Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The plastic stars on Seungkwan’s ceiling seem very far away, molded in odd shapes from where Hansol is laying on his back on his friend’s bed, head hanging off the edge. His face feels sort of numb yet stuffed, like with cotton, from the blood rushing to his head, and still he doesn’t bother to sit up. Hair splayed all over, the tips of it probably touching the dirty floor of Seungkwan’s room.

“I’m going to die,” Hansol mumbles. Seungkwan makes a sound of acknowledgement across the room where he is sitting by his desk. He looks weird like that, upside down, dark hair greasy from not being washed in a few days—or that’s what Hansol assumes, at least.

“Cool,” Seungkwan says, the tapping of his keyboard sharp and loud in the otherwise fairly quiet space.

It’s kind of odd, to say the very least, how it’s Hansol who is rather restless and wanting to chat instead of sitting in comfortable silence or letting Seungkwan fill it. He is the chatterbox of the two of them, not Hansol.

“Do you think you could drown in your own sweat?” Hansol asks, moving his stare from Seungkwan’s disoriented figure back to the plastic stars on the roof. His head is starting to hurt from the position, face probably red in a very unattractive way. Not that healthy flush or adorable blush, nothing like that.

“Try it,” is Seungkwan’s more or less apathetic response, wavering around the edges. Hansol pulls himself back to a sitting position with a sigh, running his hand through now messy dark brown, borderline black, locks.

The summer vacation had started off with a bang weather wise. It’s awfully hot and humid, making Hansol sweat buckets even in shorts and t-shirts. By now, the sound of a fan humming is just a background noise he has gotten used to, barely noticing it. Perhaps it isn’t the best idea to sit on a bed since the sheets against his bare legs just make everything a tiny bit more unbearable, but he doesn’t want to sit on the floor, either.

The black gym shorts he is wearing have risen up his thighs, which is honestly a blessing in disguise. Sticky skin against dampened fabric. He feels sweaty and gross, groaning silently and shuffling on the bed to move to the window to yank it open. Although the outside air is hot, at least a soft breeze pushes in when Hansol manages to open the window with loud rattling. The house, Seungkwan’s childhood home, is an old building with rusted hinges and with such loud noises it seems like it’s alive.

Hansol’s last year of high school ended a few days ago. He is very grateful to get out from the hellhole that place was but things ending mean new starts, and new starts are the terrifying part. With nothing to do to pass his days, Hansol has become a permanent leech at Seungkwan’s place with too much time in his hands. Things feel stupidly empty.

“Seungkwan,” Hansol voices, a tad more whinier than intended, staring out of the window to the garden, the pavement after it, the houses across the street, “I’m bored.”

“Get a hobby,” Seungkwan answers, although that doesn’t fix his current issue with boredom, “like, a new one. Soccer isn’t—wasn’t, I guess—your boyfriend. Stop moping around like you got your heart broken.” His voice sounds as apathetic as before, dull and distracted with whatever he is working on his laptop. Hansol isn’t exactly sure what since well, he doesn’t pay attention to those things, apparently.

“I’m not moping around,” he argues but it’s more flat than anything else, “I’m just bored.”

“As if those can’t go hand in hand,” Hansol can practically hear the eyeroll in Seungkwan’s tone. He doesn’t have anything to say so Hansol settles to a strangled noise from the back of his throat. He turns around on the bed, deciding to tug the hems of his shorts back down. If it were a bit more hotter, he’d take his shirt off. Now he just doesn’t bother to. It’s not like Seungkwan hasn’t seen shirtless and more all throughout the years they’ve stuck together.

He might have a point. Seungkwan, that is. Quitting soccer was his own choice and while he doesn’t regret it, there’s cons to it—some of them he won’t think about in broad daylight in avoidance of getting sad over them. One of the bad sides is just the monotone lack of anything to do when his days aren’t filled with practice and camps.

“Do you wanna go out?” Seungkwan suggests after a second, turning in his chair to face Hansol. He has his brow cocked up in question, lips pouted the tiniest bit. Hansol nods slowly, without thinking it much. The air inside is stuffy.

“Yeah,” Hansol says. His appearance isn’t the best, ratty t-shirt that most likely reeks of sweat, messy hair, and so on. But then, Seungkwan doesn’t look any better with his dirty hair.

“What are you even writing?” Hansol asks, standing up from the bed and walking towards Seungkwan to peek over his shoulder where he has turned back to his laptop.

“An email,” he replies simply. Hansol doubts it’s anything important because if it were, he trusts Seungkwan to tell him. He settles with a nod as a response even though the other boy doesn’t even see it anymore. Hansol rests his palms on Seungkwan’s shoulders, leaning closer to read the text on his screen.

“Let’s go,” he says, nudging the older boy. He lets his gaze move from the screen to the white wall in front of him. It has stains from Blu Tack and hand prints that only show in the midday sun.

“Just a moment,” Seungkwan mumbles. Hansol lets go of him, stepping back. He sighs quietly, putting his hands behind his back and bending his head to look at the ceiling and its fake stars again. They’re that shade of yellow-green that he can’t really tell which colour it is. They were put up when the both of them were just kids, maybe eight years old, and the ceiling was so much further away than it is now. If Hansol held his arms up while he jumped, he could touch it and the stars.

“It’s not like you have a hobby either, anyway,” Hansol says, stare still fixated to the piss yellow-green of the stars.

“What a quick reaction,” Seungkwan says, accompanied by the sound of a laptop screen being closed, “and I do have a hobby.”

Hansol purses his lips.

“Singing doesn’t count,” he argues, although very lamely.

“Why not, you fool,” Seungkwan says, getting up from his chair. He is dressed in light denim shorts, loose and faded, and a white t-shirt. Hansol just shrugs his shoulders before giving him a lazy smile.

“A hobby doesn’t have to be something athletic,” Seungkwan continues speaking, grabbing a baseball cap from the corner of his desk.

“I know,” Hansol says. He moves to take his phone from where he left it in Seungkwan’s shelf. Not really the most convenient place since he tends to lose his stuff anyway and a shelf isn’t the first place where he’d realize to look, but apparently he is lucky today. Hansol clutches his phone in his clammy hand. The shorts he is wearing don’t have pockets so he’ll have to deal with carrying it.

“I’ll find something to do, mother dearest,” Hansol grins softly. Seungkwan huffs, punching his shoulder with a bit more force than necessary.

“Not your mother,” he says, walking towards the door before stopping and looking at Hansol with a cocked brow.
“Should we go visit Soonyoung?” Seungkwan asks.

“If you’ll pay,” Hansol shrugs his shoulders.

“You really are a leech,” the other one says, “stealing my bed, our water, our electricity, my money, my sanity.”

“God, you’re sexy when you talk like that,” Hansol tells him. Seungkwan glares at him back, eyes narrowed as he shakes the wallet he picked up from the shelf.

“And you called me your parent,” he mumbles, like in disbelief, “awful. Absolutely horrible.” Hansol laughs.

The ice cream parlour where Soonyoung works is one of those disgustingly sweet looking shops, decorated in the colour scheme of pastels. Admittedly, it’s quite cute. It’s located only a few minute walk from Seungkwan’s home, which is a blessing because it’s way too hot for a longer journey.

During their walk there, it’s Seungkwan who blabbers to fill the silence, not that he isn’t distracted by something else, although his voice sounds a bit out of breath and Hansol isn’t sure if it’s the weather to blame or Seungkwan’s horrible stamina.

They arrive to the parlour fast enough, but even that has sweat wetting his face. It’s mostly gross, if anything. The shop is by the street, a big sign on top of the window saying Sundae School. Before the door, there’s a blackboard placed on the ground with welcoming messages such as I’m not here to play brain games. Except brain freeze . If that’s really welcoming, Hansol isn’t sure.

He walks in first, the bell on the door chiming loudly, Seungkwan following after. If Soonyoung was anyone else than himself, Hansol would have viewed the spontaneous visit as risky since he could have another shift. But because Soonyoung is Soonyoung and he pours his entire life on Twitter, Hansol is convinced he is working today, and more importantly, right now.

“Welcome to Sundae School,” Soonyoung’s nasal voice announces at them, face bright with recognition, “I’m probably not allowed to say this, but my two favourite customers!”

Soonyoung really is a chaos of a person but it works, somehow.

“You melt my heart,” Seungkwan says with a smile on his face. Hansol isn’t exactly sure if it’s an ice cream pun or what, but in any case it makes Soonyoung coo. The corners of his eyes crinkle.

The parlour is empty which is sort of surprising considering how warm it is outside. Hansol doesn’t give it much more thought and walks forward to peek at the colourful ice cream displayed underneath the glass. Matching with the overall theme of the parlour, the flavours’ names are written in defined cursive on small pieces of mint green cardboard, surrounded by hearts and stars.

“Gotta keep it real, I’m so tired,” Soonyoung complains but he does it with a permanent smile on his face, then a dumbfounded laugh, “I thought a summer job would be something refreshing, being all productive and getting money from it, but Christ. I’ve never been this exhausted.”

Hansol snorts.

“How about exam seasons?” He asks, glancing at Seungkwan who is getting his wallet out of his pocket in advance. Soonyoung stays silent for a second before nodding slowly.

“Yeah, you’re right. I change my mind. I’m still tired as Hell, though.”

“At least you don’t have to work outside. It is Hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ground set on fire,” Seungkwan whines.

“I want pistachio,” Hansol interrupts them, pointing at the green ice cream. It is, evidently, the best flavour there is in the shop and most likely, anywhere. With his side eye, he can see Seungkwan pout a bit at his interrupting, but then again, he pouts at most things so he doesn’t get a reaction out of it.

Soonyoung nods.
“Pistachio it is,” he tells him, “in a cup or a cone?”

“Cone, please,” Hansol says, turning his phone in his hands. Soonyoung nods again and he turns his gaze away, to the space they’re in. Hansol is oblivious to his surroundings, most of the time, unless he really looks. He has been trying to do it more lately. While comfortable, apparently it’s not too convenient being out of it constantly, in his own world that consists of the music playing from his headphones he has on more often than not and his own thoughts.

There’s a long and slim table by the window, and two round and small tables in the room. The flooring is dusty pink, with some stains that most likely just won’t come off.

“Hansol,” Soonyoung calls his name and he turns around quickly. The older one offers him the cone over the counter and he takes it with his free hand, thanking him.

“I’ll pay for both of us. Gimme… strawberry, please. With a cone,” Seungkwan says, a fairly boring choice. Soonyoung gives him a thumbs up but Hansol is focused on his ice cream to pay attention to it any more.

Soon enough Seungkwan has gotten his ice cream and paid for them, of course whining about the cost, and Soonyoung’s empathetic nodding, which isn’t really that empathetic since as an employee he gets to eat it for free. He is just full of shit. They sit at the round table next to the counter. There’s no reason in going back outside to the heat when there’s an air conditioning in the shop.

“How has the summer started off for you guys?” Soonyoung asks, leaning against the counter, hands propped against his cheeks. Hansol bites into his ice cream.

“Pretty okay,” Seungkwan says, “I’ve done nothing.” Hansol nods to back up his statement.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Got any plans?” Soonyoung asks, now looking down to his phone he has pulled out. Hansol turns his back to him, not bothering to keep his head turned to his direction when all it’s gonna do is hurt his neck.

“I’m volunteering at a music camp in a few weeks!” Seungkwan announces brightly. Hansol furrows his brows, licking the melting ice cream dripping down the cone. He knows about him leaving, he has mentioned it multiple times already. Seungkwan does it basically every year. The difference is that the summers before, Hansol was busy himself. It’s honestly a bit uncomfortable to think about.

“Sweet! What about you?” Soonyoung, always so inclusive, directs the question at Hansol. He shakes his head with an uh-huh sound.

“Unless sleeping the day in and eating only instant noodles counts,” he mumbles lamely.

“It doesn’t,” Seungkwan comments while Soonyoung coos at him sadly, or maybe sympathetically. Hansol isn’t really sure.

“No more practice, huh?” Soonyoung asks. He shakes his head.

“You know that I quit,” Hansol smiles shortly, although it lacks any positivity. The thing, the embarrassing and awfully uncomfortable thing, is how guilty he feels over it. Hansol knows he is—was—good at soccer, a star player whatsoever. Apparently it’s unfortunate and a waste of talent how he decided to quit playing, and Hansol can’t argue with that.

Hansol mentally shakes his head, biting into the ice cream, again, swallowing it down with the sudden negativity in his mind.

“Just making sure,” Soonyoung says. His voice is almost careful, and Hansol doesn’t like that. He glances at Seungkwan sitting opposite him. The boy has his brows furrowed, the worried gaze in his eyes. Hansol chuckles nervously.

“Our Hansollie needs a new hobby,” Seungkwan says then, voice light, “he can start knitting. Or maybe doing drag.”

Hansol rolls his eyes.

“Maybe it’s for good. Like, not having a hobby. You will be busy with college in a few months, anyway,” Soonyoung says. Seungkwan nods.

“Talking about college,” Soonyoung continues, the soft sound of him putting his phone onto the counter, “my friends from school are hosting a party. It’s off campus but you could come and get a taste of that sweet college kid life beforehand.”

Hansol swallows the ice cream in his mouth.

“We’ll come,” he decides, quickly. Seungkwan looks at him with eyes a bit rounder than usual.

Hansol isn’t really a party person, that’s for sure, but the logic behind his spontaneous, or whatever, choice goes something like if he has an excuse to do something other than lounge around his or Seungkwan’s place, he’ll take it. Even if it’ll end up being sorta lame. He won’t think about it too much with alcohol in his system, so really, it works. Seungkwan probably understands it because he nods in agreement after a second.

“They won’t mind us children crashing?” Seungkwan asks Soonyoung and Hansol looks over his shoulder at him as well.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure. It’s more lowkey since a lot of people went home for summer,” he tells them. Hansol nods slowly, mouth hanging open a tad bit.

