“You look like ,” Sanghyuk states, gyrating a pencil with his fingers.

Jaehwan looks up, not really interested in dealing with the boy right now. All he can think of is Wonshik’s stupidly excited face as he suggested a way to verify the winner of this cursed bet; his goofy smile and emoji-like eyes, crinkled at the sides and so absolutely innocent; not the face of someone who was plotting someone’s heartbreak.

Oh, he can already imagine; Sanghyuk angry, betrayed eyes and his clenched fists, all the constant creases of his face deep as valleys. As little time as Jaehwan has spent with him, there’s no doubt the social problems he struggles with, from his over aggressiveness towards everyone to his difficulty in communicating clearly, and his animosity to the world, immediately imagining the worst of all around him. He is arrogant, but childish and out of place on his developing body, still searching for his identity. If he progressed with this bet, Jaehwan would be proving Sanghyuk right and who knows what kinds of issues the boy would carry with him. He’s sure that the other two-thirds of the trio are just as problematic as their Director, and he knows how deadly Wonshik’s charm is, how captivating Hongbin can be; they are willing to ruin people who never did anything to them.

How could Wonshik not see this? Was he really that bored with his life? Had Jaehwan misjudged both so wrongly? 

His Wonshik is shy, and kind. He’s very passionate about his books and writing, and can talk for hours about either of them, hands wildly gesticulating by his side. He doesn’t watch horror movies at night – or day, or any time – because he is a scaredy-cat, and also is quite the , as some of his more… salacious poems indicate – his search history too. What? Jaehwan gets bored too. He’s a charming dork, and his smile can make Jaehwan’s bad days better. Hongbin too; he’s sassy and awkward, but never rude. Neither is the type to go out of their ways to hurt others and honestly, neither is – or at least, was – Jaehwan. 

Two weeks ago, he would have never said they were capable of going through this bet without showing a single smudge of remorse. In fact, Wonshik seems to be having fun, while Hongbin is doing better than he could ever have thought considering how awkward he is when dealing with someone he’s interested in.

The Director’s eyes are still on him, surprisingly patient for his answer.

“I take offense in that,” he says as a distraction, words jumbled by the hand on his cheek, used to support his head. “I clearly am the cutest.”

Sanghyuk rolls his eyes, but a tiny thing – Jaehwan doesn’t dare call it smile, not yet – curves his mouth at the corners. “Hate to break it you, but dark circles stopped being cute in the 2000’s.”

“Weren’t you born in the 00’s?”

Predictably, Sanghyuk’s expression closes off with outrage, hating to be reminded he’s so much younger than him. “No, I wasn’t,” he grits out through his teeth.

“Awn, did I hurt your big, fragile ego?” he feels a genuine smile stretch his lips, appealed by the sight before him; who could imagine the Director was so easy to read once he lowered one of his walls? Sanghyuk has loads of hidden potential to be cute like Jaehwan – never more, no one can be cuter than him, okay? Damned his feelings of guilt, he wouldn’t commit such blasphemy upon himself – inside his giant body, all currently wasted because the boy seemed incapable of relax the muscles of his brows and act less grouchy.

“That’s more like you.”

This time, Sanghyuk actually smiles a little, a cocky thing that indicates victory.

Jaehwan gapes at the boy, stunned into speechlessness, hand falling limply by his side.

Said boy doesn’t seem impressed, but in his eyes a different kind of emotion appears: genuine enjoyment. “What? I can’t have my illustrator acting like his puppy died,” he stops at that, looking at Jaehwan with panic. “It didn’t, right?”

Oh, he’s so precious.

Laughter bursts through his mouth, slightly hysterical as guilt coils tightly on his insides, nauseating and oppressive. Underneath the table he twists his hands together, rubbing them until they’re red and his knuckles white, a habit he thought he had abandoned long ago. It’s disconcerting, to trick Sanghyuk like that when the boy, in his own weird way, cares about his feelings. 

Is it worth it? Manipulate someone’s heart for his own sake? For a bunch of things he wants, but does not need? 

He’s stopped laughing by now, and he only notices he’s staring into the void the moment Sanghyuk snaps his fingers in front of his face. “HEY!”

