the blue sky and the pieces of clouds.
i drew them however i wanted at that place.

chapter three.

Waking up that morning, Junhong just knew: he was in for a horrible day.

Climbing out of bed - clearly on the wrong side, judging how his face was met with a load of his bedroom wall - the young boy began almost automatically to complain of a nonexistent headache, gripping his head dearingly with a full on pout. He tried to appeal to his exhausted parents, whimpering as like a kicked puppy in hopes to tear the attention away from his father’s newspaper.

(Junhong was more interesting than the news, didn’t his father know?)

“Junhong, what do you want?” The man groaned, his voice thick with exhaustion, the rustling of papers followed by the years with of dark circles greeting the youngest son of the ChoiBang residence.

And for a second, Junhong almost lost his words. “Dad,” he whined, getting his grip back on reality, pushing aside the coming guilt for bothering his father, “I feel sick.” He was lying and the fib was easily seen past his pleading expression. Junhong had never been that amazing of a liar in the first place.

The elder man simply hummed back in response, placing his read on the kitchen table to rub callused hands over wrinkled face. “Junhong, are you really sick, or are you just saying this to get out of school?”

Junhong winced, blinking three times in concession shakily.

“Father, why would I ever lie about being sick?”

A sigh. “Choi Junhong.” The voice was firm, sending unwanted shivers crawling down the lengthy boy’s back. The voice told him to stop his bull and do as he was supposed to, as the baby son of the ChoiBang residence. It told him to stop playing around and grow out of his childish needs and wants.

The world isn’t all about you, Junhong.

And this time, Junhong didn’t have any words to pull back out in response to the hard warning. Biting down at his lip, Junhong lowered his head. He wasn’t, after all, really sick.

(Plus, his feet got real interesting all the sudden.)

“I’ll make sure he gets to school,” blinking up from the floor, his feet, Junhong turned to the deep voice he’d otherwise craze over. Today, he wasn’t as quite so interested. Not as of recent anyways.

(Junhong was mad still at him.)

Junhong couldn’t understand why the hell Yongguk was up already. He was supposed to be still asleep, knocked out from his overnight part time job the other night. He wasn’t supposed to run into Junhong today. Yongguk was supposed to oversleep and wake up late for his bus, rushing out without enough time to check up on Junhong hiding out in his room.

They were most definitely not supposed to meet today.

The old man grumbled out a sort approval, returning to his newspaper and allowing the heavy silence to fall back in the kitchen - given exception to the sudden pop of their toaster from the island table nearby. Junhong didn’t wait to excuse himself from the area, slipping away back to his room with a withheld grumble.

He spent the rest of his breakfast hours rolling around on his bed, flat on his stomach and flipping through a black and white comic book he had floating around the room (he’d read the thing at least a hundred times, but it never hurt anyone to read it a hundred and one time).

It didn’t matter to him that Yongguk would reappear in his room as soon as his parents were out, as he did whenever Junhong was alone - whether he wanted to be, or not (though previously, he’d never actually wanted to be alone). He’d simply ignore whatever his brother had to say. Yongguk wasn’t allowed to sooth Junhong’s rebellious streak today. He wasn’t allowed to make Junhong love him again.

True to past experiences, Yongguk was in the tiny single bedroom within the next ten minutes, soft thumps toward Junhong’s bedroom door following a polite bid farewell to their leaving parents indicating his arrival.

He dare even had the nerve to knock.

(Junhong didn’t answer.)

“Junhong?”

The said boy made no attempt at a reply, tossing his comic book somewhere in the corner of the room and throwing his sheets over his head. There was no Junhong here, not today.

His brother tried exactly three more times, nothing more than a thirty second interval between each series of knocks against the door, before entering anyways, scanning the messy room and sighing in that loud obnoxious way adults always seemed to.

I-don’t-have-time-for-your-bull--Junhong.

(Junhong winced, mentally slapping himself for even thinking such a way.