Soonyoung, alongside with Seungkwan, is someone Hansol has known the longest. Seungkwan is next level, of course, having been best friends since first grade. The oldest of the trio moved to their city when Hansol was around eleven, to the same neighbourhood, and yet they never went to the same school before high school.

Now, it’s just the three of them left. Soonyoung enrolled in the local college a few years ago already and the following autumn it’s his and Seungkwan’s turn. It seems like all of their other peers moved to another cities and places for college, and Hansol is stuck there with Seungkwan.

“Will there be free booze?” Hansol asks, biting into the cone. It doesn’t give that satisfying crumbling sound but breaks off smoothly, damp. He doesn’t like it very much. Soonyoung makes a half hearted hand motion in response.

“Not really, but I’m sure you’ll be able to get drunk even if you don’t bring your own. Someone will always share,” he shrugs his shoulders. Soonyoung says it in a manner like he knows it to be true, like he has history with that sort of things. He probably does. Drunken students are always more kind, in that sense, or maybe it’s a matter of inclusivity.

“Right,” Hansol nods, turning his head back to Seungkwan instead of Soonyoung.

“Wait. Did you say when it is?” Seungkwan asks, ice cream spread on the corners of his lips.

“Uh, I don’t think so. But Friday,” he replies. Seungkwan nods slowly.

Hansol looks down to his hand where his phone is resting, unlocking it to check the date. In all honesty, it takes him one day of no schedule or plans to lose the track of time. It’s Wednesday, he finds out.

“Please come with us though. How awful, just Hansol and I walking into a stranger’s house like we’re here now, the party can start! ” Seungkwan says it with a feigned full body shudder, an exaggerated expression on his face. It makes Hansol snort into his cone. It’s not even that funny, he just laughs at the oddest things.

“Of course, my child,” Soonyoung says cheerfully.

The door chimes as it’s being opened and Soonyoung focuses his attention to the customer with the same bright Welcome to Sundae School! Hansol raises his brows at Seungkwan who smiles back knowingly.

The thing is, Hansol knows his mom is fed up with him lounging around the house all day. It’s sort of stupid, in his opinion, since it’s been just a few days since the summer vacation started. A part of it makes sense, in comparison to how busy he used to be, it’s still a drastic change. It’s distressing how a thing that used to make him proud, his mom proud, is now the matter that causes their arguments.

If he thinks about it, he’ll remember and realize that it’s not really a switch in their relationship. It always has caused the feud. Hansol knows a part of her concern blooms from her caring about him and not wanting him to make a big mistake by quitting something he has potential in. Then, she says it’s okay, it’s his choice, it’s fine but Hansol knows that she minds. That’s the thing.

It’s making him goddamn miserable, though. In the end of the day it’s himself he needs to prioritize so he’ll deal with the guilt. It’s not particularly heroic but he doesn’t want it to be.

What has ended up with his introspective times on his bedroom floor is another pointless argument with his mom. Nothing worthy of telling, none of it matters—those things. Now Hansol has his fan humming loudly and abdominals aching as he does sit ups in his underwear. The annoyance is a prickling feeling behind his forehead, something like the beginning of a headache.

Hansol is a calm, nonconfrontational person by nature. Conflict tends to be useless, an energy eating waste of time in his books and yet. Yet it seems to be impossible to pass a day without someone bickering in his house. The two of them arguing makes his sister whine and it repeats and repeats like a rat race. It makes him cringe.

Hansol lets out an exaggerated sigh. The barely cool parquet beneath the bare of his back is harsh and uncomfortable but he doesn’t bother to get up.

At least he’ll leave the house of tonight.

It has gotten him a tad bit jittery, the thought of going to the party. It’s something like this; Hansol has been to parties more times than he can count but there still is a difference between high school kids and blending in completely, and being most likely the youngest one in an apartment of strangers. It isn’t enough to make him properly nervous, shaking hands or cold sweats but just feeling kinda weird.

Hansol lifts his hand to slap his palm to his cheek with no force at all. He rubs his face tiredly. He just dislikes feeling small and not being taken seriously. He is probably overthinking it—going all cabin fever. Hansol takes in a shuddering breath, turning on his stomach on the floor and propping his palms against the parquet. There’s no point in thinking foolish things he has no control over.

With the sound of his room only consisting of his own ragged breath from doing pushups and the fan humming, he can hear the muffled voices of his mom and sister talking somewhere downstairs. He can’t tell apart the words.

The time passes like that, and then there’s a reminding imessage from Seungkwan just in case Hansol forgot. It makes him chuckle down at his screen.

With more than an hour before he has to leave, Hansol decides to take a very necessary shower to rinse off the sweat and whatever dust has stuck onto his skin from laying on the floor. If something is positive, then the fact that it won’t be as humid outside now that it’s getting later in the day. It manages to make him smile to himself slightly, having preferred chilly weather over warm one, always. Even if it’s not about preferences, not really, but just how it’s relieving to know he won’t actually suffocate on the burning air.

Hansol gets dressed with lazy movements. His wardrobe consists mostly of joggers, t-shirts and hoodies, with a few Adidas trackers thrown in, so he isn’t really the most fashionable person, unless you view sportswear as something revolutionary. Thinking about it, someone probably does. Hansol managed to dig out a pair of black jeans that smell kinda odd from having been in the back of his closet for a while now, but they fit well enough so he isn’t complaining.

Maybe he looks boring in a dark grey t-shirt and a thin necklace around his throat but it’s not really his plan to come off as outstanding or memorable so Hansol settles with what he has. A monochrome outfit matching with his dark hair. As depressing as him. Or not really. That’s for Soonyoung to be on bad days. Everything is cool and if someone finds him attractive enough to press a drunken kiss against his lips, that’s cool too. Or something, Hansol furrows his brows. Hooking up isn’t the priority for tonight since Seungkwan could and would beat his ass if he ditches him, he is pretty sure.

In the end, it takes them over two hours before they even get close to their location. It’s Soonyoung to blame, of course. By the time they get to the front yard of the place, it’s somewhere between ten and eleven pm, and all Hansol can think of is how it shouldn’t be this dark in June. He has a few drinks in his system already from pregaming at Soonyoung’s but it’s not enough to make him to distort his view on the world. It’s just really dim, it’s almost eerie.

It’s loud and surprisingly packed, and the stuffy and hot smell is what hits his face first. From Soonyoung’s words before, Hansol had assumed it’d be something more lowkey—he can recall Soonyoung using that exact word. So if this is what he counts as small, Hansol isn’t sure if he wants to know what a full blown party is then.

”Oh wow,” the oldest of them sighs, ”I didn’t think so many people would be there.” Apparently Soonyoung was mistaken, it’s quite obvious as they walk from the doorway to what seems like a living room. Hansol isn’t that nervous, not with what the alcohol has flushed his cheeks, but almost anticipating. It’s not his world and even if it could be, it still feels foreign. New. Even when starts are the scary part. He doesn’t know where these thoughts are coming from.

Soonyoung leads the way and Hansol tries not to come off as a duckling following its mother. Seungkwan seems to enjoy the crowd, looking around sort of excitedly, a cheerful smile sporting his face. He is like that, a people person, wanting to be around others and get to know them, but Hansol thinks he can see some hesitance in his mannerisms. He isn’t sure at all though.

The room Soonyoung leads them to is a kitchen. Hansol has his drinks, and Seungkwan’s, in a string backpack slung over his shoulder, making a quiet clicking sound as he walks. He swallows. It’s just a party. Nothing more. Something weird is in the air.

Hansol stands next to the kitchen island beside Seungkwan, leaning against it with his back. The room isn’t crowded at all which is a good thing since it’s not the biggest kitchen he has seen. The few people there seem to be familiar with Soonyoung though since the older boy greets them happily to bring attention to him. Hansol thinks he recognizes at least one of them, even if he can’t remember his name.

“Here’s Seungkwan, Hansol,” Soonyoung introduces them to his friends (acquaintances?), pointing to them with his open palm, as if they’re on display.

“Junhui, Mingyu, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung continues with his friends’ names, “You’ve met Wonwoo, right?”

Hansol blinks slowly before nodding, if not a bit hesitantly. Wonwoo is clutching a beer can in his hand and although he has a stern face, his posture is relaxed.

“The beach, last summer, yeah?” Seungkwan guesses. Soonyoung looks almost proud. It’s Wonwoo who nods, something like recognition in his face as well.

Hansol fiddles with the string of his backpack, before sliding it down his arm and loosening it open. He keeps his face on the faded black fabric while Soonyoung chats with the others, including Seungkwan. It’s not that he doesn’t want to speak, it’s just how he doesn’t have anything to say, not really. He pulls out a glass bottle, giving it to Seungkwan who thanks him.

Hansol grabs a plastic cup from the kitchen island instead, peeking into the bottom of it just to find it clean-looking. While Seungkwan can sip slowly on his watermelon Breezer, claiming that it’s because of his awful hangovers and not his low tolerance, Hansol needs something stronger to feel it. And because the sole reason of his attendance is, in fact, getting stupidly wasted.

It goes something like a chore from there on. His first drink doesn’t taste like alcohol, so he pours more in it, not for the taste since that’s just off-putting, but for the effect. Then it tastes bad, strong, but he holds his breath and drinks it down it big gulps to suppress any grimaces his face might want to pull. The others are still talking, Seungkwan’s loud laughter next to his ear. The boy Hansol thinks is Mingyu has a very goofy smile, cheeks flushed from what he believes is alcohol. The music is loud, although kind of muffled through the apartment walls.

Soon enough, Hansol’s cheeks warm up, too. And everything seems funnier, small smiles tugging on his lips and chuckles into his plastic cup. Soonyoung pushes his drink to his hand and Hansol cocks his brow at him, but the other one just smiles and nods his head. He doesn’t move away or leave the kitchen and his face seems approving as Hansol lifts the cup to his lips and drinks a mouthful. It tastes like shit, almost making him gag. Soonyoung makes an amused face. Hansol drinks it anyway, despite the strong, bad taste. He doesn’t know what’s in it and he doesn’t really care to ask.

Seungkwan’s arm is around his shoulders and his voice in his ear, telling him to slow down a bit. Hansol looks down to the liquid in the bottom of his cup, sloshing around.

By the time they leave the kitchen, there’s something between three to five drinks in his system, amount wise including the gulps of wine from the bottle that Mingyu pushed into his hands. He knows it’s a very bad idea to drink so much in a short span of time but it’s too late to regret now, unless he wants to go and bow down into a toilet. Very self destructive.

Seungkwan is constantly chattering into his ear, talkative and happy, cheerful. Hansol is pretty sure he is the middle of a sentence before he stops and asks, “Are you okay?”

Hansol makes a sound from his throat.

“Yuh,” he nods, “Peachy.” And then squeezing his eyes for a brief second. It has his head spinning. Seungkwan snorts. The liquids sit in his stomach like nausea, bad, bad idea.

“Thank God you’re a chill drunk,” he hums, pushing past strangers.

“I’m always,” Hansol mumbles. Seungkwan reaches his hand to pat his head, him nudging the hand away.

“Yeah, but you could be an emotional drunk or something,” he shrugs his shoulders.

“That’s you, not me.”

Seungkwan huffs but doesn’t deny it.

Hansol ends up sitting on the floor, squished between Seungkwan and someone he doesn’t know. Soonyoung is next to Seungkwan, on the other side. Most of the people are drunk enough not to pay much attention to the two of them and Hansol is starting to think no one cares they’re nineteen instead of in their twenties. He isn’t exactly sure where the initial thought of them caring even sprang from in the first place.

Hansol can’t feel his face properly, lifting his other hand to press his fingertips against his cheek, it feels weird. Not completely numb but warm and funny, which was expected, honestly. He should probably pay more attention to his surroundings, he thinks about it briefly, tapping his own cheek a bit harsher, blinking heavily.

They’re sitting in a ring, that’s easy to see. The people in it are playing something that sounds like Never Have I Ever and honestly, Hansol isn’t really feeling it, but judging by the voice next to his head, Seungkwan is.

“You didn’t wanna drink?” Hansol asks, a bit slurred, furrowing his brows. Seungkwan glances at him, laughs shortly.

“No one cares if I don’t,” he tells him.

“That’s still cheating. And misses the point of the game,” Hansol argues in a surprisingly whiny manner, “because you know, punishments?”

Seungkwan shrugs his shoulders.

“You drink for me, then,” he rolls his eyes. And Hansol, not really surprised by it anymore, finds himself agreeing.

Then, everytime Seungkwan has done something the host of their little game says, like never have I ever been awake for two days straight, and he nudges his side, Hansol drinks a gulp. He is paying enough attention to notice how the questions get more dirty and embarrassing as the time passes and it causes a quiet roar of complaints everytime.

“Never have I ever said eh, whatever, and not worn a condom during sex though you should have,” the guy reads from his phone. Tame enough, but when Seungkwan pokes his knee, Hansol looks at him with brows raised again. Seungkwan looks back at him defensively and even though he doesn’t say anything, Hansol lifts his cup up and swallows another mouthful.

Not that Seungkwan looks embarrassed, he is pretty shameless, but Hansol looks away anyway, to the ring of people, just to accidentally lock eyes with someone while putting his cup down. It’s an awkward eye contact so he averts his eyes to the red carpet on the floor.

“I need to go to the toilet,” Hansol mumbles to Seungkwan after a while. The downside of chugging down drinks. His friend nods halfheartedly and Hansol puts his plastic cup down, standing up from the ground.

Things, simply put, are spinning. More than earlier too and Hansol almost loses his balance.

“Whoa there,” he hears Soonyoung say but Hansol just waves his hand lazily, managing to step away from the ring. The world keeps spinning.

