Don’tbreathedon’tbreathedon’tbreathedon’tbreathe…

Hongbin repeats the same mantra over and over and over on his head, body tense and breathing through long inhalations, doing his best to not disturb the sleeping figure on his shoulder; Taekwoon’s blonde hair is the only thing he can see, locks almost white under the bus stop’s lights, black roots just now starting to appear. Hongbin wonders how the composer would look up close with his hair black, falling over his forehead, contrasting sharply with the fairness of his skin and complementing the impassive light of his dark eyes. From an Ice Prince to a Fallen Angel.

And he’s been reading too many of Wonshik’s books. These are not the type of thoughts he should have concerning the older boy; he needs to focus, think of ways to seduce Taekwoon, make him like him, declare his feelings so he can win the damned bet he accepted and prove that yes, he is capable of doing whatever people dare him to. He needs to step up his game, be more incisive and learn how to press the right buttons. Wonshik’s idea was stupid when he accepted and continues still to get on his nerves – he’s missing out time with Youngji, the prettiest, sweetest girl to ever live of this Earth – but, as always, Park Hyoshin and a kitten, Park Hyoshin and a kitten. There are worth it, all his headaches and the cold stares Taekwoon directs at him with the dark, endless pools of apathy that he calls eyes.

Taekwoon shifts a little, nuzzling softly on the fabric of Hongbin’s shirt, a low sigh escaping his mouth. Hongbin’s hands itch with the desire to take his hair out of the way, push it back so he can see the other’s face better, see if Taekwoon’s calm on his sleep, if his features relax into one of serenity, lips no longer set on an indifferent line, eyelashes brushing his chubby cheeks. He speculates where he’s going at such hour, clearly exhausted and alone, and a pang of worry twists on his stomach, suppressing the curiosity. The older boy hadn’t said anything about a problem – he hadn’t said anything really, not that this was a surprise – or if he is in trouble.

It takes another fifteen minutes before a bus passes by – when Hyoshin’s voice is substituted by the piano intro of one of John Legend’s songs – and it’s the one Hongbin should enter to go home, a few blocks away. On the last second, he gives up, not willing to let Taekwoon alone in the night, asleep and defenseless; he’s not a heartless bastard. He knows the next bus will take more than one hour to appear again, but well, what could he do.

Nothing can make his day bad. After a successful date with Youngji – they ate dinner at this little, cozy restaurant she recommended, then had ice-cream while shyly holding hands, walking aimlessly by the streets, talking about her classes and the crazy pets he gets to treat on his job. He left her at home, where she still lives with her parents, and she kissed his cheek, face bright pink – that late afternoon and now a sleeping Taekwoon on his shoulder, Hongbin can’t complain of his luck. So he settles for leaning back on his seat carefully, pushing the composer’s body gently with a hand on his waist, to accommodate both better on the bench. Taekwoon doesn’t make a move, deep on the land of dreams; with this new position, Hongbin can see perfectly the boy’s face.

Taekwoon sleeps with his lips slightly parted, his eyes closed and soft expression, totally at piece. His beauty, like this, isn’t that icy, steely unattainable beauty, but a different, warm, almost fragile beauty. Hongbin cringes at his own cheesiness, unsure of what the hell is making him think of words like ‘fragile’ and ‘beauty’ and make comparisons, of how Taekwoon’s lips are pink like strawberry candy and how his nose is cute and perfect for little kisses.

Damn, he hadn’t thought of that until now, and now he can’t help but imagine the taste of those pink lips, if they really taste like strawberries, or maybe the whipped cream of all the cake he eats; if his nose scrunches up every time another’s lips kiss the tip or if the Ice Prince isn’t that icy and blushes under tender attention.

The lights of another bus takes his eyes off the older boy, and Hongbin sees it’s the one with the number Taekwoon murmured seconds before dozing off. He quickly signals for it to stop with his free hand, and prepares to wake Taekwoon. First he calls his name in a whisper, his face brushing against the light hair, then, when Taekwoon shows no response, he calls for him on a normal tone, with still no result. Secondly, sighing with his heart a little tight for perturbing Taekwoon’s peace, Hongbin tightens his hold on his waist – which he never released – continuing with his calling. A girl on her twenties observes them through the window, smiling softly, and Hongbin feels his face flush. He doesn’t know why, but the fact that she probably thinks they’re dating – he admits he would think the same, being in her place; two people snuggled close to each other, in the dead of night – makes his chest all fluttery and bright, and the realization turns his face ever redder.

