i still have many fears and am still young.
if it's you, can i lean on you.

chapter six.

Junhong knows it’s ridiculous, but he could nearly swear there had once been a day that Changhyun had wanted to tear Jongup’s guts out and feed them to the neighborhood strays. And as queer as it might have sounded, he was positive Changhyun had growled this awful bark any time Jongup had as much as stepped a centimeter into their otherwise silent classroom.

(Changes were normal in a person, but this one had come without warning.)

“Didn’t he say something about ripping me a new one if I as much as touched you?”

Junhong shrugged; funny, cause that’s how he remembered it too.

(And it had only been just over a month back, when this had happened.)

Leaning back in his seat, Jongup barked a sort of laughter as he kicked his tired legs out in front of him, nudging Junhong playfully against his cheek (an action that, in the past, would have gotten him an earful of Changhyun warning him against “my, only mine, best friend”). He found the situation funny, Changhyun being totally cool - uncaring -, to their relationship now.

And all it had taken was one invite to the dance competition.

(An invite to visit their stinky practice studio and meet up with the other members of the crew.

If it wasn’t for him, Junhong was sure, Changhyun would have thrown the worst of fits for having kidnapped - even if he came willingly with his own two feet - him to hell on Earth.)

“What’s his name again?”

While his shorter friend rested in the shabby plastic chair - a old broken thing the older members of the club had found by the garbage and decided could be recycled as theirs after a quick shower -, Junhong had rested himself by his friend’s thighs, pressing his sweaty head - complete with matted locks and exhausted puffs of breath (because in no way had he as much stamina as Jongup, it seemed) - by the built legs. Despite the hardwood floor of the dance studio, the position was oddly more comfortable than appeared.

“Byunghun,” Jongup snickered, a queer cross between a laugh and weep. “He practically lives here. Doesn’t even go home or to school, so his sister keeps callin’ while we’re practicing and askin’ if Byunghun’s here. I feel sorta bad for her.”

Just as his name was mentioned, the mentioned male twisted on his heels, blinking, looking a little dazed at first, over toward the two by the chairs. It was almost as if he knew they were talking about him (but he was too far away to listen in on their gossip). His brows rose awkwardly, as if questioning the duo’s existence, before flicking them off - though, why would he do so to a poor Junhong, who he’d only just met a month or so back?

Had Byunghun bleached his hair, like he did in the picture of the group that hung by the stereo system, Junhong might have mistaken him for a high school dropout, delinquent - though, appearances were deceiving things.

If Jongup hadn’t reassured him that Byunghun showed his affection rougher than the most - if so, Junhong was afraid to ever get on his good side - the newcomer to the dance crew might have gotten on his knees in apology. Anything to keep from being shanked in the middle of the night.

“No offense, but I don’t see what Changhyun sees in your friend…”

Jongup hummed slightly in return. To be honest, Jongup didn’t see it either; as good a dancer Byunghun was, he was a little … rough around the edges for a lack of better words.

“He can be …” his eyes screwed in thought, bottom lip puckering out in sad attempt to defending his years long dance mate. Byunghun had his good points too, didn’t he? “He can be cute. If he wants to be.”

“Cute?”

“Adorable. You should see him when he’s drunk. He thinks he’s a little kitten. Teasing him about it’s even better than toying with Himchan.”

Junhong laughed. That would have been an interesting sight. He’d seen Himchan around for quite the while now, the older male’s appearance in their household becoming more common, now that Junhong had began sharing what was originally his Yongguk time with Jongup and his dance crew.

To think, Himchan’s ploy to get Yongguk and his younger brother to scoot off doing whatever it was that middle schoolers did these days had actually worked. Who would have thought that his stupid handcuffing plus his natural-born clumsy and misplacing the tiny silver key (which they found under his car seat later that day after the two younger brothers returned to the ChoiBang residence) would have been the catalyst to finding Junhong’s long hidden talent as a dancer?

(Though, to be honest, it had been mostly Junhong’s survival instincts kicking in, and not wanting to be kicked in the face by the other dancers.)

Didn’t mean Junhong was any less mad at Himchan locking them together.

He’d seen far too much of Jongup’s everything that day.

“Don’t tell Changhyun that, or he’ll fall even deeper into the appeal that is drunk kitten.”

He didn’t regret the snort and blink punch from Jongup with the gag. Hanging with Jongup with giving him a queer humor chord and he couldn’t quite find himself complaining.