Everything looks disoriented. Not crazily so but it’s noticeable to him, it could be the alcohol or the lights of the apartment, flickering, warm toned. Hansol doesn’t know who is throwing the party but whoever it is, they have put effort.

“Sorry, do you know where the bathroom is?” Hansol stops a boy walking past him, not bothering to walk around the whole place to find it. The said boy looks confused for a second before smiling in a friendly way and pointing to the end of the hallway they’re in.

“Walk till the end, turn right, it’s there,” he says and starts walking away after another flashed smile. Hansol has barely time to thank him.

After finding the toilet empty and surviving back out, of course not without studying his flushed face from the mirror, he slumps against the wall. He raises his hand to his cheek to rub the skin with still a bit damp palm from washing his hands, letting out a small sigh. It’s close that he mumbles to himself about the more than less drunk state of his before someone speaks.

“You ok?”

Hansol drops his hand and lifts his gaze instead. Another boy—man, whatever—is looking at him with something like worry in the face with his furrowed eyebrows.

“Huh?” Hansol lets out a dumbfounded sound before nodding his head with a short laugh, “Oh, yeah. I’m ok.”

The boy blinks at him and Hansol, for some reason or another, blinks back. He has black hair and it’s messy, like someone ran their hands through it.  

“Good, you just looked like you were… suffering,” he says, finishing lamely. Hansol nods slowly. He isn’t sure why the other one hasn’t left yet, considering that he knows that Hansol is fine, but he isn’t really complaining because God, he is pretty. Nothing extraordinarily, or maybe it’s the lights that seem dimmer, or maybe it’s just the booze, but Hansol really wants a kiss. Or several kisses.

He gets... needy when he’s drunk, more often than not. Maybe at one point he kept up with the count of drunken makeouts but he doesn’t anymore. Things like that don’t really matter.

Hansol doesn’t respond anything but a quick smile. By the way the boy keeps looking at him, not leaving or moving away, it gives him the idea that he might be thinking the same. God, he really shouldn’t have chugged down so much.

He isn’t sure who leans in. It could be him, with the lack of control in his actions, or the other boy, he doesn’t know but he doesn’t care, either. There’s lips against him and for a brief moment, that’s all that matters. Messy, warm and wet.

“You weren’t throwing up?” The other one asks suddenly, leaning back enough to speak but Hansol can feel the movement of his lips against his so it’s not really that far away at all. He isn’t sure when he closed his eyes but he doesn’t bother to open them.

“Nope,” he mumbles.

“Wonderful,” an ironic edge to his words and then the lips are properly against his.

With a clouded mind and sort of funny feeling body, Hansol can’t tell whether the other one is a marvellous kisser, but he isn’t bad which is what matters. He exhales through his nose, hands moving to hold the stranger’s shoulders. Noses brush, there’s tongue, a small wet sound through the music blasting from other spaces of the house.

It gets messier with every second passing and Hansol isn’t exactly sure how long it takes before they part again. His lips feel damp.

“What’s your name?” He remembers to ask, parting his lids to look at the other boy. Heartbeat thundering against his sternum, tingly body, there’s hands on his hips and Hansol swallows.

“Minghao,” he tells him before leaning in to kiss him again. Minghao, Hansol repeats in his mind and closes his eyes again. The back of his head hits the wall behind him but he can barely bring any attention to it.

The morning air is cold against his puffy face, eyes tired from the lack of sleep and the refreshing aspect of a morning run barely overpowers his exhaustion. Hansol has his earphones tightly tucked in, a tracksuit warming up the most of his body, even if the wind pushes through the black fabric. It’s a chillier start of the day and Hansol had opted for a while whether it’d be worth it or not.

He couldn’t sleep. It’s barely seven a.m and even the idea of dragging himself out of bed on a day with no schedule would have sounded so strange to him a few months back when he still had morning practice. He doesn’t anymore.

The music is blasting in his ears loudly, a random playlist he had tapped on his Spotify front page, and his eyes are taking in his surroundings instead of focusing on the beat and forgetting the world. He tends to do that more often instead but it seems to be a strange day for Hansol. He shivers slightly, his own breathing coming out in puffs even though he doesn’t hear it properly through the tunes.

A sweet suburbia with idyllic houses and front yards, but ironically enough it manages to bring an acid taste of bitterness to his mouth. Hansol isn’t exactly sure where the thought has originated from but in all honesty, in all I-really-don’t-want-to-admit-this honesty, he really despises it. How the houses and the streets, so familiar, remind him of his childhood and of friends he used to have but doesn’t anymore, how it reminds him of the person he used to be but really, isn’t anymore. It’s nothing dramatic, not a sob story worthy of telling, but Hansol doesn’t want to be there.

He doesn’t want to get away, either, so he doesn’t really know what he actually wants. He feels like forgetting his childhood when he can’t let go of it.

As if to shake off the thoughts, Hansol shakes his own head and huffs. His dark hair flops around a bit, brushing against his damp forehead. The song changes to another and for a second he can hear his own heavied breathing. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty. His neighbourhood has ended at least a kilometer ago and it strikes him properly only when he stops. The houses are familiar, he has seen them before, but it’s not what he would call home.

Hansol bites on his lower lip, worrying it between his front teeth. There’s a track field close by, one that should have its locker room doors open most of the time. He really wants some water, emphasized by the way swallows again. He doesn’t really need to think it for very long before he takes off again and starts jogging towards the direction he knows the field is.

The weather is gloomy. Darker than it should be in the morning, clouds blocking whatever sunlight would fall at this time of the day. It feels sort of heavy, like it’s going to rain. Hansol doesn’t know if it will. He doesn’t care if it will. The lack of care in small things like that, he isn’t exactly sure if it bothers him but he can ignore it for now. He bites on his tongue, gently.

A middle aged woman walks past him, walking her dog and Hansol gives her a tight lipped smile when their stares meet. She smiles back, tiredly, but friendly enough for him not to feel awkward about it. Most people are inside their sweet little homes, with their children, significant others, pets, families in general, being the Sunday morning it is. Yesterday Hansol had spent in a killing hangover with Seungkwan and his hindsights about how Hansol had practically begged for his hangover and memory loss of how the night had went down in the end with the manner he had been downing drinks. Hansol won’t say he is wrong but he won’t admit it, either.

Hansol needs to go past bushes and ground filled with small rocks to get to entrance and the way the grass is covered in fine mist alongside the trail reminds him of morning practices more than anything else. He licks his lips, focusing his stare back to the direction he is going to. The sky looks heavier than before, weirdly enough.

Track fields have a certain feeling to them, he has always thought this. The brownish red ground of the track with white numbers and stripes, the bright dark green grass in the middle, the bleachers, all of that. It reminds him of something even though Hansol doesn’t exactly know what that is. His sweaty skin is getting colder despite the weather so he pulls the sleeves up, slowing his pace of jogging to just walking. He lifts his hand up to run through the damp strands of his hair, pushing it off his face.

Luckily enough, Hansol finds the locker room door open after tugging the cold metal handle. There isn’t anything to steal, he knows from having been there before—not for bad intentions, of course. He looks around just to see everything pretty similar to what he could recall. The navy blue, old carpet on the floor, a vending machine and two doors. Hansol yanks out his earphones and drapes them over his neck. He can hear the music still, although more distant and muffled. It’s so quiet there, especially with the door finally closing behind his back.

His steps against the floor are loud and defined as he walks straight to the boys’ changing room. Nothing special to see there, either, just long wooden benches and hooks above them for clothes, and Hansol just walks past them to the end of the room where the sink is, next to the hole in the wall where he knows the showers are. The piping rattles loudly and makes an odd churning noise when Hansol turns the tap on, and for a second he hesitates if he should even drink it considering how it might fuck up his stomach but he decides fuck it , bending down when it’s cold enough.

It tastes like copper but helps with the dryness in his mouth, cooling against his warm and sweat damp lips. He drinks it in big gulps. Through the muted music from his earphones hanging around his neck and the sound of water running, Hansol can still hear the door open and steps in the quiet space of the locker rooms so he sighs through his nose, shutting the tap. He probably shouldn’t have drank so much anyway, a funny feeling in his stomach.

Hansol wipes his lips, looking at the reflection in the stained mirror. He looks, simply put, messy. Hair tousled from the wind and how he had touched it, sticking to miscellaneous directions, cheeks rosy from running and the cold. He lifts his hand to undo the zipper of his tracksuit top, sleeves still rolled up.

Through the mirror, Hansol sees a boy walk into the changing room. Their gazes lock in the reflection and as a reflex, Hansol gives him a tight lipped smile, an uncomfortable one, very much like the smile he had given to that middle aged lady on the street. Just a forced lift of the corners of one’s mouth, not bright enough to make anyone’s day but indicating acknowledgement. The boy smiles back, as stiff as him. It’s awkward even if it shouldn’t be. Hansol drops his stare to the rusty metal sink and it’s the uncomfortable feeling of it that makes him open the tap again and shove his hands underneath the spray. No one cares even if he was studying himself in the mirror, he knows.

The cheap soap smells strong and will probably leave his hands feeling crusty and dry but Hansol rubs it against his palms roughly, shoving them back under the spray. From the corner of his eye he can see the boy dropping his bag on the bench and undoing his windbreaker. He isn’t looking at Hansol with just his side profile visible, and weren’t mullets a thing of the 80’s? 90’s? Hansol isn’t quite sure. The boy starts tugging his pants down, obviously changing his clothes so Hansol takes it as his cue to leave, drying his hands on his joggers.

Outside, the sky looks still grey but Hansol doesn’t feel as cold.

With a few days passing by like that, Hansol gets a habit out of it. It being the morning runs.

First, it’s difficult, but his body seems to do decent job at adapting so it gets easier with each morning. There’s something rewarding about it, like he has accomplished something, even if he can feel the exhaustion in his eyes most of the times. Waking up is hard, the bittersweet scenery and the strong smell of sweat, not very pleasurable either, but it’s something. Hansol has realized that something is all he needs.

In a week or so, the routes he has taken are similar, always ending up at the track field. He doesn’t bother carrying around a drinking bottle when the tap water there works well enough. The mullet boy is there most of the time as well and with how they exchange nods and brief smiles, the recognition hits him gently. Like a puzzle being put together a piece by piece, Hansol remembers the party and his name, or something like that. Ming-something, a foggy idea.

Doubting of Ming-something remembers him, Hansol doesn’t act like they know each other. He never stays around for long, anyway.

His mornings pass like that and after he gets home, he showers, sometimes heading back to bed which completely messes up his sleep schedule. It ends up with him staying up late, of course. Hansol can’t do anything but shake his head without really trying to fix it. It’s inconvenient, spending his energy in the morning and sleeping away the day if he doesn’t have anything else to do, like hanging out with Seungkwan or going grocery shopping with his sister and mom.

Seungkwan is surprisingly happy about it though. Not overjoyed but somewhat pleased, nodding approvingly when Hansol tells him he picked up running. It’s nothing big. It really isn’t, and that’s what he tells Seungkwan too. He isn’t exactly sure why Seungkwan still looks oddly proud of him. Maybe it’s the moping around part.

A downside is his mother complaining about it but Hansol can’t find himself really surprised. Disappointed, yeah, but not surprised.

Another morning like that, Hansol is dressed in dark grey shorts and a black muscle tee. The weather is uncomfortably hot even from the morning and it doesn’t help that he left home a bit later than usual. Considering that it’s not really surprising when the locker room is empty and after doing the usual business, which is well, gulping down mouthfuls of water, Hansol finds the boy, Ming-whatever his name ends with, outside instead. He doesn’t mean to stare, and it’s not like he does, just watches for a second. He is sitting on the ground, doing stretches with his hair pulled back into a bun.

He walks past him, along the metal bar separating the asphalt and small strip of grass before the red track.

”Hey, you!” Hansol stops when he hears the sound. There isn’t anyone else around so he looks over his shoulder, mildly confused.

The boy talking has stood up from the ground and is waving at Hansol, gesturing him to come closer. He doesn’t really hesitate as he does, furrowing his brows.

”What’s up?” Hansol asks, turning around to face the other one. He looks kind of awkward, like he is embarrassed, lifting a hand to his neck and giving him a nervous smile, kind of forced.

“Are you in a hurry? I kinda need help, but it’s nothing serious,” he says. Hansol shakes his head for him to continue.

“My phone ran out of battery and I need to time my laps... If you have your phone and could help,” he trails off. “It’s cool if you can’t do it though.”

Hansol thinks it for a second. So he runs, is the quick understanding, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Hansol fishes his phone out from his pocket, removing his headphones and shoving them back to his pocket before nodding.

“Yeah, sure,” he gives him a friendly smile. The other one looks relieved.

“Awesome. It won’t take long, I promise. I’m fast,” he laughs and Hansol does too, although quite lamely.

“I’m Minghao,” he introduces himself. It becomes clear that the other one doesn’t remember him which is fine with Hansol. He tells Minghao his name who gives him a half hearted nice to meet you.

He walks closer, spotting a colourful bandaid on Minghao’s knee. He doesn’t stare but it’s obvious to see that he is lean, skinny, whatsoever, with thin legs sticking out from his shorts.

As expected, Minghao runs fast, sweat glistening on his kneecaps bared from the very short-shorts, red and white against his tanned skin. The only word that Hansol can think of to describe the way he runs is determined. He looks focused, confident. Hansol can’t help but wonder if he trains on a competitive level.

It doesn’t take long, Hansol pressing laps on the timer on his phone, sitting in the grass and letting the sun blare down his neck. Those parts when Minghao is running on the other side of the track, Hansol glances up to the sky which is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because it’s nice to see a cloudless sky for once, not worried if it’s going to rain again, and a curse because the sunshine hurts his eyes.

Minghao is very much out of breath when he finishes, face reddened and chest heaving with his heavy inhales.