He at keeping focus of the important things.

“Taekwoon-hyungnim,” he calls, slightly shaking the boy. “Hyungnim, your bus is here.”

Taekwoon makes a huffing noise, nose centimeters from Hongbin’s neck, as if trying to cuddle closer and ignore the outside world.

Puffing out an amused breath, the younger shakes the older a little harder; the bus-driver is now glaring at them, clearly impatient. “Hyungnim, you’re going to lose your bus. C’mon, wake up.”

Finally Taekwoon’s eyes open, hazy with sleepiness. He doesn’t utter a sound, yawning and lifting his head from Hongbin’s shoulder; he blinks several times, the noiseless flutter of his eyelashes entrancing on its gentleness, his mouth slightly agape in disorientation. Hongbin’s eyes are fixed on each move, flushed with the vision Taekwoon makes under the lights, a fresh and bone human for once.

“Your bus Taekwoon-hyungnim,” Hongbin repeats. “It’s waiting for you, and honestly, I don’t think the driver is very happy to be.”

Taekwoon acquiesces, rubbing his eyes. He gets up, stretching his body; Hongbin follows the small patch of ivory skin the shift reveals: a tight, slim tummy and he gulps with his mouth suddenly dry. There’s an atypical warmth growing on his personal emotions, as if something is ready to burst and overflow. “Thank you,” he says in that whisper tone of his, not cold or apathetic, but rough with sleep.

“No problems,” Hongbin flashes him a smile, noticing how Taekwoon seems to focus on his dimples. Oh, so he likes them? Good to know. “Be careful, it’s late.”

The older boy stares at him almost pensively, head pending to one side in similarity to a puppy. It’ so cute the younger boy wants to pinch his cheeks, pink them to match with his pouty lips. His side is cold without the other’s body, and he hugs himself tighter, zips his jacket up to his neck. He waves timidly at Taekwoon; mouthing a silent ‘good-bye’, smile in place, to see if he will react well to a calculated bashfulness and a much dimpled grin.

As he imagined, Taekwoon nods, waving back shyly, eyes glued on his cheeks.

He enters the bus, sitting on the seat in front of the girl, whose heavily make-up orbs never left them, not for a second. She seems delighted that Taekwoon is so close to her, and she also waves at Hongbin, gesturing and miming what he roughly understands as a ‘Come follow him, pretty boy! He’s too beautiful to be alone! If you don’t come I will attack him!’

So, on an impulse, Hongbin hops inside the bus. It’s empty except for the girl – who is about to combust in hearts and nosebleeds like an anime character, he swears – and a sleeping man on the very back. Taekwoon silently stares at him, inquiring, eyes capable of freezing hell, all that human impression vanishing to the customary icy statue, and had he done the right decision? Hongbin is unsure of his choice, awkwardly standing in front of the boy whose face doesn’t betray whatever he’s feeling besides the analytical coldness of his stare.

The bus driver goes his way, and the sudden leave-taking causes Hongbin’s equilibrium to falter, and he stumbles forward, face about to meet the ground; a firm hand holds him upright by his forearm, preventing his eminent fall. With his heart beating fast on his ribcage, throat dry from the scare, Hongbin finds Taekwoon erect – shoulders straight, frown set on his eyebrows, for the first time appearing worried, the ice of his face melting minimally – by his flank, holding him. If his heart was beating fast, now he’s on overdrive.

“Careful,” Taekwoon says, releasing him.

Hongbin’s face feels hot, like a fireplace. “Thank you hyungnim! I could swear that if it wasn’t for you, I and the floor would become close friends.”