“Huh?”

“Let’s leave this meeting for another day,” Sanghyuk says as he gathers his things, tucking his pencil behind his ear. “I don’t know what the hell happened, but you’re clearly in a mood and not interested in telling why,” he huffs.

Unexpectedly, shame burns his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Sanghyuk says, face hard but voice slightly softer. “I’ll send you a text later; you better answer.”

He leaves after that, Jaehwan observing his tall, dark silhouette not mingling with others, but opening space as he walks, no one having the courage to stand too close.

A sigh escapes his lips, and he buries his head on his arms, counting to ten.

Jaehwan snaps his eyes opens, and scrambles away from the table. Sanghyuk’s still close, walking slowly and deliberately, students tripping out of his way in fear; Jaehwan feels the familiar itch in his fingers, to pick up a pencil, even better, charcoal, and draw this: Sanghyuk’s broad back, covered in black like a Death God, close, yet untouchable. 

“HEY, HYUK-AH! WAIT FOR ME!”

He doesn’t deny the satisfaction of seeing shocked stares he receives from the divided crowd when Sanghyuk actually stops and turns his head slightly in his direction, that same cocky smirk on his lips.

.
.

1, 2, 3, 4. 5, 6, 7, 8.

1, 2, 3, 4. 5, 6, 7, 8.

“Posture, Hakyeon! You’re putting all your weight on your knees! Do it again!”

He grumbles in agreement, music stopping as he stops his routine. Sweat drops from his bangs and jaw, falling on the floor in perfect little circles; someone he doesn’t bother to look at offers him his water bottle, and he chugs half of it without thought. The cool water helps cooling down his frustration at himself for making a mistake, and distracts him from the pain on his feet and legs. He stopped feeling his arms a long time ago, the drapes of fabric around them wrinkled by his grip.

His eyes find the teacher’s, blue and steely and he automatically straightens. Despite being one who preferred to charm his way into most people’s heart with a smile and fake cheer, teachers included, Hakyeon didn’t dare anything false with the woman. Her fiery red hair mirrored her personality, and the retired Ukrainian Prima-Donna saw through everything, his lies included.

“I’m sure you already know, and yet I feel the need to emphasize it; that was disgraceful, Hakyeon. Are you injured?”

“No, Mrs. Pribula.”

“Someone died in your family?”

“No, Mrs. Pribula.”

“Are you an amateur?”

Shame threatens to obstruct his throat, and it’s with great difficulty his voice does not waver. “No, Mrs. Pribula.”

Her unexpressive face twitches minutely, and years of coexisting with Taekwoon have taught Hakyeon that so little can mean too much, “Then why are you acting like one?”

Snickers echo on the classroom, and he breathes slowly through his nose, blocking it. He rarely commits mistakes, especially in front of such kind of people, who thrive in seeing others fail. So he holds his head high, not turning to see who is mocking him, showing just how much he cares about their inferiority. Call him conceited all you want, but never accuse him of acting like that.

Mrs. Pribula seems to think the same as him, since one look she throws above his shoulder is enough to silence the room. “What are you still doing here? Class dismissed.”

No one dares to make a noise as the classroom empties, Hakyeon never once looking back despite feeling the pressure on his nape from too many eyes fixed on it. 

For a second, he blames his shame on that goddamn brat Sanghyuk, for always making him feel out of his depth, for closing his hand around his heart and for monopolizing his thoughts. His recent rebellious attitude is costing Hakyeon his sanity. There’s not a person in the world beyond Sanghyuk that can do this to him, not even Taekwoon, not Wonshik and much less all those people he’s obligated to deal with on a daily basis.

He can’t say this to Mrs. Pribula. This is a problem he’ll have to keep for himself.

So as soon as the door closes, he speaks.

“I have no tolerable excuses to give you, Mrs. Pribula,” he bows slightly, “but I can promise I’ll give my everything next time.”

Her heels click on the floorboards; a finger gently, yet commanding, lifts his head. “You never give me excuses Hakyeon, and that’s what I like about you,” she says with a cold smile. “That doesn’t mean I will allow anymore of this.”

