anything.

And just like that it’s like the metaphorical gates he's been using to hold everything back give way under the growing pressure and finally fling open, releasing it all at once.

The tears are streaking down his cheeks before he can even help it, a shaky gasp for air breaking from his chest as Youngjae covers his face and curls in on himself—or as much of himself as he can with the seatbelt restraining him back. Really, his legs just kind of awkwardly lift to press closer to him.

If there is one thing Youngjae hates more than throwing up; its crying.

He does not cry. Not like this, at least.

There are very few people in his life that have experienced the amount of tears that are flowing freely from his eyes right now, and those are people that Youngjae trusted enough to allow himself to have such a moment of weakness like that in front of. With all the stresses in his life he does his best to try to remain optimistic. To look at the brighter side of things. To be as helpful as he can to those who need it.

Because that's what he wants to do. Youngjae wants to help; he doesn’t want to be a burden.

His tears. His own feelings. Most of the time that’s how he views them as: A burden.

It had been a long time since his anxiety had gotten to him like this, as well. Years of personal growth and learning self-control had allowed him to find a good sense of calm for his mind, to where the anxiety that used to eat at him alive didn’t do so anymore. Youngjae did a good job with clear thinking and working things out himself, but there were still times where it all shattered and he fell back into moments like this where his control slipped completely.

Moments like last night. Really, he’s crying over the jail thing, but it was Jaebeom’s random kindness that had finally set it off.

“Youngjae—“ Jaebeom’s voice breaks him from his thoughts and Youngjae jolts up, bringing his face out of his hands and ignoring how much of a mess he probably looks right now.

“Thank you!” The watery words slip from his lips immediately after, cutting the other off before he can say more. “I’m sorry. I’m being so dumb right now and I’m sorry I’m crying in your squad car and I think might’ve snotted on your seat a bit and I’m just—I’m sorry—I don’t usually do this kind of thing—”

“What? Cry?” Jaebeom asks in an incredulous tone, looking a little put off.

“You don’t know me but I’m—I promise I’m not like this normally!” Youngjae exclaims in a broken sob of embarrassment, motioning towards all of him. “I’m actually really chill! And I like to smile! I’m not the guy who cries all the time I-I’m the guy who comforts the ones crying all the time—“

“You’re not the guy who usually spends a night in jail, either?” Jaebeom offers, seeming a little amused now as Youngjae goes on his semi-tirade.

“Yes!” Youngjae points at him fervently, as if he had hit the nail right on the head. “Yes! I’m not that guy. I don’t make mistakes like that. I don’t fuck up like this!”

“Youngjae.”

The way his name is said makes him catch his breath, inhaling deeply to try and calm himself down and practically biting his tongue to stop anymore of his word vomit from coming out. The tears have stopped falling by now, slowly drying onto his cheeks and around his eyes and leaving behind a heavy feeling along with an uncomfortable sting every time he blinked.

“What?” Youngjae finally asks, bringing a hand up to wipe at his face pitifully.

“You’re welcome.”

He almost expects it to be laced with some sort of sarcasm or tease; but the words are sincere. Youngjae blinks at the other sitting in the seat near him, feeling his lips tremble a bit before he lets out the breath he’s been holding and collapses back into the passenger seat, really feeling drained from everything now.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles out again, pressing his hand over his eyes for a moment before finally sitting up and collecting his things, undoing his seatbelt and then grabbing the handle of the door to open it. He’s about to climb out when a hand reaches out to grab his forearm, pulling him back into the car and Youngjae falls back into the seat with a small sound of shock and turns quickly to look at Jaebeom once more.

“I’m going to give you this,” The other says, giving him a look that fixes him right in that spot and tells him not to move. Youngjae watches as Jaebeom leans back to pull out a pen and write something down on a piece of colored paper that he pulls from somewhere on his side of the car. He pockets the pen after a second and then hands the paper over to him.

Youngjae grabs it and sits up a little, blinking in confusion at the words printed on the colored sheet and slowly lifting his gaze to look back at Jaebeom who seems a little flustered.

“You’re giving me a ticket?”