“Hm,” the older hums, hand releasing its grip, but descending to intertwine with Hongbin’s. His hand is cold, but smooth – aside from a few callouses he recognizes as ones from playing the guitar, as he has these too – and Hongbin may or may not have focused on the sight they make together, Taekwoon’s long fingers linked with his, shorter and faintly tanner, fitting so well. Taekwoon pushes him to the seat next to the one he was sitting previously. “What are you doing?”

Hongbin hears the girl behind them squeal, and he prays for his hand to not start sweating in anxiety.

He needs to think and answer correctly – how can he say that doesn’t know why? That he felt compelled by a girl he never saw before? – without sounding like a stalker?

So he pouts – his dimples seem deeper like this – and glances at a waiting Taekwoon by the corner of his eyes. “I lost my bus while you were sleeping, and I don’t want to be alone on the stop; serial killers like handsome and alone people in the dead of night,” he jokes, letting a bit of his habitual sass loose. It’s the easiest way to not sound like a stalker or worse, like an idiot.

“Oh,” it’s what Taekwoon mutters. He releases Hongbin’s hand, and he immediately misses the cold palm against his. “I’m sorry.”

“W- No no! I was the one who chose to stay! I could have woke you up, but I didn’t,” Hongbin quickly explains, a spark of satisfaction bubbling for the fact he troubled the un-trouble-able Ice Prince. Maybe he’s doing better than he thought, so he continues. “I would never leave you alone at night, hyungnim; you’re too pretty and too sleepy to be left by yourself.”

To his delight – and truthfully, immensurable disbelief – a slight blush colors Taekwoon’s cheeks, and despite not saying anything, Hongbin can see him squirming on his place, seemingly uncomfortable in face of a straightforward compliment, even in the midst of a playful phrase; Hongbin hums, satisfied with the new bit of knowledge, and adjusts himself on his seat.

He barely hears Taekwoon whispering: “Sung Sikyung.”

He quickly understands, and for the second time that night, offers one ear of his earphone to him.

Closing his eyes, Hongbin can feel victory itching closer to him.

.

.

Taekwoon frowns when he – followed by Dimples, who even in simple clothing, fits in the club’s atmosphere – notices Hakyeon on the bar, two girls on front of him, a boy by his side, all clearly flirting with his friend. The lights are colorful and sparkly and they hurt his eyes, but even in the distance he’s currently at, he sees how Hakyeon’s face is red and his normally light, graceful movements are lax and heavy from intoxication.

Hakyeon is gloomy, clingy and extremely thoughtless when drunk. His brain-to-mouth filter simply disappears, and he manages to be more troublesome than normal. It’s no good that he’s surrounded by strangers.

Going to the bar – Dimples grabs one long sleeve of Sanghyuk’s hoodie he’s wearing, stumbling a little while trying to deviate from dancing bodies – he silently positions himself by the dancer’s back, directly looking to the girls; they notice his presence fast, and after a few heartbeats, go away, faces hot and embarrassed. The boy is more oblivious, continuing his attempt – Taekwoon wants to smash the guy’s head against the bar’s countertop at the appalling things he says to Hakyeon; he hates how some people can be so… rude – to find his way into Hakyeon’s pants. He promptly ignores Taekwoon, and the composer has had enough.

He isn’t one to go all big gestures in public, unaccustomed with any display of emotion both physically and on his expressions, but on this case, he will have to act. His distaste for this boy only intensifies. Hakyeon will have to be very grateful towards him when he’s sober, and Taekwoon plans to guilt-trip the dancer until he agrees on giving one of his amazing massages; one of Hakyeon’s most prominent personality traits is his over-protectiveness, and he, together with Sanghyuk, better than anyone else knows how much Taekwoon doesn’t like to be forced into doing something.

Sighing – he does that a lot when the subject is his oldest friend – he prepares to speak.

“Excuse me,” uh? This is not his voice. “I don’t think you’re quite welcome here.”

It’s Dimples, smiling with his mouth closed, obviously condescending. The boy turns to glare at him, and Hakyeon side-glances Dimples, confused in his inebriation. “Oh yeah? And who are you to say this?”