Resisting the urge to gulp, Hakyeon nods, trying not to look directly into the two pools of frozen water she calls eyes; they feel aggressive, like they’re scavenging his soul in search of weakness, ready to tear him down at the minimal sight of them.

“Good. Now go.”

He tries – as smoothly as he can – to gather his things fast and without seeming intimidated. 

“Oh, and Hakyeon?”

“... Yes?”

“I’ll be waiting for you later.”

Nodding, he leaves. Breathing deeply for a short moment, he walks away from the building, knowing Sanghyuk doesn’t have any classes.

They need to resolve their problems now.

Two girls pass by him, smiling and waving and Hakyeon quickly plasters a smile on his face, waving back. Sighing, he stands straighter and texts Sanghyuk, starting to walk towards the places the boy is most likely to be at a time. Having lunch at one of the trailers near the B3 or filming something in the gardens of the B5, ordering someone around.

A traitorous part of his brain reminds him of a new figure, a faceless, nameless being that put his hands on his Sanghyuk. Someone who easily broke down several of his barriers, someone he considered enough to mention, to call a friend. Hakyeon doesn’t remember a time which Hyuk had friends, simply because such time never existed.

He needs to know who this is. The person trying to corrupt Sanghyuk.

His phone beeps with an incoming message, and he eagerly looks it up, hoping to hear an answer from Sanghyuk; he clicks his tongue in displeasure when he sees the message is from Wonshik, asking him out for a late lunch. He rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to answer, too focused in his mission to pay attention to his new shiny toy. Later he’ll give him an excuse and play difficult some more, just to see if Wonshik is really as interested as he claims to be; he’s been refreshingly persistent, Hakyeon thinks fondly.

But since he’s using his phone anyway, he sends one last message to Sanghyuk. Five minutes and no answer later, Hakyeon caves and calls Sanghyuk.

He’s still walking as he waits, checking the B3 food trailers, and politely greeting everyone who waves at him or smiles in his direction. 

“Owiiiiiiiee! Spicy, too spicy!” he hears an annoying squealing voice above the thuds of his phone.

“Oie, Ken, stop shrieking like a girl.”

Hakyeon stops on his track.

“Aie, Hyuk-ah! You didn’t tell me this kimchi was made in hell!”

“Maybe I wanted you to choke to death.”

Turning slowly, convincing his mind he’s hearing things, Hakyeon finds Sanghyuk. He and a boy he has never seen before – wearing an honest to God purple with yellow dots sweater and white ripped jeans – sat at one lone table on Sanghyuk’s favorite food trailer, no one daring to get close to him, as usual. The boy has floppy brown hair, cheeks full of food and big features all around. He’s cute.

His phone disconnects and Hakyeon can’t resist the urge to try once more, even if he’s just a few meters away from Sanghyuk. Something dark coils in the pit of his stomach, not nausea, but a mix of anger, jealousy, and possessiveness as Sanghyuk’s phone chirps with the incoming call. He sees as Sanghyuk picks his phone, watches as he mutes it and tucks it back into his pocket. 

His feet move on its own, leading him away from the place before he can do anything he’ll regret later. Like ruin his hard-earned image of loveliest on campus by kicking whoever is this… intruder far away from Sanghyuk, maybe slapping the younger’s face just to teach him a lesson while he’s at it. His racing heart turns his breathing shallow and small spots of black invade his face, like the miasma dominating his body every second he spends thinking about the scene he has just witnessed, this dirty little secret of Sanghyuk’s. From afar the relaxed state of his shoulders, how the forever creases marring his forehead looked softer and the teasing. It had taken Hakyeon months to make Sanghyuk – too skinny, too jaded, too angry with the world – crack a smile, accept that no, he didn’t want anything from him; he can’t, simply can’t tolerate anyone else doing the same. Call him egoistic, dissimulated, manipulating, he doesn’t ing care.

Each breath he takes burns; in rage, in jealousy, in barely suppressed sadness.

If Taekwoon were free, he would go do him, lay his head on his broad shoulder and let himself be enveloped in the soft wool of his sweater and the smell of baked goods and their brand of detergent. Taekwoon would hum something under his breath and that would have been enough to soothe him temporarily, decide what to do with Sanhyuk. 