”Can I see the results?” He asks and Hansol offers him his phone. He is admittedly little cautious about giving his phone to someone who is still practically a stranger, and Minghao could sprint off really quickly as proved a minute ago. But Hansol decides to trust him anyway.

Minghao looks at the screen, his expression not really giving anything to go by. Hansol just waits before he gives him his phone back with a small huff.

”Can you maybe screenshot the results and send them to me through text?” Minghao really looks mildly uncomfortable as he speaks. Like he isn’t used to this. He probably isn’t. Hansol tries to be reassuring.

”Yeah, of course. No worries,” he tells him. It does help to some degree since Minghao looks somewhat relieved. He tells Hansol his phone number and after screenshotting the timer’s digits, he sends them to him. It’d be weird to save his number so he doesn’t.

Minghao looks at him after that. Maybe it’s for the first time he does it properly, he looks at him in a studying way, before something makes his brows furrow.

”I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” Minghao asks. The strands of his bangs are sticking to his forehead.

”Yeah, I think,” Hansol laughs shortly before he continues, ”I think we made out at a party.”

Hoping saying this doesn’t make anything awkward, he puts his phone back in his pocket. Luckily Minghao’s reaction is positive enough, he quirks his brow and huffs with a small grin. His expression morphs into something else for a second.

”We didn’t… We didn’t hook up, right?” Minghao’s questions just keep coming. Hansol shakes his head quickly.

”Oh, no, I’m pretty sure,” he says, although he isn’t really sure at all, but it’s just his guess. It’s getting uncomfortably warm, not because of the topic, just the weather.

”Right. Makes sense. I’m sure I would have remembered you.” Honestly, Hansol isn’t too sure what to make out from that either. Does he mean it in general or is it flirting? Is he a fuckboy of all things? These things Hansol does not know. Minghao has a strange aura around him which is weirdly fascinating but also just… odd. Even if Hansol really doesn’t have a say on that.

Things are weird now but lately, they’ve been. He isn’t surprised it applies to this too. Hansol settles with gentle laughter even if he’s unsure what Minghao means. He smiles back so it’s fine. He brushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead and Hansol is reminded how he probably should be going.

”Was nice... helping you, I guess,” it’s awkward, yeah, but it’s kind and nice type of awkward, and Hansol finishes it off with a small wave of his hand as he starts taking steps back.

”Thanks man, and sorry again!” Minghao says it in a brighter, genuine tone. Hansol grins and gives him a thumbs up, and turns around, starting to walk from the track field. A few other people are doing stretches on the other side of the grass.

Not that he misses the humidity but it’d be nice if it were a bit chillier. It’s uncomfortably warm. He needs to check the weather forecast, since the weather app is apparently full of lies and misinformation. It leaves him in a weird mood, the interaction with Minghao. It’s not a secret that Hansol tends to be awkward around strangers but maybe it’s the weird vibe the other one radiates that made things a bit different. He isn’t really sure and there’s no point in thinking about it now so Hansol brushes it off from the top of his mind.

Seungkwan’s plastic stars are staring down at him once again. It’s evening and Hansol is admittedly tired with his strange sleeping schedule, and the gloomy weather not bringing any light to Seungkwan’s room isn’t really helping. It’s raining again, the sound of water drumming against the roof of the house. It’s quite uncomfortable to lay on the floor, his back pressed against the scratchy carpet that smells weird.

“At what time are you leaving?” Hansol asks, moving his gaze from the ceiling to Seungkwan who is shoving clothes into a bag.

“8am. Awful, horrible, I don’t want to go,” he sighs, sounding very desperate. It makes him laugh.

“I thought you were excited,” Hansol puts his hands behind his head to rest on them instead. Seungkwan makes a vague sound in response.

“I’m stressed,” he whines, “I love children but I’m going to lose my hair from the stress.” Seungkwan flops down onto the floor, his bag between his legs. He does sound genuinely distressed which causes a spike of anxiety through Hansol.

“You’ll be fine. They love you,” Hansol tries to sound reassuring. He isn’t the one for meaningless words but really, they aren’t that meaningless when he believes them to be correct. Seungkwan makes another noise from the back of his throat. Hansol pushes himself up to sit, lifting his leg to give a pat on Seungkwan’s back with his foot.

It has an effect, or something, because it seems to distract Seungkwan enough to push his legs away from him with something that sounds like a disgusted cuss at him. It pains Hansol to see him stressed, even if it’s something minor and he has seen worse.

“I’ll be fine but you won’t. How will you survive without me entertaining your antisocial ass?” Seungkwan huffs but there’s a teasing smile on his lips. Hansol refuses to stick his tongue out at him. Childish, maybe, but he has the right to be. He is barely an adult. Nineteen, but barely an adult.

“I have other friends,” Hansol says, laying back on the carpet.

“I know, but you won’t see them even if you do,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“Eh, I guess.”

“So you will suffer,” he sounds somewhat proud. Hansol narrows his eyes but it’s more at the glow in the dark stars.

“What’s new. With or without you, I always suffer.”

“Boohoo.”

“You really are so mean to me.”

“It’s with love,” Seungkwan makes kissy sounds as he says it.

Hansol won’t say it but he will miss Seungkwan’s presence even if it’s just for a week. Changes have been messing his life around and switching places but Seungkwan is one of the consistent things that has stuck around. Hansol won’t say it either but certain things have been scaring him, lately. Makes him feel like a weenie, for reasons unknown.

“Do you know anyone named Minghao?” Hansol asks after a while. It’s a big city so he wouldn’t be surprised if Seungkwan has never heard of him but they were in the same party so it’s not that far fetched. After the timing Minghao’s laps on the track incident, they’re on the terms of casual hello ’s and maybe how are you ’s on good days. No more of the tight lipped smiles.

Seungkwan doesn’t think for too long before he answers.

“Sounds familiar but I’m not sure where I’ve heard the name,” he says with the tone of his voice guessing. Hansol nods slowly.

“He runs track, I think, if that rings any bells.”

Hansol has to stretch his neck to see Seungkwan’s expression who tilts his head in thought. Then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, “Although. Seokmin does track and field, right? Ask him.”

“Right. Maybe I will,” Hansol makes a face at the ceiling, sort of uncomfortable. Seokmin is a mutual friend, one he isn’t really close with. He is that kinda person that you’ve met once or twice but can’t forget for the life of you, memorable, bright and loud. It’s almost intimidating at times. Hansol would ask him but he won’t, most likely—they don’t really see each other like, ever, and it’d probably be kinda weird. Creepy.

“Why are you even asking? Who is this guy?” Seungkwan sounds both curious and suspicious.

“No one important,” Hansol says. He tells him the situation in all of it’s monotony, nothing exciting. Just someone he kissed at a party and trains at the same field where he stops to drink. Seungkwan looks almost disappointed after it.

“Really? Just that?”

“Just that,” Hansol confirms. Seungkwan puckers his lips. The subject is dropped with it. .

It’s on the tip of his tongue, something sentimental, something like I’ll miss having you around . It’s easy to be around Seungkwan and while they don’t meet everyday, they do see each other multiple times a week. Hansol wants to say it because it’s a good situation for it, something fitting. While nothing major, it wouldn’t be out of the blue. But since Hansol is a coward, he doesn’t say it and just grins at Seungkwan when he finally sits back up.

Hansol crawls to sit beside Seungkwan. He looks down to his bag and hands. The skin around Seungkwan’s fingernails looks rough, reddened and torn apart, and something twists painfully in his chest. Something rattles outside from the harsh wind.

“Do you want a bandaid?” Hansol asks, nodding towards Seungkwan’s hand. He seems hesitant before he shrugs his shoulders.

“It’ll fall off anyway,” he tells him. Hansol puts his hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze, before getting up. He walks to Seungkwan’s table to get a plaster from a small metal tin he keeps beside his laptop.

He plops back to the carpet, next to him, taking a hold of his hand and putting the bandaid around his thumb, covering the destroyed hangnails. Hansol tries to be gentle despite his clumsy hands. It has him a bit uncomfortable, but just the tiniest bit. Seungkwan lets out a wet sniffle and gets a breathy laugh from Hansol in response.

Now, while Hansol isn’t the epitome of bad ideas, he occasionally finds himself doing something that would be in retrospect a dumb idea. Nothing out of this world, no impulse tattoos or spontaneously buying flights to another country, but things he will probably regret. This is one those times.

Hansol likes to stick to a friend whenever faced with crowds. He likes being alone when he actually can be alone but not when he is surrounded by mostly strangers. Seungkwan isn’t there and even Soonyoung who was supposed to be his companion ran off. Hansol doesn’t know what he expected.

That’s why he is sitting on the front porch of a house, mildly tipsy, looking at the dark sky. It gets boring after a second so his eyes settle on the group of teenagers doing… something on the front yard. He isn’t exactly sure what they are trying to achieve.

Hansol taps his fingernails against the stern glass of his bottle. He considers pulling out his phone and texting Soonyoung to come accompany him. But then again, that would probably be a bit unnecessary and the other one would complain about it, how if Hansol really wanted to stick with him, he would have gone to look for him inside.

He isn’t too bothered by it. Little but not a lot. He drops his left hand to fiddle with the stray strings coming apart from the rips on his jeans.

“Hansol?” The sound makes him lift his head just to see the somewhat familiar face of Minghao, even in the dim lighting.

“Oh, hey,” Hansol smiles at him.

“Can I sit?” Minghao asks, nodding towards the wooden steps of the porch where Hansol is sitting.

“Feel free to.”

“Nice.”

He sits next him, leaving a modest distance between them. With a quick glance, Hansol can tell that he looks nice, a lot more put together than him. Minghao is wearing a pinstripe dress shirt with short sleeves, unbuttoned, and there’s some jewelry sparkling around his neck when he moves. Hansol doesn’t comment on any of this but settles for small talk.

“Why are you sitting here all alone?” Minghao beats him up to it, straightforward and curious.

“My friend ditched me. I’m not in the mood to befriend drunk strangers just to find company,” Hansol admits, lifting his bottle to take a sip of the now lukewarm beverage.

“I get you,” Minghao nods sympathetically. He has sunglasses propper over the top of his head, the lenses tinted something else than dark but he can’t tell the shade apart.

“What about you?”

“Ah, I just wanted to get some fresh air. It got boring inside, too,” Minghao says, “I’m not really feeling it tonight either.”

Hansol just nods, looking down to the grass in front of his feet. It’s flat from being stepped over, ugly, dark green.

“Do you run on a competitive level?” He decides to ask after a moment, glancing at him quickly.

“You could say so. For track races, mostly middle-distance but sprinting too.”

“Cool,” Hansol grins softly, “Are you any good?” It’s sort of a dumb question—even if people say there aren’t stupid questions, just stupid answers—since if he competes, he must be good. Minghao barks out a laugh.

“You bet.”

“Man, I do.”

“What’s up with you coming to the field though? Like I get that you’re there to drink but… why?” Minghao asks, looking curious with his almond shaped eyes staring at him intensely.

“Uh,” Hansol says dumbly, “just that it’s close by. Morning runs, getting thirsty, it’s convenient.”

“Right. Are you any good?”

Hansol lets out a dumbfounded laugh. The way the corners of Minghao’s lips are turned upwards remind him of some sort of a cat.

“At my morning runs? At getting thirsty?”

“You choose.”

“I mean, yeah,” Hansol smiles shortly, giving a somewhat proper answer despite the question being just a joke, “I’m good at running.”

Minghao smiles at this.

“You should train with me sometime, then.”

“I won’t be able to keep up, too fast even if I’m… good.”

“Still, I won’t judge.”

It’s easy to talk to Minghao, which is a positive thing, obviously. Maybe it’s the alcohol but Hansol isn’t even drunk so probably not. Chill is the easiest word for the moment. Hansol drinks from his bottle.

He is about to say something just to get interrupted by a very loud vomiting noise nearby. He looks towards the bushes and yeah, it’s not surprising to see someone on their hands and knees, looking, for the lack of a better word, pathetic. Hansol cringes, glancing at Minghao who is also looking towards the girl vomiting.

“Should we help her?” Minghao doesn’t sound too concerned but the girl is alone, and by the way her hands keep giving in and she wobbles, it isn’t looking very good.

“I dunno. Maybe?” Hansol bites on his lower lip. They probably should and the other one apparently agrees as he gets up first, Hansol following.

Minghao squats next to the girl slumped down on the grass.

“Are you okay?” He asks her. Hansol feels a bit awkward, again, nothing new, watching the interaction. It’s weird to see someone and think that wow, I really want to be your friend. At least to him. It doesn’t happen very often. Minghao though, Hansol can’t help but want to know him. Even if their first meeting was a drunken kiss—he hasn’t thought about it in a while anyway.

The girl makes a disoriented sound, strangled and weak but she does nod her head. The dark bob of her hair bounces weakly. Hansol feels bad for her.

“I’m fine...” she slurs but turns her paled face towards Minghao, giving him a pained smile.

There isn’t a lot they can do so they end up leaving her alone, returning to the porch. She is still there, still visible to them so if something happens, like passing out, they can help her. Or something. It’s not their responsibility, but if her friends ditched her or whatever the case is, Hansol doesn’t want to leave anyone like that.

“I hope she doesn’t pass out,” Hansol mutters. Minghao hums in agreement.

She doesn’t, in the end, as she gets up and wobbly walks back inside after hanging on the ground for some time. Hansol takes his phone out from his pocket to check if Soonyoung has sent him anything. He hasn’t. It’s almost midnight.

It’s nice to sit with Minghao like this. He is cool. Hansol stretches his legs out on the grass, knees bending inwards a bit.

“I think my friends are wondering where I disappeared,” Minghao says after a while.

“Right, right. Should you go find them?” Hansol asks, turning the bottle in his hands again, looking towards the ground.

“I should,” he confirms with a nod. Hansol expects him to get up and leave but he doesn’t, just sits there. He lifts his gaze to glance at his expression, but it doesn’t reveal anything to him. It’s neutral and calm, looking the dim backyard. Something feels weird.