Dimples pouts, faking a pensive instance. “Someone who clearly has a better education than you,” he’s taller than the boy, and despite his handsome face, he looks intimidating. Taekwoon conceals it well, yet fixes his eyes on him, curiosity and wonder and respect blossoming on his chest. A smirk blooms on Dimples’ face, and he arches one eyebrow. “He’s clearly inebriated, and you should be trying to help him, not trying, and quite badly at that, to get into his pants.”

Hakyeon laughs loudly and the rude boy splutters, his face flushing several tones of red. He attempts to speak, opening and closing his mouth half a dozen of times – reminding Taekwoon of a fish – before lowering his head and stalking away, bumping into several people on his haste to leave.

Oh, that was oddly quick.

Hakyeon seems to think the same. “Poor boy sure needed that,” he singsongs. “You know what they say: better late than never. And those girls? I don’t even like girls!”

Taekwoon hums, helping his friend to a standing position; Hakyeon falls against his chest, frowning when he, for the first time, pays real attention to Dimples.

“You are entirely too beautiful to be on my presence,” he declares, eyes wet and eyebrows drawn taut together, finger pointing accusingly to the youngest of them. For God, what is he– “I don’t like you…”

“Hongbin,” Dimples says, and that attracts Taekwoon’s interest.

So his name is Hongbin. Good, now he won’t need to ask.

“I didn’t ask for your name. I don’t wanna know the name of people who think they can be beautifuler than me. Taekwoonie, why is this… this… creature with you? Are you going to replace me like Hyukkie did?” great, Hakyeon is openly crying, big droplets of water falling from his eyes as he stares at Taekwoon with unconcealed betrayal. “Hyukkie preferred his papers to me and you prefer this stupid pretty boy with dimples– you love dimples Taekwoonie!”

Ahh, this is going to give him a headache. Involuntarily he steals a glance at Dimpl- Hongbin, and sees the boy looking at him back, pressing his lips together like he’s holding a smile. It confuses him, for he can’t say if the other wants to smile because of Hakyeon’s attitude – someone at least having fun at it – or because Hakyeon just kind of exposed him and his taste for silly holes on a person’s cheeks; for some reason his face feels warm, and he les on his bottom lip, glancing back at the dancer.

“Hakyeon…”

Said boy sobs. “No! Today ! Sanghyukkie still isn’t talking to me, then that Won-larva leaves me hanging and that ugly boy kept talking and those girls wanted me to go home with them and I’m gay! but I had no space to shoo them and now this Hongbin boy you brought with you is too beautiful with these double eye-lid eyes and straight white teeth and fair skin and dimples! I bet he has abs too Woonie, abs! You’ll leave me for him and I’ll die alone in a party for hipsters who want to use my body!”

Taekwoon doesn’t have a clue of what to say in face of… this.

Hongbin apparently doesn’t know too, exploding in a fit of laughter. He hugs his sides, his eyes disappearing to form crescents. He’s really handsome… and cute.

“I’m sorry, but this,” he manages to say in between his chuckles. It’s strangely charming, and Taekwoon won’t go there. “This is too funny, hyungnim.”

“I ain’t funny!” Hakyeon complains, new tears welling up on his orbs in drunken frustration. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, substitute!”

Lord give him patience.

“Hakyeon, please,” he starts. “Don’t cry, I’m not substituting you,” wiping the smaller one’s watery face, Taekwoon lets a tiny little smile stretch his lips.

The dancer sniffles, “It’s not fair, you’re too beautiful too, stop smiling, you, you, you hamster!”

“Sure Hakyeon. Time to go.” Normally he would simply look at Hakyeon in a way which the older would immediately understand; drunk, Hakyeon can’t comprehend anything even when he’s talking.

Nodding, Hakyeon allows Taekwoon to wrap a hand around his waist and guide him to the exit, Hongbin following behind them with his head low, holding the hoodie Taekwoon’s wearing for the second time.

It’s not practical to walk like this – holding a smashed dancer by the waist, basically carrying him while having a handsome boy clinging to his clothes, forcing him to diminish his pace – but Taekwoon succeeds in walking past the crowd of dancing bodies and gaping mouths, some of the students there recognizing him and Hakyeon, opening space for them to pass. He hates being the focus of their attention, and mentally adds one week of cleaning job on the list of things Hakyeon will have to do to thank him.

