forty one.
lather, rinse, repeatThe reason Jongup is the way he is now, is all because of Daehyun hyung.
The words bore into my head, refusing to give me any room for spare thought. How the hell did Junhong expect me to sit still, hearing just that?
He had given me nothing else, skipping off with that single sentence whispered into my ear. His lips had spread widely to a Cheshire smile, eyes glinting in childish misadventure, finger zipping his lips closed. It was only obvious he wasn’t going to give me anything to work off of.
For the umpteenth time, I twisted in my bed, unable to find sleep. How could I? As wrong as it was, prying into someone else’s life, I had to – no, not had to, but wanted – know. Why was it Daehyun’s fault? Better yet, what about Jongup was Daehyun’s fault.
The assumptions I’d been able to work off of the single sentence I’d been tossed had been that Daehyun had somehow crippled Jongup. But that was impossible, right? Daehyun loved Jongup; it was impossible that he could even imagine the thought of hurting Jongup. It just wasn’t possible. The Jung Daehyun I knew wouldn’t – couldn’t – do it. But then again, it wasn’t as if I had much other choices to work off.
Growling in frustration, I crumpled my hair, flopping a little helpless on my bed, listening to the squeaks of protest form the mattress below.
Maybe it had been an accident. Just like how I forced pressure on the mattress, unintentionally, maybe Jongup’s being hurt was also unintentional.
And here I was making assumptions. For all I knew, Junhong could have been lying – I barely knew the kid after all. I had to trust Daehyun. Some friend I was.
Several times throughout the night, I had considered calling Daehyun up to ask, my fingers hovering over the green call button to Daehyun’s number. I’d gone as far as to have written out a formal message to him, erasing it only once I’d completed it. Too formal, too inappropriate, too prying. I always somehow managed to pick up an excuse against sending the block of text. One call. One single question and all the bubbling questions in my bed could be spared.
But I couldn’t do it. How would Daehyun feel, knowing I had been prying into his business? How betrayed would he feel, knowing I opted to listening to some kid I’d never met before over that of him.
I should have been a good friend, waiting it out for him to tell me someday. If anything was wrong, Daehyun would spill.
But, again, I couldn’t do it. My curiosity took the better of me.
“Hello? Youngjae?”
I knew I couldn’t call Daehyun, especially not at this ungodly hour of two in the morning; but I knew one person who’d known Daehyun since birth. They’d always been the closest of friends, all but glued to the hip before everything went astray in middle school.
It went against my better judgement than to call him, but I did. It was this, or nothing.
“You’re calling me? God, what time is it? Youngjae –,”
“Jaebum, I need a favor.”
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