Hansol drops his gaze back to the ground quickly. Minghao lets out a soft exhale before getting up from the porch.

“See you around,” he says in a tone of voice Hansol can’t name. It’s not like he needs to, either. After lifting his hand to a lazy wave, Minghao leaves back inside and Hansol doesn’t watch him go. Why would he?

Hansol considers Minghao a friend after a few weeks of them knowing each other. It’s not really that special, even if he doesn’t befriend new people very often. The other one is really chill, fun to be around, and Hansol thinks it’s a good thing he is doing something. And that something just happens to be finding some new people to accompany his dulled life.

So it’s not really a surprise when Minghao asks him this, he says yes.

It’s another humid morning and Hansol is sure it’s going to rain. He is ruffling his hair in front of the locker room mirror and Minghao is changing his clothes.

“Hey Hansol,” he speaks, “Do you wanna stay and train with me?”

Hansol turns around even if he could make eye contact through the mirror too. Minghao is wearing the same dark red shorts and a black t-shirt, hair tied to a bun in his nape.

“Uh,” he says dumbly, tilting his head, “I can, I guess.”

“You don’t have to, but you know, gets lonely out there all alone,” Minghao quirks his brow, a crooked smile on his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I don’t have anything better to do anyway,” Hansol says. The other one grins as a response, and even though he doesn’t really view himself as someone who thrives on validation, it does make him feel a bit better to cause such a reaction in Minghao, even if it’s just a minor thing.

The warm ups come like a routine to Hansol, his body remembering the movements like some sort of a stiff dance. It’s weird but he doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t want to and he really can’t either, since Minghao is there to distract him with his chattering. It’s not forced, not overpowering or overwhelming, but just semi quiet and calm words of everything unimportant.

There’s bandaids on Minghao’s knee again, in an X shape. He looks at them for a second before focusing on making his muscles loosen up, although the jog from before did the most work anyway, and soon the both of them are ready.

Minghao runs fast. Faster than Hansol, of course, as expected. He isn’t slow himself by any means and has a good stamina, but Minghao is just next level. The other one speeding in front of him on the red ground of the track, Hansol barely keeping up. He thinks the other one is taking it easy, too. It could be worse so he is kind of pleased with it, despite how Minghao could just be pitying him.

It’s hard to focus on any other things like that though, when his mind is trying to concentrate on putting one foot before other in a pace faster than before, feeling the warm wind, the way the fabric of his shirt becomes a second skin against his chest like that.

Hansol isn’t too sure what the plan is but he doubts that Minghao is taking the training too seriously today. If he were, he probably wouldn’t have asked him to stay. The lap ends with Hansol panting, sweat wet, leaning down and pressing his palms against his clammy thighs.

Minghao lets out a breathy laugh, but he isn’t as out of breath as Hansol is. He might have a good stamina but sprinting is a lot different than long distance.

“I think I’ll stick to my morning jogs instead,” Hansol says, straightening his posture. He tries to stop his chest heaving so much but he needs to breathe. He ends up gasping for air, Minghao looking at him amusedly but not judgingly.

“You did well though,” he tells him. Hansol isn’t sure if it’s an empty compliment or true words but it still makes him grin.

“You did better,” it’s pointing out the obvious. Minghao knows this. He rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Well, duh.”

Minghao’s tanned skin is glowing from the sweat which probably shouldn’t be an attractive look but it still, well, is. With him, he just looks like a drowned rat. It’s unfair. The humidity makes it worse, the sweat more uncomfortable than a sign of achievement.

“How long have you been doing this?” Hansol asks after his breathing has calmed down. Minghao looks like he is holding just fine, just waiting for him to get his shit together. He really doesn’t know how the other one trains, what his plan is, how things roll, and it’s admittedly a bit bothersome to feel like a nuisance like this, oblivious and sort of confused.

“Track? Ever since I was quite young. I’ve doing this for like, what, ten to eleven years? I think.”

Hansol nods, impressed for a second before realizing that with football, that was the amount of years he went through, if not more. It almost makes him grimace. Like regret, like shame.

“That’s really cool,” Hansol ends up saying, a bit awkwardly. Minghao doesn’t point it out, if he even notices.

With every minute passing, Hansol becomes more convinced that Minghao isn’t really putting much effort to actual practice. He is pleased enough with it. The bleachers look tall and short at the same time, weirdly disoriented, and he isn’t quite sure why.

“Are you free tonight?”

Hansol doesn’t know why it feels so weird, like an odd achievement to hear Minghao ask that. He never thought of himself as a people pleaser.

“Do you have something in mind?” He asks back instead. Playing hard to get… or most likely not. That wouldn’t fit with him well anyway. Minghao tilts his head. They’re having a rest, or something like that, standing where the starting line is, out of breath, sweaty and gross.

“I do, actually. You’re nice, and I’ll get bored if I go alone,” Minghao doesn’t need to list the reasons because in the back of his head, Hansol knows that he has agreed already. He cracks him a casual smile.

“I’m free,” he tells him, instead of asking about the plans, which would probably be a better idea. Minghao looks pleased with his response so he doesn’t feel the need to pry any further. Oddly enough, there’s something trustworthy about the Minghao just is, and it doesn’t really make any sense at all. Hansol doesn’t dare to dwell on it.

When Minghao had said tonight, he really meant the nighttime. With his weird sleeping schedule, Hansol doesn’t mind it. They had met up by the exit of the track field, and Minghao had lead the way wherever he planned them to go.

Maybe it’s in the air or alternatively, in Minghao’s aura, but it’s surprisingly comfortable to be quiet around him—the silence that falls in between of conversations isn’t awkward or stiff.

“Where are we even going?” Hansol decides to ask after some time of walking. He has his hands in the pockets of his joggers, the fingers of his left hand pressed against his phone even though he has no plans of taking it out. Minghao looks at him with something mischievous in his eyes.

“Do you like swimming?” He asks instead. Hansol’s brows furrow but he decides to humour him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

“We should go to the beach sometime,” Minghao says. It doesn’t give the answer Hansol wanted which honestly is a tad bit frustrating but not too much. He gives an approving nod anyway.

There isn’t many people around which makes sense considering that most people don’t hang around suburban areas if they’re going out at eleven pm. It’s quiet but it a comforting way. It somehow makes Hansol feel like he should run and yell, break the soft silence of the neighbourhood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hansol says instead.

“You’ll see in a while,” Minghao hums. He, too, is dressed comfortably, attire a lot like Hansol’s with sweatpants and a low cut t-shirt. Although his shirt looks more flattering than Hansol’s, which probably has a food stain somewhere.

“So,” Hansol starts.

“So?”

“What are you studying? If you go to college…”

“I major in art history,” Minghao lifts his hand and runs it through his hair.

“That’s really cool,” Hansol says lamely, looking away from him when he lets out a sneer and nods his head.

“Isn’t it?” Minghao’s voice sounds sarcastic, suddenly very dry, and Hansol knows better than pressing the subject. Or at least his gut tells him not to.

“Are you here for the summer or do you go to a local school?” He asks, still.

“Local. How about you?”

“Oh, me too. I’m only starting my first year though.”

“Ah, you child.”

Hansol snorts, stepping a bit closer to shove him a bit. Out of character for him, but it feels appropriate. It makes Minghao laugh so he guesses it was right.

“You’re only a year older, right?”

“Mm. My point still stands.”

“Okay then.”

“What’s your major?”

“Philosophy…” Hansol trails off, looking towards the houses on his side.

“Both stuck with useless degrees then,” Minghao says. It makes him smile shortly. He had made the choice with no other options in his mind, still unsure what he wants to do and so on.

Minghao leads the way through a small alleyway between a two houses, ending up to a bigger road. Despite the area being fairly close to the track field, it’s in the opposite direction than his home so it’s quite unfamiliar. Hansol just has to trust Minghao.

“We’re almost there,” he mumbles.

And true to his word, after five minutes or so, they stop in front of a gate. A bad feeling spikes up through his spine. Hansol recognizes the small building behind the fence, knowing what’s behind it as well. Minghao walks to the left until they’ve turned around the corner, no longer in front of the main doors.

“Are you good at climbing?” Minghao asks with amusement in his voice.

“Isn’t this illegal?” Hansol asks instead. He swears he can smell the chlorine in air when the wind blows. Minghao laughs unexpectedly loudly, and despite how sometimes he can seem a bit apathetic, now he seems something like excited, very alive. Vivid, maybe.  

“I mean, probably,” he shrugs his shoulders. Instead of waiting for Hansol to respond to his initial question, he grips the metal fence and starts climbing. Hansol is pretty sure there’s security cameras somewhere, potentially recording their faces. What does he have to lose? Many things, but apparently none of them matter because Hansol follows behind, hands holding tightly to the jittering metal.

After somewhat successfully managing to get on top of the fence and jumping down the few meters there is, Minghao grins at Hansol with the same glint of mischief. The city pool is closed by this hour, of course it is, and the lights are shut.

“Good job,” he compliments him pointlessly, before turning around and starting to walk on the grass, his destination most likely the pool. Hansol lets out a small groan that could only be described as helpless or hopeless, before starting to walk too.

Apparently Minghao is the type to sneak into a city pool during its closed hours but it, very oddly, does fit. Hansol doesn’t know why. It’s not that he is two goody shoes himself but things like this have never been his forte. That’s all. No time or that sort of friends. It’s very new, is what he means.

“There has to be CCTV here,” Hansol keeps his voiced hushed just in case.

“Well, yeah. No shit,” Minghao sounds very pleased by Hansol’s mild—is it even mild by now?—distress. He cringes to himself.

After circling around the building, which Hansol has been inside before, consisting of changing rooms and showers and what not, they end up before the pool. There’s two, in fact. A bigger one for people who actually know how to swim, and a children’s pool.

“We’re gonna get killed if we get caught,” Hansol mumbles breathlessly. Minghao glances at him over his shoulder. It smells like chlorine and damp grass.

“Isn’t that what youth is supposed to be about?” He asks.

“Getting killed?”

“Sure. Taking risks, swinging on the edge so you could fall but you won’t because you’re young and foolish.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Hansol says after a pause, oddly finding himself even more out of breath. It sounds like out of a John Green book, or based on the quotes and excerpts Hansol has actually seen online. Minghao cracks a smile.

“Give me your phone,” he says, “and whatever you have in your pockets.”

“Are you robbing me?” Hansol asks but complies nevertheless, shoving his hands to his pockets and taking out his phone, keys from the other one, headphones, and his credit card.

“Yes,” Minghao tells him but instead of putting Hansol’s things somewhere in safety, he just squats down and carefully places them on the grass. Hansol steps closer to the edge of the pool, but still with some distance between him and the edge, and looks the calm surface of the water. It looks like glass, completely undisrupted, and even in the lighting of the night, there’s an eerie blue glow to it. It must be the tiles.

“I suggest to strip down a bit,” Minghao says behind him. He turns around just to see him taking his shirt off.

“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Hansol murmurs instead. It’s not only how they aren’t allowed to be here, but the lack of towels or clothes to change into.

“Suit yourself,” Minghao grins, walking to him, shirtless and without shoes or socks but still sweatpants on. For a second Hansol is afraid he’ll push him into the pool but instead he just walks past him, standing by the edge of it. He looks down into the water and the dark reflection of it. Hansol momentarily wonders what does he see in it.

“Take off your shoes at least and roll up your pants,” Minghao says, nodding towards the edge, “you can just sit.”

With a small sigh of defeat, Hansol accepts this.

He puts his socks inside his shoes, placing them next to the pile of their belongings, and crouches down to roll up the hems of his joggers, before returning to Minghao who still is just standing there, although not staring into the water anymore.

Suddenly, Minghao has his hand around his wrist and he is tugging him closer. For a second he thinks he is going to do something entirely else, but what happens instead is two bodies hitting the water and breaking the calm surface. Hansol isn’t sure who falls in first but with chilly chlorine water in his mouth, he isn’t exactly thinking about it either.

It’s shallow enough, not the deep end of the pool, for him to stand without his head underwater so when Hansol finds his footing, a few things come into his mind. Firstly, the water really is colder than expected, secondly, Minghao really pushed him into the swimming pool, and thirdly, he is still holding his wrist, and laughing with his eyes shut.

Apparently Minghao also managed not to dive under the surface, so his hair isn’t wet like Hansol’s is. He tugs his hand away to push his hair from sticking to his forehead.  

“You’re out of your mind,” Hansol says but his voice shakes with laughter bubbling from his chest. It’s ridiculous and Minghao looks so very pleased at this.

“You’re so naive,” he chuckles. Hansol thinks the smile suits him very well, despite the cool aura he tends to radiate elsewhere.

“No, you’re just evil,” Hansol rubs his wet face as he speaks, mostly to get the chlorine from his eyes but it probably isn’t the most effective method considering that his hands are wet too. His t-shirt is sticking to his skin very uncomfortably, completely soaked like the rest of his clothes and well, him, as well.

“Got you into the pool though,” Minghao says with a sated smile. It’s an expression he can’t shut out so he nods slowly, again the defeat very present and there.

“You did,” Hansol says, “but at what cost?”

“It’s not that serious,” he laughs, “summer dries up whatever it gets wet.”

“I suppose,” he shrugs his shoulders, deciding to strip off his t-shirt, peeling it off from his body like a stiffy second skin. Hansol leans against the wall of the pool to place the darkened fabric all splayed out on the tiles before the grass for it to dry even a bit, although he doubts how effective it’ll be.

Turning around to see Minghao grinning at him, and the mischief is still there, and Hansol feels like he is standing on his toes although he isn’t. It’s a weird feeling set in the very bottom of his stomach, or maybe the pool.

“What’s your plan now, huh?” Hansol asks, watching as he backs away a few steps. The water is to their shoulders, now feeling more lukewarm than chilly, after getting used to it.