“It must be so annoying to have so many people staring at you,” Hongbin comments, head going from one side to another, rubbing his neck in the way Taekwoon has seen he do a lot. “You seemed really bothered with that guy back there, especially since he wouldn’t go without a bit of a scolding and hyungnim apparently doesn’t like attention.”

It… It is possible that Hongbin interfered because he saw how uncomfortable he was – is – with having to express himself through words, principally when it came to strangers? A strange stirring on his belly makes him bite his bottom lip in thought, and his face feels warmer, so he lowers his head to hide it in the shadows provided by the night, pretending to check on the brunette leaned on his chest, who smiles amongst tears.

“Attention is always good! The more the merrier! My Hyukkie loves when he has all the attention, and he is so handsome, that kid,” they fall freely from Hakyeon’s eyes, down his face with renewed force. “H-He hates m-me and I- I d-don’t know why!”

“What happened?” Hongbin asks him as silently as he can, not directed to the dancer. He releases his hold on the hoodie Taekwoon’s wearing, moving to stand side by side with the older.

Hakyeon hears, and sobs louder, shoving his face on his hands. “H-He… Sa-Sanghyuk, he–” he doesn’t finish, turning to tuck his entire self into Taekwoon, weeping miserably.

Taekwoon isn’t one to meddle, yet maybe is time to lock his two friends on one room and force them to discuss whatever they need to. He’s tired of Hakyeon’s moping and fake cheerfulness – he wouldn’t have gone to this party in the first place if he wasn’t on bad terms with Sanghyuk and so the blonde wouldn’t have needed to leave home and his warm bed to go after his wasted – and Sanghyuk quiet and intense temper, combined with the regret on his eyes.

He catches himself thinking often enough the reasons why he is even friends with those two to begin with. They can be so incredibly complicated.

“Taxi! Taxi!” the younger calls waving his hand high and frantically, and a car stops a few steps from them; Hongbin turns to smile a giant smile in Taekwoon’s direction, almost like a puppy who wants to be praised by doing something right. The corners of his lips tug upwards, and thankfully Hongbin doesn’t see it, busy opening the door for him to push Hakyeon inside under his protests. He’s the next to enter, followed by Hongbin.

Hakyeon falls asleep after ten minutes of crying nonstop, and Taekwoon caresses his hair with sorrow, when he drops his head on his lap. He really wishes Sanghyuk could control his temper better, for his oldest friend’s sake.

Hongbin is looking to the passing streets, resting his head on the window; Taekwoon wants to rest too – exhaustion uncomfortably reminding him his lack of sleep – and takes him barely a second to decide what he’s going to do.

He drops his head on Hongbin’s shoulder for the second time that night and closes his eyes, the soft pulling of sleep claiming him.

.

.

“I can’t believe that er got himself laid,” Wonshik groans as he looks around the empty and dark apartment, Jaehwan on his back to facilitate his movements. Hongbin’s shoes aren’t at the entrance, signalizing he never arrived home after leaving for his date.

Jaehwan snuffles, as if agreeing with his frustration, and a bit of Wonshik’s annoyance vanishes right there, as he chuckles with the somehow cute sound made at the perfect timing. With difficulty he gets rid of his shoes, and balancing Jaehwan’s weight with one hand, takes his shoes off too.

He walks through the hallway stumbling in clothes – he recognizes as Hongbin’s, and wow, for him to leave anything of his unorganized and spread around must mean this date was important – and doing his best to not hit any part of his and Jaehwan’s body on the walls, for the hallway is too narrow for them both, even when one of them is being carried on the back of other.

Jaehwan’s room is the only one of the right, closer to the bathroom than the other two rooms. It’s the smallest room too – Wonshik has the luck of owning the larger, after winning on gawi-bawi-bo – and the most packed too; an unmade single bed on one corner, posters of everything, from bands to animes to games  covering an entire wall. His wardrobe is open and clothes spill on the floor, which is residence of tons of papers with half-finished drawings and anatomy books and figure-actions, the eventual color pencil. A desk on next to the window is the only organized space in the whole room, where Jaehwan works his projects and assignments.