But Hakyeon has no one right now.

Like he did earlier, he straightens himself and puts a welcoming smile on his face. Turns on his heels and walks back from where he came from. 

Ms. Pribula will be satisfied in seeing him early.

.
.

Taekwoon watches blankly at the empty table in front of him, panting harshly and sweat stinging his eyes as it falls copiously from the hair plastered on his forehead. 

He can hear someone snickering near him, and closes his eyes momentarily, pushing his hair back. He wishes people wouldn’t do this, but he knows some of them feel wronged with his casting as a main character; yet, to act so pettily…

“Here, take mine,” he opens his eyes to see a bottle of water being offered to him, Shin Sungrok smiling down at him. “I’ll let some assistant know that there’s not enough water for everyone.”

Taekwoon doesn’t bother to tell him there is enough water, accepting the bottle with two hands and rapidly gulping down all of its content. He breathes in through his nose and breathes out heavily through his mouth. His face burns hotly as Shin Sungrok’s unwavering gaze shines with amusement, a giggle echoing loudly to his ears, no sign of mockery. He’s not as pretty as Hongbin, yet he has a magnetic energy that attracts people, puts them on ease on his presence. Reminds him that he’s the younger one between the two of them.

Making small talk was never his forte – you don’t say, a mental Sanghyuk scoffs – so he remains silent, hoping that the rest of his body language is enough for Shin Sungrok to understand how grateful he is. 

Apparently it is, as his smile grows. A big hand descends upon his head, lightly messing his bangs. 

“Eeek!” An embarrassing noise escapes his mouth and his face immediately heats up even more; he covers his mouth with one hand and does his best to scan the room to guarantee no one saw or heard him. Shin Sungrok’s hand feels weird in his sweaty hair, not exactly unpleasant, but weird. Makes him remember his childhood and the way his dad would sometimes do the same. A gesture of comfort, if nothing else.

“You’re cute Taekwoon-ah,” Shin Sungrok says, “a bit quiet, but it’s okay, everyone’s different.”

One blink. Two. 

Had he heard him wrong? 

Very few people in his entire life have accepted his long silences so readily. Words never came easily for him, always coming out wrong or jumbled; as a child, Taekwoon learned that the teasing he suffered when quiet was better than the humiliation of stuttering his phrases. Hakyeon had been the first one to take a shine on him when both were young and Sanghyuk himself was a boy of few words most of the time. His mother was just as quiet as him, and his father was a man who preferred actions to words, but had no problem chattering away with his friends. His sisters were all something in between his mother and father, Taekwoon being the sole one to live most of his life living through gestures and meaningful looks, the scrutiny of everyone around him never diminishing his resolve.

For someone that had just met him, to accept this so readily is… unusual.

“… Thank you,” he whispers, looking up at Shin Sungrok from underneath his lashes.

“Just being honest. Now,” he leans towards him, his breathing hitting Taekwoon’s cheek, the hair on his nape standing out, “don’t be bothered by these people. You have potential to become bigger than all of them, and they’re afraid you’ll figure this out.”

Taekwoon doesn’t exactly know how to take his jaw of the floor, for he is sure it fell at Shin Sungrok’s words. The man in front of him never stopped smiling, his posture relaxed and nonchalant, as if he wasn’t warning him to be careful with basically everyone around them – they keep looking, why are they still looking?

Twisting the empty water bottle on his hands, he nods minutely, catching his bottom lip with his teeth.

By the corner of his eyes, he sees Shin Sungrok smiling wider, and like in the beginning, a hand ruffles his hair. “Good dongsaeng.”

For some reason, he almost smiles.

.
.

They’re holding hands as they walk; hers is much smaller than his, soft and warm compared with his own callused one. Her hair flows with the wind and her eyes sparkle as they discuss what they should go now.

“Not that I don’t wanna see cute puppies,” Hongbin uses his free hand to rub his neck sheepishly, “but I already see too many of them like, four out five days.”

Youngji mock glares at him, “Puppies are never enough.”

“Say this after they’ve chewed your phone charger and peed on your shoes.”

She scrunches her nose cutely. “Ew. They did this to you?”