Hansol takes the steps closer, moving his arm to splash water on Minghao. The state of their half undress doesn’t bother him too much, having spent a good portion of his life in a locker room stuffed with other boys in less clothes than this. Although Minghao still is objectively—screw that, subjectively too—attractive.

Minghao lifts his hands to cover his face from the water splashed towards him.

“I’m gonna drown you,” he announces his plan like that, and if Hansol wanted to protest, it’s already too late because Minghao grabs his hand, that is still somewhat pointing towards him from throwing water at him, and pulls him closer by it. Of course it causes him to stumble, to lose his balance and fall under the surface again.

A brief, probably irrational feeling of he is going to hold my head underwater, passes through him quickly when the liquid fills his mouth, opened by the surprise, but then Minghao is pulling him by his shoulder, back up. He doesn’t look as excited this time but it’s still there, and it, for some reason, causes Hansol to push him too, by his shoulders, pressing him under.

He lets go as quickly as he touched him, the warmth of Minghao’s wet skin still lingering on his fingertips as he steps back two, three, four steps so Minghao won’t lunge at him. The smile hurts his cheeks. Minghao doesn’t look all too surprised by his revenge when he resurfaces, black hair looking ever darker now. Shiny, too.

“I’ll drown you first,” Hansol says, back to pushing his hair from his face. Minghao scoffs.

”Truce?” He asks, although voice a bit bitter. Hansol’s guess for the request of truce is that he doesn’t want to wrestle in the water like little boys, which is fair. Somewhere in the back of his skull there’s a tune that goes something along the lines of you aren’t even that close at all. It’s not wrong, per se, but Hansol just wants to be comfortable, let loose, not care, or whatever he is doing. He shouldn’t think about it too much, for it’s entirely pointless.

“Weak,” Hansol mumbles softly. Minghao’s response is a deadpan face.

He leans against the wall behind him, arms crossed underneath the surface.

“What’s the plan for real? Unless you planned to just stand in the pool like this.”

“There’s no plan. Like, just float. Or whatever, stand, I don’t care.”

“But if you wanted to go for a swim, or floating or standing in water, why didn’t you just tell me so. Swimwear is a lot more comfortable than wet joggers,” Hansol tugs the fabric of his soaked pants, heavy on him. Minghao cocks his brow.

“Would you have agreed if you knew I’d drag you here, illegally, as you said?” The edge in Minghao’s voice is both curious and amused, like he really wants to know but at the same time, doesn’t care to.

Hansol thinks about it instead of blurting out the quickest answer. If Minghao, the same day at the track, had asked if Hansol would sneak in with him to a closed public pool and swim with their clothes on, or even swim trunks, would he have accepted? The him a year ago wouldn’t have, all too nervous and stressed despite treasuring serenity instead of chaos. The him now…

“I don’t know,” is the honest answer.

Minghao manages to look a bit surprised.

“So you aren’t as a stuck up as I thought.”

“Do you think I’m a stuck up?”

“No, this isn’t it. Not a stuck up, something else, I don’t know the word for it. But you aren’t as much it either so it doesn’t matter,” Minghao tilts his head as he speaks, in thought. Hansol blinks, not quite sure what he should feel about this.

“Uh, okay?” Hansol says dumbly, watching as he lifts his hand and waves it lazily to dismiss it. A part of Hansol hopes what Minghao means by his words is at least something that would make him at least a bit interesting, not just a bore to spend time with because there’s absolutely nothing else to do. It itches.

Minghao gives him a final tight lipped smile of his, features not as sharp and vivid in the dim of the night, before bending his head back and looking towards the sky. Hansol doesn’t want to stare at him when he isn’t looking back so he drops his gaze down instead, lifting his hand to draw patterns on the surface, play with the water.

Hansol doesn’t know how long it takes, from minutes to half an hour, but they loll in the paper thin silence, disturbed only by the wind and sound of water, like it’s easy. It probably is. It is. Not talking, just breathing and existing. It feels really weird no matter this, because everytime he glances at Minghao he looks like he is experiencing something else entirely, and Hansol just doesn’t quite understand it. He doesn’t dare to ask even if it’s prickling on his skin.

“Come here,” Minghao breaks the silence. He does as told, half walking, half swimming to him. It’d be a lot easier without the heavy fabric pulling him down constantly.

“Oh,” Minghao says when he’s close enough, “you have an eyelash on your cheek.”

Hansol furrows his brows, raising a hand to brush it off.

“Let me,” Minghao stops him and reaches out to pick it away, managing to almost pinch his cheek while he’s at it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after he’s done, having dropped it into the water. If it was up to Hansol, he would have blown air on it and hoped for something.

If Hansol had something on his mind, like anticipation or wonder for whatever Minghao was going to say or do, it’s pretty much wiped away from the top of his thoughts. His lips are slightly parted, and maybe it’s not the most appropriate thing to do, to look at a friend’s lips like this. It hits him like a toy truck how those are lips Hansol has indeed kissed, even if the memory of it is odd, blurred along the edges and lines.

When Hansol’s eyes flicker back up to meet Minghao’s gaze, there’s something in it. His eyes seem darker like this, not that he has spent much time studying them in the daylight, and of course it makes sense that brown eyes look deeper in the night.

Minghao looks at him with something else. Unless he is mistaken, which could be very possible since he has heard how much of an oblivious fool he is, but—

His lips are a bit chapped, a little damp, but warm when they press against Hansol’s, carefully, testing the waters. Wet palm cradles the side of his neck gently. Hansol’s thoughts catch up to what’s happening relatively quickly, making him softly gasp out of surprise. Minghao pulls back, looking at him like that, and how could he resist?

It’s Hansol who leans closer this time, kissing him without thinking about it too much. He doesn’t want to think. His lips are awfully soft. His hands, somewhere beneath the surface, hold Minghao by his lean waist. The shared body warmth is ambiguous with the temperature of the pool messing it up but he doesn’t mind that much because he still feels so very nice against him.

A small exhale from Minghao’s side causes slight prickling of chills in Hansol’s spine. He lets him tilt his head how he wants to, pliant to the way Minghao’s tongue slides against his bottom lip.

Despite not wanting to think and how he’d rather just melt into the moment, it’s still in his mind. It’s pleasant but there’s still a feeling somewhere inside him, confusion and something like dread when he really doesn’t know what this means. Kissing friends isn’t a problem for him but what does Minghao want, is what he doesn’t know and the thing that leaves him tiptoeing around.

Minghao’s teeth scrape against his lips, biting softly on his lower one, making Hansol sigh against his warm mouth. He holds him a bit tighter, just a tad bit, and tugs him closer. He almost stumbles on his feet which makes Hansol smile into the kiss. Even Minghao chuckles, moving his other hand to hold the back of his head, carefully running his fingers through his hair, getting stuck to the tangles of wet strands. Minghao tugs his fingers through them and it stings.

It stings, but it’s in a way that makes Hansol’s mouth go slack, something twisting in his stomach. Minghao’s palm soothes over his scalp and it works as an apology of some sort, although Hansol isn’t too sure if he wants him to feel sorry for it.

Kissing him is so nice, is the most clear thought in his mind. The wet noise of lips parting and colliding, spit, tongue, teeth, until his lips feel sort of numb and funny, damp and probably swollen. Minghao’s thumb is moving over his jawline, a gentle movement. Hansol feels out of breath when he steps back a bit, to breathe, to collect himself because yeah, Minghao is a good kisser and yeah, Hansol might feel a little weak in the knees.

“Nice,” Hansol mumbles, very lamely. It makes Minghao smile, crooked.

“Just nice, huh?” Somehow he manages to make it sound not-cocky but also very so.

“If you want compliments just tell me,” he removes a hand from Minghao’s waist to rub his neck sheepishly.

“Do you have any understanding of the social etiquette?” Minghao laughs, clearly humoured to some degree. His cheeks look a bit flushed although it’s difficult to tell. Hansol gives him a shrug of his shoulders and a grin.

“Go figure,” he hums. Minghao looks at him with that face again, pulling his hand back to fix his locks or air sticking to the sides of his face. His lips look swollen too, cherry red if the lighting is anything to trust. Hansol thinks he looks good in red but it’s probably not the appropriate time to let him know.

Another thing is how he wants to ask Minghao what this means, just to avoid a potential mess or misunderstandings, but that, too, feels painfully inappropriate. Like it would break something very important, the moment, maybe. Whatever it is, Hansol decides to keep his mouth shut for now. He doubts it means anything.

A chuckle falls from Hansol’s lips when Minghao yawns.

”Are you tired?” He asks him, stepping back another step and letting go of his waist finally.

”A bit,” Minghao tells him. Hansol doesn’t know what the time is but it must be late, and he is pretty sure that somewhere under the smoke-like adrenaline and odd excitement he is exhausted. Or maybe he isn’t. No day rhythm.

Hansol tilts his head back, just to see the sky open in darkness above him. It looks cold, grey-ish, but blue after all. The stars aren’t visible here.

”We should probably leave,” Minghao is the one who suggests this.

”We should,” Hansol agrees, despite the weird, small feeling that is hesitant to. He doesn’t like it but—but it’s because he feels so detached here, like he is someone else, someone who doesn’t have to deal with the things he has to.

Getting out of the pool feels very, very cold. Freezing, almost.

Even on the front yard of his own house, his lips still tingle. It bothers him a bit, the lack of communication, but it’s so awkward to ask a thing like it. Because Hansol kinda wants to keep kissing Minghao. He sighs quietly, pulling out his keys from the very much wet pocket, phone and credit card carried in his hand.

Unlocking the door carefully not to wake people up, for that it’s at least one am, Hansol sneaks in and shuts the door behind him, hearing the satisfying click of the lock securing itself. Taking his shoes off, a sense of dread starts forming in his stomach. The dark hallway opens in front of him but stripes of yellow light are casted on it, falling from the kitchen.

Now, it wouldn’t be a problem for him to arrive home this late, something around 1am, but his clothes and hair are still more than less wet, which is suspicious enough. Hansol doesn’t really have an excuse. He tries to walk past the kitchen, only to be stopped by the voice of his mother calling out his name in a quiet tone.

“Uh, hi,” Hansol backtracks to the kitchen doorway, standing there but not taking another step to the room, even if he is admittedly a bit hungry. His mother is leaning against the kitchen counter, a white and blue mug in her hands. She looks tired.

“Where were you?” She asks, and it’s in no way threatening or disappointed, but it doesn’t sound like she’s ecstatic to hear it either. She isn’t really looking at him.

“Out…” Hansol says vaguely, “with a friend.”

“Seungkwan?”

“No, no, someone else. You don’t know him.”

“Alright,” she nods, giving him a glance. Her expression morphs into something more negative, little confused, certainly not happy.

“Why are you all wet?”

Hansol swallows, looking away. He doesn’t know what to say so he ends up being just quiet which isn’t a better reaction either. She lets out a groan, it almost sounds desperate and still so very tired. It hurts him, although Hansol doesn’t want to admit it. He feels like a little boy.

“What are we going to do with you, Hansol,” she says. It’s not a question as much as it’s a statement. Hansol shifts on his feet. He is still cold, uncomfortable in his damp clothes. She doesn’t sound angry with him, and maybe it is because it’s late, maybe she doesn’t want to fight and argue. He doesn’t want it either. Sofia must be asleep by now.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbles instead.

“Goodnight,” she says, putting the mug down on the counter. The sound is makes is eerily loud in the quiet house.

“Goodnight,” Hansol clutches his phone in his hand, turning around and disappearing to the stairwell as fast as he can without tripping over.

The arguing happens later, when it’s daytime. It’s been a few days since the night swimming incident, or whatever Hansol would call it. It’s something he is used to, but it still manages to feel like utter crap, as always. Hansol doesn’t bite his nails but despite this, he’s chewing on them, nervously. He is sitting on the couch of their living room, a Youtube video playing from his phone with his headphones plugged tightly in.

“Hansol,” his mother’s voice bleeds through his headphones, but Hansol barely pays any attention to it, too focused on the video. He decides that if it’s actually something important, she’ll call him again. And she does, so with a small sigh he pauses the video and takes one headphone out.

“What?” Hansol calls back, assuming she is in the kitchen judging by the muffled sound through the walls and open doorways.

“Come to empty and fill the dishwasher,” she half yells, which is necessary for him to hear her.

“Later!” Hansol taps his screen for it not to go black. He would rather finish watching the video first and getting up doesn’t sound too nice either.

“You need to do it now,” she sounds more frustrated. Hansol groans.

“I said later.”

She walks into the living room. Hansol sees her from the corner of his eye, standing in the doorway, but doesn’t lift his gaze from his paused screen.

“You always say that and then it never gets done,” she complains, voice strained, annoyed.

“I wanna finish watching this first,” Hansol tells her, nodding towards his phone.

“Can’t it wait?”

“Can’t the dishwasher wait?”

“No, because I need to make food for you and your sister but it’s so Goddamn messy there,” she sounds like she is losing her patience. Hansol should just nod, say alright, I’ll do it, but he doesn’t.

“Five minutes, okay?”

“Whatever,” she mutters, turning on her heels and walking away.

Hansol grimaces to his screen. It’s so petty, and it very much bugs him. When he is about to continue watching the video, very clear, almost exaggerated clattering sounds of dishes and cupboards being opened carry from the kitchen.

“For fuck’s sake,” Hansol mumbles to himself, ripping out the another headphone he still has on, and shoves his phone to his pocket, the tangled wire alongside with it.

“I said I’d empty it,” Hansol says to her, now very frustrated, when he gets to the kitchen and sees her doing the chore instead of him. She scoffs.

“As if,” she says, “you never do anything around here. Just sleep and are on your phone.”

Hansol grits his teeth.