Wonshik shakes his head in fond amusement. They are responsible for cleaning their own rooms, and he knows that if Hongbin ever saw the state of Jaehwan’s, he’d have an aneurism, in the lightest of cases.

Maneuvering his way to the bed, Wonshik sits first so he can release Jaehwan and positions him comfortably. The older doesn’t do much but grumble a little, latching onto the first thing his arms find, which happens to be a stuffed Chopper.

He’s cute, his hyung, especially when he acts innocent like a child; his hair is messy and his plush lips curved into a pout, slightly open. The flush of alcohol still colors his face, descending to his neck and chest, perspiration making his shirt cling to his body. How he is even sleeping so deeply with these clothes is a mystery in itself, and the younger knows that at some point, Jaehwan will wake up sick and itchy.

He decides then to help a friend in need; he opens the buttons of Jaehwan’s jeans, pushing the tight fabric down his toned thighs and calves, leaving him in only a shirt and… bright banana stamped, blue boxers?

Snickering to himself – oh his hyung, always so eccentric and cute and absolutely lovely in his unpredictability – Wonshik goes for his shirt, thanking the fact he has to it to take it off, and not risk waking Jaehwan by pushing it through his head. He unfastens them slowly, careful so his movements won’t rouse the sleeping boy, despite the fact that Jaehwan hasn’t muttered anything or shown sign of uneasiness. His actions reveal a smooth expanse of skin, not defined like his own, but broad and no less attractive to the eyes.

Wonshik can’t understand the sudden heat on his face, so he simply finishes stripping Jaehwan of his shirt, covering him with his duvet afterwards. Looking at the peaceful face, he bends down and presses a light kiss on his forehead.

.

.

Sanghyuk observes the turbulent expression on Hakyeon’s sleeping, the tight line on his eyebrows and the downwards curve of his lips.

Regret and guilt tug strings on his chest, throbbing nonstop, his eyes hazing as he feels tears filling them.

It’s his fault. Hakyeon likes to drink, but never got drunk on the infinity of parties he frequented; he hated feeling vulnerable near anyone who wasn’t Taekwoon and himself.

Taekwoon said when they arrived home – past 2a.m, with that nonsensically handsome boy they met some time ago, when they went to the B5 to find a place for Caramel to stay – that Hakyeon was babbling about how much Sanghyuk hated him – the youngest almost feels the urge to laugh at that; he, hate Hakyeon? – and that the oldest had cried himself silly, falling asleep on the cab they took home. The composer looked tired to say minimally, and after putting Hakyeon on his bed, coming back to shove blankets, a pillow and a pair of old sweatpants and shirt, as well as shown the couch and bathroom to Annoyingly Handsome, went to the room he shared with Sanghyuk.

Looking at the dancer right now, seeing the wet marks on his cheeks and the dark circles around his eyes, Sanghyuk confirms what he already knew.  

Stupid Hakyeon.

Stupid Sanghyuk.

He kneels in front of the bed, pushing Hakyeon’s brown and green hair out of his face, fingers sliding down to caress his cheeks. Sighing, he promises he’ll talk to Hakyeon in the morning, apologize for being rude and secretive and plainly… a brat.

It’s habit that makes him scan the room, making sure there’s no one hidden in the shadows; he dips his head low and presses a single, soft kiss on Hakyeon’s chapped, light pink lips, tasting the sweet cherry chapstick and the strong tinge of alcohol.

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So, my beloved little darlings, a chapter before the end of times. And the longest yet, yey~

Thank you everyone who reviewed and subscribed, I love you all and every single word means a lot to me~

So, I made this chapter long because the little vacation I had from college is over and now my routine is about to go crazy again; I'm sorry to say that I don't know when I'll be updating again BUT I will do my best to update at least once a month~

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, see you all soon~

ps: Hakyeon commented he didn't like girls, so I thought of saying their uality. Both Hongbin and Wonshik are biuals, while Hakyeon is gay, Jaehwan is pan, Taekwoon is demiual and Sanghyuk is... Hakyeon-ual.

ps2: My mistakes are my own. Please tell me of them so I can fix it.

(and this chapter has too many people sleeping, wtf...)