“Like, a few dozens of times?” Hongbin laughs at her horrified face. “They’re little fluffy hellions. The kitties though, they are much more obedient once they stop jumping around.”

“I’m not a fan of cats,” Youngji’s mouth curls in distaste, “they are egoistic and diabolical.”

Hongbin holds down the instinctual scolding he tends to do when faced with an ignorant, prejudiced and inaccurate view of cats from people who obviously never stood with one of them longer than a few minutes. Cats are independent, of course, and it can be a little hard to gain their favor; that doesn’t mean someone should immediately write them off as egoistic and diabolical. 

For some reason, a scene passes through his mind: Taekwoon sitting on the floor, happily humming a soft tune, arms cradling a sleeping Caramel, an excited Sangsan doing its best to chew his hair off.

“Don’t say that,” he says instead, “they’re very cute too.”

“I don’t think so,” she crosses her arms, appearing to be annoyed at his insistence. “My aunt had a devil cat who never liked anyone! It would scratch anyone who tried, including me!”

Hongbin smiles with forced cheer. “My sister rejected every guy who confessed to her during high school, that doesn’t mean she’s a frigid , right?”

“Of course not!”

“And it doesn’t mean that every girl who rejects a guy is a frigid ?”

“No, Hongbin-oppa, that doesn’t even make any sense!” Youngji exclaims, shaking his jacket in indignation. “How can you say something like that?!”

“It’s the same, silly,” he shrugs, smiling in a way he knows will emphasize his dimples and his innocent look. “Don’t judge an action without understanding the reason behind it; and do not condone an entire species just because you had a bad experience once.”

Youngji pouts, turning her body slightly away from him. “You’re just like Jackson, saying things that don’t make sense.”

“Say that again?”

“Nothing!” even turned from him, Hongbin can see the way her ear and cheek redden at being caught muttering; her skin is clear and smooth, a lot like Taekwoon’s, but her blush doesn’t quite makes him feel like he accomplished something important, nor doesn’t make her face that much more beautiful. “There a cinema three blocks from here… Do you want to go?”

Hongbin blinks confusedly for a second; he got lost in his head remembering the Ice Prince. “Sure, any suggestions?”

.
.

Taekwoon arrives at home to find Hakyeon on the couch, surrounded by a thick blanket, blatantly watching the shopping channel – something he denies watching fervently but obviously adores – and nibbling on a plate of rice cakes, which Taekwoon knows it’s strictly forbidden by his teachers.

Immediately his body tenses in preparation for bad news. While he does hide his more sarcastic, frivolous being from the world, Hakyeon is indeed an unredeemable optimist, and he never does this unless a bad, bad thing has happened.

“Hakyeonie..?” he mutters, taking off his shoes and putting his bag on a corner.

Hakyeon startles, turning to look at him guiltily, grains of rice stuck on his face. “T-Taekwoonie! How are you?”

Simply sighing, Taekwoon plops himself by Hakyeon’s side on the couch, raising a hand to softly push the hair of the other’s forehead. “How are you?” he emphasizes the last word, pining Hakyeon his eyes.

“Geez Taekwoonie, I’m super-duper great!”

“Hakyeon…”

“You know I hate you call me using this reproachful tone! I told you I am fine so why you don’t believe me? What reason in the world could I have to be any less than fine? Everyone is green with envy at my part on the class’ presentation for the end of semester, my new boy toy is wrapped around my little finger and me and Sanghyuk are well a–” 

"Hakyeon.”

“…gain and no one is keeping secrets from anyone and, and–“

“Hakyeon.” The moment the Hakyeon’s face starts to break with incoming panic he shuts him up, grabbing his wrists firmly and holding him in place as the older refuses to look at him and tries to wriggle away from the couch. “Hakyeon, snap out of it.”

“Let me go, Taekwoon,” his voice trembles. “Please… I don’t want to talk about it.”

It takes him a space of one deep breath to loosen his hold on Hakyeon’s wrists, his own shoulders tensing at the distress that thickens the room’s air. Before Hakyeon can leave though, he wraps an arm around his waist, pushing him until Hakyeon goes careening into his chest, a surprised ‘oof’ being stuffed on his chest. While he’s not one for many words, the man pressed against him needs more than comfort through touch.