“You can’t say that,” he tells her, voice cracking but not really rising in volume, “I do things around the house.” It’s not exactly a lie but it’s not the whole truth either.

“Yeah? It doesn’t change the fact that you still do very little,” she isn’t even looking at him as she talks.

“Okay?” Hansol says.

“I’d appreciate it if you did something. And that something doesn’t mean whatever you’re doing late at night, coming home all wet. And I don’t want to know what you were doing, Hansol,” she sounds tired, “Just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with you.”

Hansol doesn’t know either. He isn’t even sure what the real issue is.

“What about Sofia then?” He asks, because he is upset and because he is stupidly petty.

“Are you kidding me right now? She needs to rest her ankle,” she turns around and gives him a look that could only be described as disappointed. Hansol lets out a groan and drops the subject because she is right, then walking to her and taking the plate that’s in her hands.

“Just go,” Hansol tells her, turning around to put the plate to the cupboard, “I’ll do it.”

“No, Hansol, you go,” she says, very sternly.

“Right, because you didn’t want me to help,” Hansol mutters. She sighs, desperate.

“Just go,” she repeats. So he does, without giving her another glance. It feels like nausea, the frustration, and he hates it very much.

And how nice would it be, to be a good son, Hansol bitterly thinks. Someone who does what he is told and makes his mother proud. Apparently, he isn’t too capable of that.

Hansol makes sure that the keys chink loudly as he grabs them from the chest of drawers in the hallway and that the door shuts with a loud slam as he walks out. Dramatics, or whatever. He feels bad, uncomfortable and so wrong.

His attire isn’t too presentable but he is too tired to care. Another pair of possibly stained gym shorts and a t-shirt, but at least his hair is recently washed from the morning. Hansol digs his phone out from his pocket and puts in his headphones. His battery percentage isn’t too high but he’ll have to deal with it.

There’s a few options Hansol could do. Normally he’d go and bother Seungkwan, but he is still at the music camp, returning only in few days so that’s out of question. There’s parks, the field, streets and of course, Soonyoung. Even without money on him, Hansol still could go to the ice cream parlor and sit there for a while. If Soonyoung is working today.

Upon arriving, Hansol is delighted to discover that Soonyoung indeed is on shift. The door chimes when opened, and the greeting from Soonyoung’s mouth is more strained than during previous times, but enthusiastic nevertheless. The shop is empty to Hansol’s relief.

“Oh, it’s you,” Soonyoung says.

“It’s me,” Hansol confirms, pulling out a chair from the table closest to the counter.

“I don’t have any money on me,” he tells him before Soonyoung can ask what he would like to get, like the proper worker he is.

“Damn, I could kick you out,” Soonyoung says, unsurprisingly happy about this. Hansol gives him a face with the corners of his lips turned downwards.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he pouts.

“Nah, you’re right. I’m a good person,” he praises himself, looking somewhat proud. Hansol isn’t great at holding grudges, usually forgetting why he got upset in the first place, and this is why he is feeling already a lot better. Not to get any credit to Soonyoung or his bright attitude, which isn’t all that bright.

“You seem odd,” Hansol bluntly states, “like, like something’s wrong.”

Soonyoung sighs.

“You think so?”

Hansol nods, leaning back in his chair. He raises his brows expectantly for Soonyoung to explain.

“My lovelife is a mess,” Soonyoung says after a second of silence.

“Elaborate? I thought your lovelife was nonexistent.”

“Okay, rude. And I mean what I said. It’s a mess. Like a tangled ugly mess. That’s all,” he huffs.

“Who is it?” Hansol asks instead, curious. Soonyoung looks hesitant before shaking his head slowly.

“I don’t think you know him.”

“Him? Hold on, I didn’t even know you’re into guys,” Hansol furrows his brows. Soonyoung lets out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, my sweet child. How blind are you?” He doesn’t seem offended by it, eyes shining with something like amusement.

“You’ve only ever dated girls, how would I know you like both?”

“I thought you would have figured it out. Although I’m not too surprised. You’ve always been, well, oblivious,” Soonyoung tilts his head, looking at him with endearment, it seems. Hansol makes a noise from the back of his throat.

“I’m not that oblivious,” he mumbles, looking away. It doesn’t change anything, who Soonyoung likes, obviously, but it just raises the question of how many other things does Hansol miss by being stuck in his own world.

“Well, now you know,” Soonyoung shrugs his shoulders. Despite the curiosity for who the guy could be, Hansol doesn’t ask more about it.

“How’s Seungkwan?” Soonyoung asks.

“Why are you asking me?” Hansol scoffs. “He’s still at the camp, comes back in like, two days.”

“Because you two are basically glued by the hip,” he rolls his eyes like it’s obvious. It probably is. ”But that’s good. He still hasn’t returned my face wash.”

”Why on earth would he borrow face wash from you?”

”He didn’t. I just left it there by mistake. Look at my skin, Hansol. It’s a fucking tragedy,” Soonyoung grimaces. He makes a ring out of his forefinger and thumb, the space between his fingertips tiny. ”I’m this close to ripping it all off.”

The weird thing is that Soonyoung doesn’t look like he is kidding. Hansol thinks of Seungkwan like a reflex, and it feels so wrong.

”Uuh,” Hansol goes, ”maybe don’t do that…”

”Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to survive.”

”Yea, but hold on for a few days. Time heals all wounds, or whatever.”

“Inspirational,” Soonyoung grins.

They talk, but it’s barely anything important. Soonyoung tells him about a customer-from-Hell and Hansol doesn’t have much to share. He’d think a place as pretentious as the Sundae School would have more customers but it’s just the two of them for a good while.

This lasts only so long though. In some time, a few customers walk in, chattering loudly. Hansol bites his inner lip to stop himself from barking out a laugh when Soonyoung’s expression turns to sour for a brief moment, before returning to the forced cheeriness. They stop in front of the counter to look at the options and Hansol takes this as his change to leave. Not that Soonyoung’s company is bad. He probably misses his phone. Sometimes it’s worrying but Soonyoung is like that… very worrisome.

Hansol stands up, pushing the chair neatly under the table.

“I’ll see you,” he says quickly to Soonyoung, not to distract him too much. He flashes a toothy grin at Hansol.

“See you,” he calls in return before focusing on the customers before him.

Hansol isn’t really a strong believer of fate, if at all. It’s just weird coincidences.

So it’s just an odd coincidence when after some minutes of walking in the outside air, he spots the familiar wiry figure of who Hansol is pretty sure is Minghao.

Now, he could walk away, pretend he didn’t notice him to avoid awkward small talk, but the truth is that Hansol would rather stupidly latch onto him than go home. Home is space to think and be overaware of every single thing in existence. It doesn’t sound very appealing.

And even if he wanted to run off, it’s too late when Minghao notices him too when he looks up from his phone, shoving it to the pocket of his shorts. They saw each other the last time only yesterday, at the field, but as if that makes any difference to anything.

”Oh, wow. Hi,” Hansol says when Minghao is in a distance close enough to hear him, ”are you in a hurry?”

”No, what’s up?” Minghao runs his hand through his hair. Even in just a white t-shirt, he looks like a model from some artsy magazine Hansol can’t even name an example of.

”I’m lonely,” he says before furrowing his brows, ”or like, companion-less. Am I being too straightforward?” Hansol inwardly cringes. Luckily, Minghao laughs.

”Nah. I’m about to head home. Although, you can come with me… if you want to. Am I being too straightforward?” He smiles as he speaks.

“My roommate is out of town,” Minghao adds. Hansol tries not to think about the potential implication but he does. He definitely thinks about it. He laughs, hoping it doesn’t sound awkward.

”That’d be great, honestly.”

”The dorms aren’t exactly closeby though. We gotta catch the bus.”

”It’s fine,” Hansol nods. As long as he still has battery on his phone, which he should, since he has a convenient app for transportation tickets. The sweet technology.

”You live at the dorms?” He asks as Minghao continues walking again and Hansol follows.

”Yeah,” he says, ”I’m not from around.”

”Really? How come you didn’t go home for summer?”

Minghao lifts his hand and makes a vague motion with it.

”Just because,” he says, but it’s with a smile still on his lips. Despite it, it feels like he shouldn’t push it.

”I’ll still live at home for college,” Hansol says, a tad bit thoughtfully. ”Do you think that’s, I don’t know, weird? Or something. Some people seem to do.”

”It saves money,” Minghao shrugs his shoulders, ”if it’s convenient for you and your parents don’t mind, then why not?”

Just one parent, and a sister, he corrects in his mind, but doesn’t say it aloud.

”Right…” Hansol trails off. Minghao slaps his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it.

”It’s cool,” he says, like some sort of reassurance. It works, somehow. Hansol grins at him. A car passes by them, the driver playing music loudly, the bass prominent and loud, until it gradually fades as the car drives further away.

Weird coincidences, right. The song is on his most played playlist.

The door shuts with a quiet click, and Hansol is quick to take in the surroundings. The dorm room is small, nothing extraordinary, with two beds on the opposite ends. It’s surprisingly neat but Hansol isn’t exactly sure what he expected.

Then Minghao is in his space, standing before him with a strange expression on his face. He touches the side of Hansol’s neck, a bit hesitant, careful. He blinks, waiting for the moment to break or a bomb to drop.

Minghao kisses him first. Hansol doesn’t know what he expected. He is soft against him, like he has been the times before, and he should probably stop him, and ask him, talk to him about what does it mean. But Hansol is indeed a bit coward like that so instead he does what feels good and kisses him back, standing in the doorway. It doesn’t even strike as odd if Minghao brought him there to hook up or something, despite Hansol’s messy attire.

He licks into his mouth like he doesn’t care but at the same time is careful and mindful of whatever is happening. Hansol sighs into the kiss, tilting his head a bit for a better angle. He puts his hands on Minghao’s waist, once again, and pulls him a bit closer. It doesn’t feel like a deja vu, he can’t imagine the water surrounding him, because it’s all about them and the stuffy indoor air.

Hansol sneaks his palms underneath the fabric of Minghao’s t-shirt, feeling him shiver against him. He bites on his lower lip, gently with the fear of hurting Minghao, and Hansol discovers he really likes the sound of the low sighs coming from his throat. He rubs his thumbs against the warm skin of his waist, not really gripping him but holding him softly.

Minghao’s hand moves to his jaw and he grips it more sternly, moving his head however he likes and Hansol lets him take the lead. Melting to him, his knees feel a bit weaker but not by much. It’s an embarrassing thing to admit or even think about.

As much as Hansol wants to keep holding Minghao by his waist, he also wants to feel the long strands of his between his fingers. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t dare to move his hands. Minghao gasps against his lips when he grabs him a bit harder, tugging him even closer so they’re flushed against each other. It’s mostly by accident, but with Minghao’s thigh placed between his legs, it’s not Hansol’s fault that he presses into it.

It starts off with small movements, careful to see whether Minghao would push him away or give any sign to suggest that this isn’t okay. But he doesn’t, so Hansol keeps more or less grinding against his thigh because the pressure is sweet, slight friction that has his body warming up, even if in the summer that’s not too necessary.

A part of him wants to ask, but another part just wants to melt against his lips and feel his body, maybe explore the places he hasn’t touched yet. This is the part that wins. Hansol doesn’t keep his mouth closed, because he has his tongue pressed against Minghao’s, but the only sounds he makes are content sighs. If he doesn’t focus on it, he can’t tell if the sound is from him or Minghao.

Minghao breaks the kiss to nod towards the bed, expression like the one he had seen that night at the city pool—mischievous. Hansol wouldn’t call it dangerous, but there’s something oddly thrilling in him when he looks like that. He bites his inner cheek to stop himself from grinning like a fool, nodding.

Minghao walks backwards with careful steps, Hansol’s hands still on his waist, not wanting to let go. But then he has to because Minghao puts his hand on his wrist, loosely tugging it for Hansol to let go. He cocks his brow, tilts his head, the long strands of his hair flowing too smoothly for it to even seem real. Is any of this even real, it’s hard to tell. Minghao is so hot. Fuck.

“Go sit,” he says, gesturing towards the bed. Hansol does as told, sitting down and it squeaks beneath him. He feels impatient, like something is thundering in his chest. It’s not butterflies in his stomach but anticipation. Or whatever expressions Hansol could come up for needy.

Sitting on the edge of Minghao’s bed, watching as he is rummaging through a bedside drawer. Hansol bites on his lower lip, a bit nervous but mostly excited. He returns to the bed quickly, dropping down a tube of what Hansol assumes is lube and then sits down beside him.

MInghao leans closer to him again, pressing his kissed lips to Hansol’s. He doesn’t waste more time before moving his hand between Hansol’s legs, half of his palm against the fabric of his shorts but with his fingertips grazing the skin exposed beneath their hem. Hansol parts his lips into the kiss when Minghao rubs his palm against him and moves it to feel his dick’s outline through the fabric.

“Is this okay?” Minghao asks against his lips, muffled. Hansol doesn’t put it to words but makes a sound he hopes Minghao dubs as approving.

With the gentle pressure of Minghao’s hand and the warmth of his lips, it’s easy for Hansol to sink into the situation and the growing feeling of arousal. He is sure his cheeks must be flushed by now. He keeps his eyes shut and leans more into Minghao.

Something twists in his stomach when their tongues press against one another and a quick trail of spit drools down the corner of Hansol’s mouth—he isn’t sure which mouth it came from, and he doesn’t know why it feels so hot either. Hansol doesn’t have time to think about it any further when Minghao decides to tug down the waistband of his shorts and pull his half hard dick out.

Minghao drags his fingers along his length in a way that’s more teasing than anything else. He bites on Hansol’s lower lip, a bit more harsh than he would have expected, making him jolt and gasp softly. Minghao has the audacity to chuckle into his mouth.

