Channuneo. PG. General slash. 313 w. Inspired by this.

It was weird. The two of them sitting on his bed, closer in his mind than in reality, but on the same bed nonetheless. It shouldn’t have been weird, and perhaps it really wasn’t, but dammit it felt weird and Junho needed an out.

Chansung was bored again, so after posting some strange pictures on his Twitter and rambling off in the fan café, he came slinking into Junho’s room, as he often did.  They talked about everything and nothing, and none of that should have been weird, but this particular night they had gotten into some lame tiff about something that for the life of him he couldn’t remember, but had ended with them chasing each other around the room, howling and laughing like two second graders. That was, until Khun-hyung banged on the door that they had better shut the up or so help him god blah blah blah something in English beyond his Hogrish skills.

Then Channie got the upper hand, and slammed Junho down on the bed, and then there was this really, really weird moment when a knee shifted here and a moan escaped from there and the staring. Oh god the staring. None of it was intentional, or was it, geez that didn’t matter now. What did matter was the way Junho’s breath was caught in his throat, and the way Chansung whispered his name when he brushed an errant purple tinted curl out of his face.

Junho had aggressively pushed him off, and so there they sat. On the same bed with the same heavy silence between them, each waiting for the other to say something. Anything. Because their constant pushing and pulling over the years had ended them up here. Junho knew he had two options, but he was waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

And then he picked the wrong one:

“Go back to your room.”