Even if he was being stupid, Yongguk would have never thought of Junhong in such a way.)

“Junhong.”

This time, the voice came out a little softer, worn around the edges like a faded photograph, bent and torn at the corners from constant love - perhaps too much. It was the same voice as the one that had come the night half a week back, tired, exhausted and slurred from far too much alcohol.

Sorry Junhong.

And to it, Junhong sighed back.

“What.”

Yongguk must have taken the soft reply - not a question nor a statement - as a sign of approval, Junhong’s mattress squeaking in protest at the added weight and bending around the corners where the boy could only assume his brother had sat.

It really was the mattresses fault, not his, that Junhong scooted a little closer to his brother, bumping his head against Yongguk’s thigh and peering almost warily up into tired eyes. “What do you want?”

He was mad, god damn it; why couldn’t his body respect that?

“Are you still mad at me?”

Junhong hummed - not exactly a positive or negative -, rolling himself properly, melding himself up against Yongguk’s thigh (the older unconsciously doing the same, sliding up further onto the bed to hold properly Junhong’s weight). This was what was normal for them, Junhong with his head propped up against his brother’s legs as Yongguk’s fingers raked mindlessly through the messy strands of Junhong’s hair, trying not to tangle the uncombed mess.

It was what had been, before Gina came in and ruined everything.

“Maybe.”

“Is it because I called you a brat?”

Junhong again flinched, sending a sharp glare up at his brother - way to ruin the moment - and turning his head the other way with a sort of huff. He didn’t need to answer this. Yongguk should have known exactly what was wrong.

About calling Junhong a brat (admittedly, he wasn’t exactly being an angel that day either). About leaving him alone and letting the witch lure him away with her witchcraft.

Yongguk was a college student, he should have understood at least this much - what exactly did they teach up there anyways: how-to-piss-off-your-younger-brother-101? He had known Junhong since he was born, for a grand total of fifteen whole years; Yongguk should have known Junhong enough.

The silence offered in return to the question was answer enough for the older of the two siblings, a deep sigh pulling down his full lips to a disappointed frown. Perhaps he’d been looking forward to actually talking this out with Junhong. If he had been, then Yongguk was in for a great disappointment. Junhong refused to further talk on the subject - on Gina.

“You know I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

It was a funny thing, being human. It meant having emotions, and a whole lot of them. Sometimes, they were good, bringing a soft fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach and a face breaking smile chapped lips; but other times, the circumstances weren’t as nice, leading to misunderstandings and broken trust.

Junhong had just worshipped the ground Yongguk stood on for too long. Sometimes, he forgot that Yongguk was still human. That Yongguk wasn’t some superbeing meant for the high thrones of clouds and gold.

“How about I make it up to you?” The older brother swapped for a smile, the bright gummy one Junhong loved so dear, smoothing the younger’s bangs out of eyes and leaning down to lay a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You go wash up so I can make us lunch. If you play nice and go to school, I’ll pick you up after class today, alright?”

“Don’t you have classes late today?”

A shrug and a grin.

“I can afford to skip a day.”

Junhong squealed, rolling off Yongguk’s lap.

(If Yongguk was willing to skip class - composition intermediate -, that meant he still cared enough for Junhong. He would have never skipped class for Gina. Never had, never would.

This was a Choi Junhong only privilege.)

Nearly tripping over himself, Yongguk chuckling low at his younger brother’s sudden excitement to get to school (and for it to be over), Junhong skid to a short stop at his doorway, barely stopping himself in time with his finger gripped tight against the door frame. “Promise me one more thing?”

Yongguk hummed, raising a brow.

“Promise me you’ll always like me number one.”

Yongguk couldn’t hold back a laugh at this one, just barely managing to hold his gleed snorts of laughter for a whole-hearted promise. “I swear.” His brother was far too sweet, innocent.

(He hopped Junhong would forever remain this way. Untouched and pure.)