“You’re talking about me. I can tell.”

They didn’t need to look up from their toying kicks and jabs at one another to tell who it was now that stood in front of them, arms wrapped around chest and a miffed grimace pulling down lips - and the shorter shadow that followed him like the world revolved around the single man. They could have both been blind and they would have still known who it was now that hovered with his permanent gray cloud hanging over his head.

(Maybe if Byunghun learned to stop being such a grouch … … - not that Junhong was going to be the one to tell him that, he had no death wish.)

Jongup stopped poking at Junhong’s ribs for a second long enough to blink up with squinted eyes at the older boy. “Hey, how’s it going? Nice weather we’re having, huh?”

That earned him a kick to the shin and a hissed warning before stomping off.

Only, this time, he left behind his shadow, who took place, sitting by the others of his age group.

“I don’t see why you’re so mean to Byunghunnie.”

“Byunghunnie?”

Junhong and Jongup shared a look that could only be described as that of pure horror.

Was that a pet name they just heard?

A cute one at that?

Changhyun didn’t seem any phased - in fact, it didn’t seem at all like he’d even seen the fear that flashed through the two’s dark orbs -, smiling wide, as if he’d just seen through the girl’s locker room without being caught - a feat Changhyun and Junhong deemed impossible too early in their school careers (they had eyes on the back of their heads, they were sure). Both palms pressed on the floor behind him, he leaned back on his hands, gazing at the others like they all lived under his feet.

“He’s real nice, y’know? If you’d stop being so self conceited to stop and smell the roses-”

“Whoa, whoa.” Junhong held up his hands, pushing Jongup off of him from their pose sprawled awkwardly, all limbs and sweat, on the floor. “Did you just compare him,” he nudged toward the stalking man, now engaged in a heated conversation with Lay - one sided, he was sure, Lay probably couldn’t understand half the slang Byunghun shot at him -, “with flowers?”

“Not just flowers,” Jongup cut in, “but roses? Of all flowers, roses? He’d more like a dandelion. They’re weed, aren’t they? They grow just about anywhere.”

Changhyun growled, shooting Jongup a look that would have shot lasers, had they lived in a fictional world.

(Jongup held up his hands innocently, “No offense intended.”)

“Anyways, you’ve known him like, what, for maybe three weeks?” Junhong snorted, rolling his eyes, snorting again just for emphasis before going on, “How can you say you know him enough to say that he’s nice? Could be a guise.”

At this, the non-dancer frowned, pushing off from his palms and re-balancing his weight against his bottom. He crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose. “Fine then, you tell us, Jongup.”

“Well, he’s not the nicest-”

“Has he ever hit someone?”

“Actualyl-”

“Has he ever killed someone?”

Junhong threw his arms up in the air. This conversation would get nowhere at this rate. Nothing would stir Changhyun off his newly found worship.

(Junhong really couldn’t see what Changhyun saw in the man. He was nothing special, not like Yongguk was - now Yongguk was a figure worthy of worship.)

“Don’t answer that, Jongup.” He stopped the conversation, pressing dirty palms against his newer friend’s face. It was obvious what the answer was, and admitting to it wouldn’t at all help nor disprove their point. They were running pointless circles.

But Changhyun seemed to take the pause as his win, regaining his confident hair and feet. “Told you so.”

Junhong would have liked to tell him otherwise, but decided to keep his trap shut. Changhyun would have argued until Junhong gave up anyways - Junhong knew Changhyun enough to know that what the boy lacked in height, he made up for in attitude.

He rolled his eyes instead, nudging Jongup by his toes.

“I’m done for the day. You can’t force me to dance any more than I already have. I’ll end up in the hospital half dead or something.”

Jongup nodded in agreement, rolling to his back and hollering toward Minhyuk to inform their leave, relaying exactly Junhong’s words, word-for-word.

Minhyuk agreed to the request - demand? - with a smile, motioning for the rest of the boys to “get your sorry asses out before I make you. This includes you, Lee Byunghun, go kiss and make up with your sister and stop camping out at the studio.”

(Changhyuk almost offered Byunghun to go his house, if not for Junhong interrupting and pushing his friend out with a rushed goodbye to the older man. He really didn’t need to hear from Changhyun the next day what exactly happened - in extreme detail - while Byunghun stayed over at the younger middle schooler’s house.)