“It’s okay to cry, Hakyeon. No one will know about it but me, I won’t tell anyone,” Taekwoon says. His sweater is abused as Hakyeon clenches his hand on it, fingers digging harshly on the soft fabric; he lets him do it, more worried with his lifelong friend’s state of mind. It’s the second meltdown related to Sanghyuk in too little time, and yes, Hakyeon is overly protective and possessive, but this has to end. “I won’t tell Sanghyuk.”

A part of him, the ugly part he tries to keep under wraps wants for the rift between his friends to continue. For Hakyeon to cling to him like this, reminiscent of a time before Sanghyuk in which they only had the other. For Sanghyuk to be the same kid he was back in the beginning, fearful of being without the two of them, following him around simply because he couldn’t bear to be alone. At those times he felt needed, like Hakyeon and Sanghyuk wouldn’t be able to live without him, not even if they had each other. Now all can see is Hakyeon despondently cry for Sanghyuk, love and care for him passionately, so much more than he does Taekwoon. Hongbin’s words echo in his head – are they together? AretheytogetheraretheyaretogetherwithouthimwithouthimhesalonealoneALONE – like a taut, pointing at him just how stupid he is to believe they all stand on the same ground, his naivety when seeing their relationship. 

Sanghyuk’s lingering touches, Hakyeon’s possessiveness, the way they simply fit together, soft skin and lithe curves fitting into lean muscle and ridged scars. 

Sanghyuk has this way of looking at Hakyeon as if he’s the one who chose each star in the sky and placed it in there, as if the moon rotates for him and each flower blooms inspired by his beauty. Taekwoon may be mostly silent, which for some reason people tend to confuse with unawareness; he’s not stupid, it’s difficult to not see the tension that permeates his best-friends’ relationship.

He only wishes that in the aftermath of whatever happens in between the two of them, they can remember him and what he hopes he means to them.

.
.

The eight unanswered SNS’ mock at him, and he frowns.

Everything was doing so well, Hakyeon had forgiven him; they ate together and had some serious going on the previous day, casual touches lingering on bare skin and eyes often straying to lips. 

Hakyeon really had very inviting lips, glossy with the lip-balm-thing he applied every few minutes, which didn’t help Wonshik focus on whatever was going on around him – had almost gotten familiar with a tree bark while distracted, and thank the dancer had thought it cute, considering his giggles – when he smacked them together. It smelt faintly of strawberry; it took a lot of Wonshik to stop from kissing him right there, in front of everybody.

To go from that to ignored – once again – sours his mood.

He can admit that… Hakyeon is fascinating, okay? Wonshik kind of likes how feisty he is and he wears arrogance well; he knows he’s good, he doesn’t feel the need to hide it. The fact that he seems to forget his fake, polite persona near him is an unexpected bonus and while complicating his life by not being cute and easy-going, Wonshik prefers things like this. 

Hakyeon is also beautiful; Wonshik has not been this trilled in a long time.

Now, there’s something bothering him. A very, very, very small part of him screams at him that this is not right, that this is not him and that playing with someone else’s feelings for a bet is ridiculous and gross. He wonders what his younger sister would think of him if she discovered what he is doing; shudders just to imagine her normally adoring eyes turning cold with loathing.

“Honey, I’m home~”

An unconscious smile blooms on his face as Jaehwan’s happy voice echoes through the apartment; for a moment, he forgets.

.

.

.

I'll get to answer every comment, I promise.

But first, I would like to say I'm sorry, so deeply sorry I don't have words. I could go on and on on the reasons why I decided to drop out of Earth, but I feel like it wouldn't be satisfactory enough. To say, my depression got to a point which I had to put college on hold for six months. I considered abandoning this fic so many times and cried just as many for the ideas I couldn't put on paper.

I'm sorry I dissapointed you, and I'm sorry to say that I don't know when the next update will be. I wish I has a schedule but right now, I can barely keep myself above water. 

I cannot say how everyone's words throughout the months kept me going, and I hope this humble chapter will make you all at least a little bit happy.

Sincerely,

Starinlight.