(Excerpt)

The only thing crossing Lee Hyukjae's mind as he sped down the road was how the hell he got into this situation.

What did he ever do to deserve this? His leg hurt and his shoulder was probably dislocated and he was peddling a ty bike like there was no tomorrow just because his ex-best-friend-slash--buddy was chasing after him. And said ex-best-friend-slash--buddy didn’t even think the situation was important enough to merit a word. Or maybe it was because he was too busy panting for air? He was running unnaturally quickly for those tiny legs of his. Not that Hyukjae cared either way; the first thing on his priority list was getting the hell away from the brunette.

Hyukjae was about to make a turn at the intersection when, suddenly, Donghae pulled a flying leap and just about knocked him off his bike. Again. Hyukjae wondered if Donghae had something against his bike as his face met the ground for the second time in three minutes. If anyone else had dared pull that trick, Hyukjae would have probably pummeled their face in. But it was Lee Donghae here. It was Lee Donghae and Hyukjae had honestly no idea what to do in his presence but run.

And so, with that idea on his mind, the blonde dropped his bike entirely and began to sprint—with some difficulty, of course, as it seemed that falling the second time did something to his ankle. Donghae caught up with ease this time, keeping pace with Hyukjae without even having the run. The boy spoke up, voice all high and stringy, “Hey, Lee Hyukjae-sshi—”

“Really? We’re at sshi now?” Hyukjae wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or laugh, but the pain in his right foot inclined him towards the former. So he did. Donghae, looking genuinely concerned, reached over and tapped him gently on the shoulder with a single finger, “Say, why are you running?”

“NO!” Hyukjae attempted to speed up after giving his slightly ridiculous response, which was a brilliantly stupid idea as all Donghae had to do was walk slightly faster and produce another question, “What’s NO supposed to mean? Come on, Hyukjae—”

“NO!”

“Are you alright?”

“NO!”

“Let’s talk?”

“NO!” The blonde repeated. He secretly wanted to say something other than NO, because it made him sound so stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupid. Nothing like the badass delinquent that he’d turned into. Donghae was probably going to think that he was the same wuss from back in eighth grade. Hyukjae snapped around his heel to finally say whatever it was that he wanted to say, which wasn’t much, really, but even that didn’t work out—his ankle finally gave in and he toppled over.

And just as his ty luck would have it, Donghae reached over to stop his slow-motion fall with a slow-motion, filthily romantic catch. And grin. And spin.

Hyukjae shivered. Really, did that bastard have to spin?

A/N:

I’ve gotten tired of writing psychotic/crack characters on bloody rampages and spending hours doodling/butchering/molesting sentences, so I thought it would be good stress relief to write a commercial fic for a commercial OTP with commercial characters and concepts and icky writing and… well, I’m keeping this one no matter what you say. Even the fluff, though thinking of it is making me crawl inside.

This is my guilty pleasure. Or donating to the young. Think what you’d like and let me fail to update in peace.

PS: I won't be editing this. Ever. What you read will be what I write, untouched by itchy fingers or inner grammar es. Also, super-predictable plotline warning: Eunhae and Hanchul will be victorious! Bet you couldn't see that one coming.  

OMFG SERIOUSLY WHAT AM I MEANT TO DO WITH FLUFF?!