With an arm linked around Changhyun’s left - commanding that Jongup do the same to his right, so he didn’t have a way out - Junhong walked him to the far end of the block, scolding his classmate to head directly home. Or else.

“I swear, if I hear that you went back to the studio, I’m going to tell your mom that you’re going off doing weird things with creepy old people!”

It was a poor threat, but the point was made. Changhyun scowled, rolled his eyes, but waved off his friend’s concern, twisting his heels toward the bus station across the street.

Junhong made sure to standby and watch him get on the bus.

“You’re like a little mommy,” snickered a voice next to him. Junhong had nearly forgotten Jongup had stuck around to walk home together. “And he’s the rebellious, puberty stricken teenager.”

“His dad,” because no way was Junhong going to swap genders just because Jongup said so, “I’d be his dad, not his mom.”

The shorter shrugged, (“Whatever,”) but agreed easily enough. Jongup never stuck to arguing for long. Sometimes, Junhong wondered if it was because he’d always lack the words to put up a proper argument; or perhaps, he was just too nice to keep fighting for long. Whatever the reason was, Junhong always ended with the last word. (Probably added to the reason why he liked Jongup so much.)

Decided against taking the bus - because why bother, when it took only ten minutes by foot - they turned into the smaller alleys - a short cut Jongup taught Junhong just last week - squeezing past the large lump of exploded trashbags ever expanding.

(Someone should really get rid of that before monsters started hiding in them - or something.)

From their first unfortunate actual interaction, locked up against their will in cuffs, their range of conversation had greatly expanded from making fun of Jongup’s older brother. The conversations didn’t completely consist of Himchan’s queer obsession with cute things and his queer fear of animated tigers, instead today, they spoke of a new dance routine, a duet they planned on performing for the district school dance competition coming in a number of weeks - though they didn’t have much time left, they’d decided to make good use of the few minutes they had off to discuss whatever they could (it really did help that Jongup seemed to be pleased and agreeable to whatever Junhong suggested - or perhaps whatever it was that Junhong was suggesting, things he couldn’t even quite to words and resorted to flailing arms and legs to explain, was actually genius enough to reason for the wide grin that had crawled on Jongup’s face).

With their talk, a queer mix between actual talking and half dancing, extending to excited jabbers, neither really pausing to listen to what the other was saying, it wasn’t long until they reached the front doors of Junhong’s apartment complex. If Jongup didn’t point it out, Junhong might’ve even bumped into the sliding reflective glass door that stood in front of him, blocking his way.

“We’re going to be so awesome,” Junhong cheered, his proud smirk reflecting back to him through the screen of the passcode lock. “They’re not going to know what came and hit em.”

The shorter boy nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, unable to stand still, eyes bright and smile stretching a creepy extent. “What do you suppose we should do with the prize money?”

The question had Junhong pause. He hadn’t thought about that before.

“Dunno; buy a new skateboard maybe? You?”

Jongup hummed, rubbing his cheek for his invisible mustache. “New kicks.” He smiled, eyes slitting again. “We’ll probably have money left over even after we buy both.

“Then lets completely pig out!”

Pigging out was a brilliant idea. You could never feed two growing middle school boys enough food; they were a race of bottomless pits for stomachs and the galaxy’s wildest roller coasters of hormones.

(In short, they were creatures no one of the human race really much bothered with unless forced to.)

Junhong didn’t really get to cheer completely on their newly established plan. He’d opened his mouth to let out an obnoxious hoot and slap Jongup on the back for a genius moment - he was so taking back the stupid theory he’d put up on his shorter new friend - but the words died at his throat, his mouth closing, lips pursing, with the appearance of the elevator’s passenger now facing him, walking toward them.

Choi Gina. (Ew, he’d never really get over the fact his father shared the same surname as the witch.)

“Gina,” he sneered, wrinkling up his face in the worst possible way ever.

(Jongup blinked confused between the two, his head moving with his eyes before stepping aside as to not get caught in the crossfire between the two burning forces.)

Running into her, in general, was the greatest bane of his day. Hearing her voice, that irritable breath out between bleached teeth that scratched in all the wrong ways with the younger brother, only managed to make everything worse. The fact that she attempted to make him the bad guy by putting up an innocent facade when she so obvious was evil. “Junhong.” Definitely evil.