The bed squeaks beneath Hansol as he shifts for a more comfortable position, and this is when Minghao apparently decides that the kiss is over, drawing back. Hansol parts his lids to look at him. Minghao is opening the tube of lube, squeezing some onto his palm. His cheeks are flushed too, lips wet and swollen and so pretty, and he looks very irresistible in general. Hansol licks his own lips, chest heaving a bit more.

Maybe he is easy to rile up or overly sensitive, or maybe it’s Minghao’s confident but carefree presence and the way he handles him that makes Hansol still with a sharp inhale when Minghao closes his lube wet palm around his dick and gives it a firm squeeze. His first instinct is to fuck into the warm and slick ring of his fingers but Hansol resists, covering up whatever is about to come from his mouth with a cough.

Minghao is looking at him with his eyes dark, sort of hazy, and he doesn’t break the eye contact as he drags his palm on Hansol’s length firmly but slowly.

“Pretty,” is all Minghao mumbles, and Hansol isn’t exactly sure what he is referring to but it still makes him shiver.

Minghao leans closer but this time he doesn’t press his lips on Hansol’s but on his jawline instead. He places a kiss on the edge of it before moving downwards and sweetly kissing his neck. That mixed in with the way he is stroking his hand has Hansol shaking a little.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, propped against the mattress on his both sides, careful not to tug the bed cover. The silence of the dorm room emphasizes the slick sound Minghao’s hand makes, vulgar and borderline disgusting. Hansol’s lips are parted open, quiet exhalles falling out when Minghao twists his hand.

Minghao bites the sensitive skin of his neck, drags his tongue against it, and it makes Hansol’s toes curl. He swallows back a moan when another hand accompanies Minghao’s, tugging the fabric of his shorts further down to fondle with his balls.

” Ohmygod ,” Hansol lets out a strangled mumble.

Hansol gets lost to the feeling, sort of, trying to not buck his hips into the friction for that it feels embarrassing. He tries to keep his mouth shut, but it’s difficult with how Minghao’s hands are working.

Minghao kisses his way back to his mouth, and Hansol tries to kiss him back in a way that’s not completely discoordinated and messy, but it’s a weak try. He feels so warm all over, sweat wet in his kneecaps, and he is so close but not quite. With mouth now open, quiet sounds press into Minghao’s mouth. Hansol hopes he gets it that he is near because he isn’t going to try and talk, in fear that his voice would crack.

He doesn’t give him a goddamn break, sliding his fist in a quick pace. Hansol’s hips jerk into the touch, more uncontrollable, and honestly, he just wants to come.

“Fuck,” he gasps into Minghao’s mouth when his fingers slide over the tip. Hansol’s hand grabs him by the thigh, squeezing it instead of the bed cover. Minghao’s strokes don’t falter and soon enough he is tripping over the edge, spilling over his hand. Hansol trembles, riding out the orgasm with shaky movements, hand gripping Minghao’s thigh probably a bit too harshly.

Minghao withdraws his hand only when Hansol is jerking away from the oversensitivity. He looks down to see his hand covered in cum, but what causes a spike of discomfort is how it’s spread all over his shirt too.

“Oh shit,” he curses, voice breathy. Minghao seems to understand but still wipes his palm on the fabric.

“Hey! I still gotta go home after this, you know,” it comes out a lot more whinier than intended. Minghao laughs. He is still close, so that Hansol can feel the warmth of his breath against the side of his face.

“I’ll borrow you a shirt,” he tells him and pats his thigh, before tucking Hansol’s dick back into his shorts for him. He thanks him quietly.

“I’m bigger than you,” Hansol says.

“As if you haven’t seen me wearing oversized clothing before. Don’t be a fool.”

Hansol shrugs his shoulders. He looks down to Minghao’s hand, now again resting on his thigh, mirroring the way Hansol’s is resting on his. Minghao’s thin spidery fingers are splayed open. It’s a hand that was on his dick not less than a few minutes ago. What?

“Can I blow you?” It comes out from his mouth before he can even process it. He doesn’t know if Minghao is surprised by it at all, but he is. Kinda. Or maybe it was just expectable. Hansol doesn’t know. He blames the afterglow.

”Yeah,” Minghao sounds sort of breathless, kind of pleased. Happy to hear it. Hansol swallows dryly. He slides down onto the floor, knees colliding with the cold parquet. He doesn’t dare to look up, it feels all too forcefully sexy, and well, Hansol isn’t that.

Minghao’s hand smooths over his hair and he tries not to think about how it was on his dick, now on his head and there’s something very inherently gross about it. So instead he focuses on pulling Minghao’s dick out, to see that he is flushed and surprisingly hard. Hansol glances up but Minghao nudges his head, if it’s out of embarrassment or impatience, he can’t tell.

Hansol collects saliva in his mouth to carefully spit it down on the head of Minghao’s cock. He doesn’t want to drag it out for too long so quickly enough, after pressing an impulse peck on the wet tip, he opens his mouth and takes him in. Too deep, apparently. The sudden sound of gagging is awkward enough to make him flush, but Minghao doesn’t comment on it so he decides to ignore it too.

The slide is easy, maybe a bit too wet and he’ll end up with spit smeared around his mouth. Hansol hopes Minghao doesn’t mind messy. Since he isn’t the most tidy person in most aspects of life. He should also stop thinking about it and focus. Messy rooms, not sexy.

Hansol keeps his hands in his lap, bobbing his head with cheeks hollowed. It always starts to hurt too soon. The hand in his hair is grounding and oddly motivating, the same thing with how the small sounds of Minghao’s encourage him. Hansol pulls back to mouth the tip, tongue flat before he runs it around it.

It’s a lot—or maybe not really that much— licking, sucking and being careful with his teeth, accompanied with Minghao’s groans and sighs of what Hansol hopes is satisfaction, before Minghao runs his hand from the top to his face, thumbing the slight bulge from his dick being pressed against Hansol’s inner cheek.

”I’m close, fuck,” Minghao sounds a lot more broken than before. Hansol doesn’t know why it makes him shiver the way if does. He pulls off to speak, placing his hand on his dick to stroke him meanwhile. It’s wet and hot underneath his palm, the weight both familiar and strange.

”You can come on my shirt. Cumsocks are old news,” Hansol says. It’s so stupid. The sound Minghao makes could be a laugh, a scoff or a moan, but whatever it is, it’s strangled. Hansol twists his hand, and the glide is smooth enough from the saliva and precum. Minghao’s hips jerk when his thumb presses against the space just underneath the crown of his dick.

Hansol straightens his posture a bit and hovering closer to his cock, because he wasn’t kidding about Minghao coming on his shirt. It’s exactly what he does, with a hand tugging his hair—Hansol can’t even tell when he put it there again—and a litany of muttered curses. He twitches in Hansol’s hand.

Hansol glances down to see the washed out black of his shirt covered in new stains. It all is so ridiculous. He lets out a choked giggle, pressing his forehead against Minghao’s knee as he slumps down on his ass. He grips him softly by the wrist to stop Hansol from continuing with his slowed down jerking.

Hansol wipes his palm to the hem of the shirt.

”You’re so,” Minghao pauses for a second, voice light, ”unbelievable. Or like, weird.”

”That’s boring. You’re weird and unbelievable too, you know that right?” Hansol mutters and lifts his head from Minghao’s bare knee. A bandaid scratches his skin as he does so.

”You’re lame,” Minghao says. It’s difficult to tell if it’s an explanation or a correction. Hansol just tilts his head and shrugs his shoulders.

Hansol’s gaze lingers on Minghao’s face a second too long, the flush of his cheeks, sweaty glow, red lips, and he forces his stare away. Weird. It’s weird. Minghao tucks himself in and then nudges Hansol’s chin with the back of his hand. He motions for him to stand up, which is what he does, knees a bit shaky. He stands between Minghao’s spread legs, looking down at him.

Minghao pulls him closer by the collar of his shirt but it’s Hansol who kisses him first, or it’s what he wants to believe, at least. His lips feel sore and sort of funny.

”Thanks,” Minghao mumbles against his mouth.

”For what?” Hansol pulls back. He rolls his eyes and smiles lazily, slapping Hansol’s side softly enough for it not to hurt.

”For that,” Minghao nods down between his legs but keeps his eyes up at Hansol. His mouth morphs into a small o of understanding and he nods.

”Right,” he says dumbly, ”thanks. You too, I mean.” Kind of clumsy. It’s hard to think.

”Let’s get your cumshirt changed,” Minghao says then, voice more cheerful but not overly so. He stands up, making Hansol step to the side.

Hansol pulls his shirt off carefully, not to get the mess on his skin, then folding it that the streaks are on the inside. After a moment of awkwardly just holding it in his hands, he puts it down on the edge of Minghao’s bed.

Hansol turns around just to have a bundled piece of fabric shoved into his chest. He holds onto it erratically, almost dropping it. Minghao snorts. He smiles sheepishly in response, pulling the shirt on. It’s a bit loose on him, boring light blue with nothing on the front.

“Do you wanna watch something?” Minghao asks, shifting on his feet. “I don’t really have anything fun here to do. I’m boring.”

“Sure,” Hansol says. He isn’t too sure why but a part of him just expected Minghao to kick him out immediately. it has his brain rolling on overdrive but he tries to ignore it. There’s no point in thinking about it now. Friends can fool around to blow some steam.

“I wanna wash my hands first,” he adds after a second. Minghao laughs shortly, stopping on his tracks where he was pulling another drawer open. He still pulls out a laptop, placing it on the surface of his desk. It makes Hansol realize that the lube is still on the bed so he reaches for it, then hands it back to Minghao.

“Yeah, me too,” he says. Minghao opens another drawer and drops the lube there. The drawer shuts with a loud noise. It feels like it echoes. Hansol doesn’t know if it really does.

It properly hits him fully only afterwards. When it’s later, when he is in bed with his hair still wet from showering. When his lights are turned off but his screen still lights up his thumbs and fingers in an eerie blue tint. It’s not late enough for him to actually fall asleep, somewhere around ten pm, but he doesn’t have anything else to do either. So laying in bed messing with his phone seems like a plausible option.

Hansol has refreshed his feed on multiple accounts already, watched most of  the videos that seem interesting in his youtube subscription box and suggestions. There isn’t many things to distract his brain like this. He squirms on his bed, rolling on his stomach. His blanket is covering only his leg area beneath his thighs, too uncomfortably warm to lay underneath it properly. He’d feel oddly lost if it’s bundled up into a ball in the corner of his bed though.

His lower lip is a bit sore from biting down on it but it’s what he does. Hansol decides to text Seungkwan because that’s what he knows the best. Or more like Seungkwan knows and Hansol is there trying to understand.

To: seungkwan

ur still up right?
10:12pm

From: seungkwan

yessir
10:13pm

what’s up
10:13pm

To: seungkwan

bold of u to assume anythings up
10:13pm

im bored
10:14pm

From: seungkwan

missing me? <3
10:14pm

Hansol rolls his eyes at his screen, pushing back the damp strands falling over his eyes.

To: seungkwan

hell yeah
10:15pm

how r u doing
10:15pm

From: seungkwan

avoiding responsibility in our room, being eaten alive by the mosquitoes, the usual
10:16pm

To: seungkwan

are the bites bad?
10:16pm

From: seungkwan

ehhhhhhh
10:17pm

maybe! you know i am
10:17pm

but more importantly, how are YOU?
10:18pm

Hansol tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about the scratched bites and the space around Seungkwan’s fingernails. It makes him cringe, not out of disgust but just—because it feels bad to see it. Even if Seungkwan doesn’t want him to worry, Hansol still does so. Maybe he is a fool for it. Maybe it’s called for.

His question, the innocent how are you, reminds him of what he was originally stressing over. So with clumsy thumbs he keeps on typing.

To: seungkwan

yeah about that
10:20pm

rmbr minghao?
10:20pm

From. seungkwan

the track n field guy?
10:20pm

To: seungkwan

yea him
10:21pm

we like. u know. fooled around
10:21pm

From: seungkwan

tmi
10:21pm

so are you two smth more or what?
10.22pm

To: seungkwan

no but
10:22pm

it feels weird?
10:22pm

From: seungkwan

do you like him?? like that
10:23pm

To: seungkwan

no??
10:23pm

From: seungkwan

then whats weird about it. like youve hooked up w people before
10:24pm

To: seungkwan

we are friends though
10:24pm

and idk. hes weird
10:25pm

From: seunkgwan

well youre the weirdest person i know so its a match :)
10:25pm

you could like, maybe talk to him about it?
10:25pm

To: seungkwan

LMAO thats awkward as fuck isnt it
10:26pm

From: seungkwan

itll bite you in the ass if you dont lol
10:26pm

dont stress about it though. like overthink it or smth. if it was a one time thing anyway
10:27pm

To: seungkwan

yea i guess
10:27pm

Hansol drops his phone on the mattress. Seungkwan isn’t wrong. He should ask Minghao about it. What it means. Clean lines are easier to understand, more comfortable to follow, since Hansol really doesn’t need more confusing things in his life. The summer has been weird so far.

He feels like a child, but children don’t suck off their new friends. He feels a shudder of discomfort to even think that. Hansol doesn’t feel like an adult either, so he is stuck somewhere in between, in indecisiveness and squirmy feelings of something missing but he doesn’t know what it is. Out of place. Easier to forget when there’s things to distract him. (Like Minghao. God, like Minghao.)

Hansol never knows what the fuck he wants. For why do feel such minor things so big, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t have to. He won’t.

Hansol will ask him about it though. Just to be sure. Even if Minghao does seem awfully unreachable in some weird way, he doesn’t want to risk him falling for him or something like that. Hansol promises it to himself, he can be cool about it, he can.

He hopes he doesn’t ruin it. Hansol feels small. He wants to fall asleep but still keeps his eyes open, looking at the creases in his pillowcase. Hansol can’t say it hurts but something unsaid is heavy in his chest. Maybe it’s the humidity that has him feeling weird. Yeah, it’s probably the weather.