Jaebeom looks surprised for a moment, and perhaps more flustered, but a smile still stretches across his face and something churns in Youngjae’s stomach at the sight of it and this time he knows it’s not because he needs to throw up. It’s light and it makes his breath catch in his throat.

“No. It’s my number,” Jaebeom corrects, pointing to the digits written on the piece of paper. “Maybe writing it down on a ticket wasn’t the best choice but it was the closest paper I had near me. But it’s not an actual ticket.”

“Well that's a relief because that really would’ve been the icing on the cake. Really,” Youngjae drawls out, somehow managing to find his snark again despite looking like a mess and feeling like even more of one. He falters for a moment, peeking back down at the numbers before looking back up at Jaebeom curiously.

“Why are you giving me your number?”

“Can you do me a favor?” Jaebeom suddenly asks, looking irritated again but Youngjae still can't tell if he actually is or not. He nods his head any way.

“Stop asking me so many questions and just accept that I’m doing these things because I want to do them. Do you always need an explanation?”

Youngjae blinks at him for a second, eyeing him carefully as he processes the words. They weren’t said in any way that came off as rude or offensive. They just seemed very honest. And part of him wants to say that yes, he does need an explanation for things, because it helps him understand things better but he holds his tongue this time at the look Jaebeom sends him.

Whatever had just transpired between the two of them between last night and today truly had no real explanation behind it either, did it? If someone were to ask how Jaebeom and he had ended up in the moment that they were in right now, Youngjae isn’t very sure he’d be able to really know how to explain it himself.

Maybe it was what was best right now for them. 

No explanations.

“Okay,” Youngjae breathes out, relenting from his own questioning and he can see how Jaebeom seems to visibly relax when he does so.

“Just call me. Or text me. Whenever,” Jaebeom finally continues, eyes flickering over to look at the ticket in Youngjae’s grasp, nodding at it. “You don’t need a reason or an explanation or anything. Just know that it’s there and you have it if you ever want to reach out. I’ll answer.”

Youngjae feels that flutter in his gut again and honestly he had been so sure that he would have been dealing with his mother’s wrath at this point in the day—not getting the number from the officer he just spent the night locked in a drunk tank with.

There really was no explaining this, but again, Youngjae found himself accepting it easily. Maybe it has to do with the genuine look that peeks through on Jaebeom’s face for that brief moment—spiking up a curiosity in him to know more about the other now that their paths had crossed in such an odd way.

Maybe it has to do with that fact that Youngjae’s curious now. And he thinks Jaebeom might be too.

“Okay,” He repeats again, feeling himself finally managing a smile that only gets brighter the more it stretches his cheeks. It's familiar and much more comforting than the frowns that had been tugging his lips further and further down since last night. Jaebeom blinks at him, seeming at little caught off guard by something all the sudden, and Youngjae finally takes that as his queue to leave. Hands find the door once more to push it open, making sure he has his things with him and he bends down to peek at the other sitting in the driver seat once he climbs out.

“I’ll text you later, Officer Jaebeom,” Youngjae chirps out before shutting the door in Jaebeom’s wide-eyed face, laughing to himself and enjoying the lightness that it brings back to him. He finally feels like he can breathe again. Like the world isn't ending.

*

Youngjae is back in his dorm five minutes later, unlocking the front door and jumping when he’s immediately bombarded by his friends. 

They want answers and Youngjae still has to text his mom an excuse; but he's letting himself have this moment.

“Dude! What the hell happened to you?! The cops showed up and there were people saying they saw you get put into the back of one of their cars?!” Bambam’s voice asks urgently, hands grabbing at him and yanking him further into the room, hovering over him as if assessing for damage. Yugyeom looks at him carefully after noticing the puffiness of his face.

“Have you been crying?” the younger asks, looking guiltier by the second.

“Is that a ticket?” Bambam asks seconds after, staring at the colored piece of paper still gripped in Youngjae’s hand.

Youngjae blinks, slowly lifting the mentioned ticket up and turning it over to glance at Jaebeom's number written across it before letting a goofy smile stretch across his face again.

“Yeah. It’s a ticket.”