“What’re you doing here?” He bit back, crossing his arms, planting his feet to block the woman’s escape. She’d better not have been messing around with his brother again. Junhong wouldn’t forgive her ever if she even as much as laid a fingernail on his innocent brother.

Gina huffed, flicking her dyed brunette hair - everything about her was fake -, “Can you move, please?”

Leaving? Well, Junhong wasn’t going to be in the way of that.

If she was going to leave of her own free will, then please be my guest.

Pressing himself against the end of the wall, narrowed eyes still not leaving the blast woman, Junhong starred as Gina and her too tall heels clip-clopped away, biting on his lower lip as she descended down the tiny set of stairs to the outdoor parking space.

And what drug would Junhong have been on, to let her leave without cursing her existence at least once.

“Witch!”

It wasn’t even as if Junhong was lying.

His brother’s girlfriend paused halfway to her car, just as her arm had raised to flicker on the car’s signal and front doors. She stopped for the two of five seconds before continuing as she was, disregarding the younger brother as she finished the steps toward the obnoxious vehicle - that shouldn’t have been allowed to even be called a car.

“You’re a sour ! Yongguk deserves way more than you!”

Junhong’s hands were cupped around his mouth as he called this out into the otherwise empty parking lot, stringing out a number of colorful words he’d caught on during school hours, before running back into the apartment, slapping Jongup’s forearm to bring the frozen boy along.

Gina didn’t leave the parking lot for the next ten minutes.

(She curled up in her front seat, forehead and fingers pressed against the top of the handle bar.

Where had she gone wrong?)

Jongup didn’t restart their conversation, breaking the awkward silence - Junhong’s queer air of pride swirling in the cramped space of the complex elevator - with words and questions. “Who is she?”

“Yongguk’s girlfriend.” He greatly distorted the last word, rolling his eyes and displaying his obvious dislike for the term. “She’s an absolute .”

The shorter boy seemed to want to further question, but didn’t, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. Something told him that this Gina person wasn’t a very happy-making conversation for his newly obtained friend. There really wasn’t a point to upsetting Junhong.

Junhong wasn’t a very fun person to be around, when he was upset.

When they arrived at Junhong’s place, swinging open the heavy front doors with the four-digit passcode and holler hello, Yongguk was in the living room with Hiimchan, head down and dropped into the open palms of his hands. His shoulders shook in unpracticed rhythm and Junhong seemed to tense with the soft gasp, barely audible, that came from the area.

“Yongguk?”

He didn’t even bother take off his shoes before running into the house, seating himself in front of his older brother, just in the place between his knees, taking Yongguk’s face between pale hands.

Jongup was almost jealous of the genuine care Junhong seemed to have for his brother.

Why wasn’t he and Himchan this close? Were he and Junhong?

A quick sweep to Yongguk’s left, Jongup found Himchan, a grim expression on his face, completely devoid of the usual tease and joke they usually held. His hands were on the plane of his friend’s hand, going up on and down, patting, in a slow pattern, just as he had when Jongup had a horrible stomach ache. Just as he did whenever someone around him was feeling awful.

(Something told him that it possibly involved the woman they’d run into downstairs.)

Toeing off his shoes, Jongup stood a little off to the side of the brothers, now whispering an illogical language between - something with whimpers, whines and quiet shushing - feeling a little out of place. He was sure Himchan felt the same way.

“What happened?” He mouthed over to his brother, frowning, eyeing the eldest, whose face he hadn’t seen all day just yet (and if he were to, they’d be red and puffy from all the tears).

Himchan seemed to hesitate a little before shaking his head, mouthing a single word Jongup had to honestly say he’d seen coming.

Gina.

a/n: i keep writing the chapter on the night right before i have to update. i finished today with barely an hour to spare. obvious to say, i haven't checked over for any grammar mistakes. sorry. i'll be going over the story as a whole after i'm completely done. also, slow chapter. again. sorry. i'm not quite sure where i'm going with this story much. i feel so lost in my own words. otl.

also, i'll be on a one week hiatus for exams this coming week - possibly the week after as well, but more than likely not, because lol, me studying?

+ have you guys heard/watched "where are you, what are you doing? (어디니, 뭐하니?)" i honestly like it. like. i can't believe myself but i've had the song on constant replay and it's just. ew. what the . what the actual . 어디니~뭐하니~? i'll definitely be getting the cd when it comes out.

i wanted to say something else, but obviously, i've forgotten. so i hope you enjoy?