Taekwoon blinks in confusion at the scene displayed in front of him; on one side of the small living room, Hakyeon sat alone on a position that can’t be comfortable, half on top of a chair, half on the floor, eyes glued on his phone, hands quickly moving on the screen, probably talking to someone – he has a lot of acquaintances and dance partners and whoever else the dancer talks to – over something while Sanghyuk occupied the whole couch and center table, papers scattered everywhere and notebook open, the youngest boy’s features scrunched up so tightly together Taekwoon feels the need to smooth them. He agrees when Hakyeon says Sanghyuk will have wrinkles twenty years earlier than he’s supposed to.

That’s not the problem, because yes, Hakyeon spends a lot of time on his phone and Sanghyuk always hogs up the living room’s space during a project for a class or one of his individuals; no, the problem is the immense distance in between both boys. Hakyeon is very clingy, and likes to sit as close as possible to Sanghyuk, who despite not being naturally affectionate, only rejects the oldest by fun. This atmosphere here is genuinely strained, his two friends ignoring each other’s presence purposefully, and he wonders what could have happened.

“I’m home,” he says quietly, locking the door behind him, taking off his shoes. “I brought cake.”

Hakyeon takes his attention off from his phone and focuses on him, smiling a tight lipped smile, not common for him. “Oh, you’re my savior, Taekwoon-ah! Can you believe that the rice cooker isn’t working right? And I think we’ll have to change our stove, it’s making all those weird noise and...” he babbles, picking the bags he carries, knowing Taekwoon tends to ignore his rambling. He’s right, and Taekwoon honestly doesn’t care; he knows Hakyeon’s lying, for he cooked breakfast that morning and everything was working perfectly. The older is just incapable of cooking most dishes.

He follows him to the even smaller kitchen, where he sees the dancer’s attempt at making dinner. Looks like he took mud from a swamp and Taekwoon wrinkles his nose minimally, annoyed with the waste of food. He has already told Hakyeon he would take care of food in the house, he can’t comprehend why the other insists in trying.

“Uh? Where’s my sweet potato cake?!” Hakyeon asks, pout on his lips.

Taekwoon doesn’t turn from where he’s collecting plates and glasses. He hears Hakyeon huffing, and goes to the fridge to grab the strawberry milk.

“Could at least bring the red velvet one,” Hakyeon continues complaining behind his back. “Triple chocolate is too caloric, I can’t handle anymore vanilla and… Seriously? Ice cream cake?! That’s–”

“– my favorite,” Sanghyuk walks in the kitchen, hair rumpled and deep creases on his brow. He grabs his piece of cake without looking at any of them – and Taekwoon is getting more and more annoyed by the time; he won’t deal with snappy maknaes and stupid old mans – and leaves, muttering under his breath.

“Rude brat,” the dancer growls, and when Taekwoon spins around to pick his own piece – he’s hungry, even after eating two pieces back in the cake shop, accompanied by Dimples – not bothering to ask what’s wrong. Sanghyuk is difficult to deal with on a good day, and god knows someone must have had irritated him today. Hakyeon likely tried to help and got lashed out by the younger. So, he simply hugs Hakyeon from behind, nuzzling briefly on the brown hair to pass a bit of security. He hates seeing them fighting, but it’s their fight.

The dancer leans slightly on his chest. “Thanks Woonie, I needed that,” he sighs. “I can’t understand this boy sometimes.”

“You understand the best,” Taekwoon affirms, and it’s the truth. No one in this world knows Sanghyuk more than Hakyeon, not even himself.

Hakyeon was the one to find Sanghyuk, after all.

“That’s because I’m awesome.”

He decides to let Hakyeon’s effort to lighten the mood slip, releasing him. He takes his cake – the vanilla one, because as much as the older complains about calories and whatever, triple chocolate is his second favorite – and a glass of strawberry milk and goes to his room. He sits on his bed and leans on his half a dozen of pillows – he likes being warm – before taking a bite of his vanilla cake. It’s good, but maybe he needs to stop putting too much Chantilly, so it won’t be too sugary. He hasn’t a problem with it, but the clients may have.

Now he started to think on the shop, Taekwoon can’t quite help – surprising himself – thinking about the boy, Dimples. The younger – he appears younger, without the typical circles around his eyes and with idol-like hair – had thoughtfully striven to keep a conversation, and he wasn’t exactly bad; ignored the fact that Taekwoon allowed him to call him by his name only, but the compositor imagines that’s more for costume and respect, which isn’t bad, come to think of it. Dimples is all persistence and dimpled cheeks – and he can admit this; he appreciates those little holes on the attractive face more than a normal person would – and Taekwoon can respect that.

If the boy continues to approach him with interesting enough subjects and his dimpled smile, as well as the unlimited access to Caramel and the other kittens and puppies, who knows.

Taekwoon might even ask his name.

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Saturday finds its way to the week like a blessing from classes and work.

And as the undergraduates they are, Jaehwan, Wonshik and Hongbin decide the day it’s perfect to go out. On their separate ways, ‘cause they have enough of each other on a daily basis.

Hongbin arranges a date with a girl named Youngji, whom Jaehwan never heard of, but knowing him, Hongbin charmed her with his stupid dimpled smile and awkward flirting – seriously, did the guy learned how to date from a book for dummies? – that is cute and endearing and had girls – and some boys – falling over their feet for his attention, the idiot. The artist can’t understand why his friend is single… No, thinking well, he definitely knows: Hongbin has this list of things he expects his suitors to have for him to consider dating them and it’s so absurd and difficult to meet Jaehwan sometimes wonders if Hongbin will one day end up living on a one room flat, full of cats and Park Hyoshin’s face.