The middle schooler brightly lit up, his lips stretching high to hang on his ears, nodding.

“You promised!”

Junhong would make sure Yongguk keep up his end of the promise.

And true to part one of his promise, by the time Junhong had come out of the showers, a damp towel over his still wet hair being his only form of cover - what was the point, when it was just he and Yongguk in the house anyways -, Yongguk had wiped up two bowls of sticky, white rice and fried ham. Crawling speedily into a clean pair of boxers (one he had to dig into the far back corner of his closet for, he really needed to start taking out his laundry to the dirty hamper more often) and a less stained white shirt, the teen perched himself on the middle seat of their dining room, smiling cheekily at his brother gathering eating utensils.

“You’re in father’s seat,” was the amused greeting as Yongguk handed Junhong his spoon and chopsticks, placing himself on the seat on the other side of the table, his usual designated spot.

“He’s not here to scold me out of it.”

Junhong liked to believe, when their dad wasn’t home, it was he who was the ruler of the house. Junhong, Junhong, Junhong. He deserved to be at the top of Yongguk’s attention. Of everyone’s.

And Yongguk shrugged at it, reaching over once to ruffle his brother’s uncombed hair, swiping the moisture that came from it against his loose jeans. He couldn’t see anything wrong with it, Junhong’s obsession to stealing their father’s seat, to take over the alpha position of their tiny family; to him, everything his baby brother did was cute.

Just cute, nothing wrong.

Nothing Junhong did could ever be wrong.

(Junhong deserved the attention. He rarely got the smiles and compliments from their parents, Yongguk figured it was just as well his job to take over that sore, empty spot in his baby brother’s heart.)

Lunch wasn’t much at all, Yongguk complained about it, informing his baby brother that they’d have to go grocery shopping on their way back from school. The last time the fridge had been refilled had been before Junhong got mad at Yongguk. That had been at least half a week back - the longest Junhong had gone being upset at Yongguk (it had nearly scared the older brother, Junhong never got upset for so long).

“Really, I swear we have a thief nabbing at our fridge when we’re asleep or something. There is no way we can run out of food so quickly.”

The comment was meant to be funny, Yongguk’s glance darting warily to his baby brother, relaxing only as Junhong’s shoulders bounced with laughter.

“Stupid,” the baby gasped between laughs, wiping his chin of flying rice pieces, “thieves wouldn’t come just to steal food.” They’d take something more valuable. It was a joke, and Junhong appreciated it, squinting his eyes in amusement at Yongguk’s attempt to brighten the mood.

If Yongguk was making an attempt to restore their relationship to what had been before, Junhong was in no way about to shoo the man away.

The attempt was welcomed with wide arms.

He’d missed Yongguk the days he’d been supposedly mad.

Lunch ended not too long after, when the brothers realized they had just half an hour before Junhong’s lunch period would end. Yongguk had promptly taken his place by the sink, not bothering with their mother’s squeaky pink rubber gloves, and Junhong followed promptly, delivering dirty plates and emptying the dishwasher of dried bowls and plates.

“My class ends about ten minutes after yours.”

Junhong frowned. Doing the math, calculating the distance between their schools, that would mean he would have to wait at least twenty, thirty at worst, minutes until Yongguk could arrive by his gates. And that would be if Yongguk ran for the buses right as classes let out.

But it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it.

“Promise you’ll hurry?”

Yongguk smiled, “I’ll be as quick as possible.”

Junhong trusted Yongguk not to ditch him again.

(Junhong would never ever forgive him if he did.)

Soap covered fingers came around his cheeks to a pinch, Junhong swatting away the hands with a wide grin and snicker. “Quuiit, I just washed, y’know?” But Junhong didn’t mind, not as much as he should have for being treated like a child.

He didn’t mind being babied if it was Yongguk.

It was with that, a kiss on the forehead goodbye, that Junhong begrudgingly slipped past the gates of his school, waving farewell to his guardian figure and watching the lengthy silhouette of brother disappear around the corner. When he couldn’t see Yongguk anymore, when his deep red hoodie was no longer visible, Junhong skid away for his school building, dodging the piercing glare of the school police impatiently tapping a dulled nail against the gates.

He had never been great friends with this man.

(Junhong couldn’t wait until the day he got to graduate and flip the old man off freely, without the fear of being grabbed at by his ears and dragged up to the teacher’s lounge where only punishment awaited him.

さようなら, old geer. See you never.)

In class, his usual Wednesday afternoon turned into a painful Friday. Through class, though he’d already missed more than half of it, he couldn’t quite pay attention to the words tapped out against their green chalk board. His English class became irritably long and not even pounding the chalk erasers together to the white cloud of puffs could lift the seemingly lasting pull of his lips.

Time really was an irritating thing - it never seemed to do what Junhong wanted it to do, going too fast when he wanted it to slow down and not moving at all when he wanted to hurry it.

Had time been a solid figure, Junhong might of punched it just to show his frustrations.

“Hello, is anyone in here?”

Changhyun was over at every break time, skipping over Junhong’s desk to plant his firm over the taller teen’s books, uncaring whether he wrinkled them or not - wasn’t as if they ever looked at it past exam week anyways. The smile on his shorter friend’s lips was familiar, his endless banter about nothing special the same as always, but everything felt out of place that day.

It was a sad sort of happy. A happy sort of angry.

Junhong just wasn’t sure how to put the feeling to words.

Something told him that the worst of that day had yet to come; that he’d only been awake for the good.

(He groaned in thought of it. If his morning had supposed to be the highlight of his day, he certainly didn’t want to be awake through the rest of his afternoon or evening.)

The wraps against his forehead during their last break time - finally - was able to bring his only reaction of the day, pulling a snorted laughter from Changhyun. He fist pumped, making Junhong roll his eyes whilst rubbing gingerly against his reddening forehead.

“Where the hell were you all day, man?”

“Home, I was feigning sick, but look where that got me.”

Changhyun pouted, tucking out his bottom lip, giving Junhong a look that too much reminded him of an abused puppy. “And you left your dearest, bestest friend to fend for himself the whole school day?”

“Oh, whatever. At least I came to school after lunch.”

Really, if it had been up to Junhong, he would have stayed all together at home the whole day.

(If it hadn’t been Yongguk’s second part of the promise.)

“No, no,” a finger wiggled to and fro in front of Junhong’s face. It made him dizzy, eyes crossing to keep proper focus on the digit. “You were here physically, but your mental?” Changhyun made a whistling sound, spraying his fingers over his head, over Junhong’s head. “Your mental’s been waayy out there in Mars.”

So maybe he was guilty for it. Changhyun was a great friend and Junhong too often took abuse of the fact. If Junhong had been rich, he certainly would have paid his friend for being such an amazing person; Changhyun certainly deserved over the usual teenage minimum wage.

(But Junhong wasn’t rich, nor looking forward to paying Changhyun to inflate his ego.

The kid had a big ego for someone so tiny.)

“What’s wrong with Mars?” This time, it was Junhong’s turn to feign hurt, placing a hand against his chest. “You’re just jealous we have more moons than you do here on Earth.” His tongue stuck out in play and only then did Changhyun’s overly stretched smile return.

“Whatever, if you’re a Marsian, then I’m from Jupiter! We have more land than you could ever dream of! Plus, Jupiter’s the Roman god of gods or whatever. So much cooler than lame ol’ Mars!”

Junhong smiled.

This, perhaps it had been this that he was lacking that day. The reason why he’d felt so down and queer the whole day. He had missed his daily dose of Choi Changhyun.

(Sometimes, everyone needed a spark of bull to lighten their day.)

a/n: this chapter was supposed to introduce himchan, but i decided to cut it. you'll meet himchan and jongup again in the next chapter (meaning chapter four will be the continuation of the same day as shown here).