This Youngji girl must be an apparition, or fake in some way. No one can be beautiful, with long hair and fair skin and big doe eyes, with a delicate and perfect to fit by Hongbin’s side body, all while being younger and intelligent and funny, with a little bit of shyness, but not too much to be annoying, and confidence to make things interesting. Nope, that’s not possible.

So, with Hongbin out with her, Jaehwan invites Wonshik to a party. The Arts seniors are having a party, and when their class gives a party… It’s a party.

They arrive at the club – one of the seniors, Yura, is the owner’s sister, and she uses the place every once in a while – not a minute past 10pm, and the place is already packed, electronic music muffled by the purple walls, still loud. Both boys wait in line for twenty minutes before Jaehwan gives his name to the security guy, who checks on a clipboard – Wonshik bites his nails, expecting the worst, and he’s stupid too, Jaehwan shouldn’t have invited him – before letting him, and by consequence, Wonshik, enter.

After that, they kind of separate; Jaehwan has his friends, and Wonshik likes to believe he can chat up girls on the bar. He’ll have a surprise.

Jaehwan had said before, but he has indeed a soft spot for the younger boy.

And Cha Hakyeon is widely known for his social skills, so it’s no surprise when he appears an hour later, on tight leather jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt, dark skin almost otherworldly underneath the bright lights. Jaehwan sees the moment he catches Wonshik’s eyes, the boy not so discreetly following each step the dancer gives, towards the center of the dance floor, people opening space for him to pass like they expect him to put on his usual show. Jaehwan laughs at little when Wonshik downs a shot, and gets up to go after Hakyeon.

He looks at his own blue drink, and gulps it down on one go.

.

.

Wonshik can’t believe his luck.

When he got up from the bar to go after Hakyeon on the dance floor, he expected a clear and snarky rejection, like the older used to give him, despite the few dates – and yes, he will call the lunches together dates – they went to; instead, Hakyeon smiles brightly at him with those perfectly white little teeth on that luscious mouth of his and practically dares him to dance. Not one to say no to a challenge – which brings us to the current situation, with the bet and everything – of course he accepts.

The fact that he will be close to that lithe, tanned body and mischievous smile has absolutely nothing to do with it. He wants to win the bet and it will do some good to rub in the faces of those pretentious art hipsters who’s the one capable of dancing with The Cha Hakyeon, with capital ‘T’ and italic letters.

There’s also the fact that Wonshik is good at dancing.

So, with the electronic music pumping through the speakers, they own the dance floor, his heavily hip-hop and pop influenced style mixing well with Hakyeon’s contemporary and elaborate moves, more than one person stopping to see them intertwine together, a push and pull of raw power and polished experience. Sweat clings to Hakyeon’s hair, and his dark brown eyes are vibrant like they were never before; Wonshik is mesmerized, finally understanding the reason why he’s considered one of the B1 Trio, untouchable and unreachable, why everyone seems so fascinated about him, and all he can do. Seeing him dancing is the same as seeing art on its purest form.

The song changes after that, a sensual track that instantly makes half of the people dancing glue onto the closest person, bodies pressed close together.

On a bold move, Wonshik pushes Hakyeon by the hips, his chest meeting the dancer’s back, hands splaying on his stomach, the soft material of the white shirt, just above the hem ruffling with the movement. Hakyeon in turn raises one hand to wrap it around Wonshik’s neck, grabbing at the short hairs on his nape, the other descending so his nimble fingers fit into the spaces left by Wonshik’s own fingers. They’re hot, and Hakyeon smiles and breathes out a light chuckle before starting to move to the rhythm of the current song.

Slowly rolling his hips, Wonshik presses closer, his broader form enveloping the dancer’s slighter one; they grind together, taking their time and for the first time, they lose a bit of the rhythm, going slower. Hakyeon feels marvelous on his arms, so smooth and delicate, an exotic perfection he desires to have. A sparkle of lust surges on his body, and boldly Wonshik lowers his head to press a kiss on the junction between Hakyeon’s shoulder and neck, leaving his lips there, breathing in the citric scent of his skin as well as tasting salty sweat combined with peach body lotion. The older boy stiffens up for a millisecond before melting on Wonshik’s hold, leaning more heavily against his chest.

“Don’t think you can do that again,” he says, squeezing the literature student’s hand, rocking his hips a little harder. “You’ll need to do better than a few lunches if that’s your objective.”

Wonshik’s alcohol affected mind deliberates, and he laughs throatily, nuzzling onto the side of Hakyeon’s face. “Go out with me then, on a real date,” he declares.

“Smooth,” Hakyeon mocks. He turns to stare into Wonshik’s eyes, and the boy feels a tightening on his stomach; Hakyeon is beautiful.

“That means you accept?”

“That mean I’ll think about it,” Hakyeon smirks at him, turning his back to him. At this point more than one – or five – songs have passed, the people around them back to their frenetic pace, yet the two continue to slowly – dare Wonshik think, sensually – dance, bodies pressed close, intimate and contrasting to all others.

Wonshik opens his mouth to talk, but a hand grabs his shoulder; he lifts his eyes to glare at whoever ventured to approach him right now – he’s making so much progress, victory tastes great on the tip of his tongue, and Hakyeon’s body feels amazing beneath his hands – only to meet Suzy – a third year that has worked with Jaehwan before for some projects – staring at him with huge, pleading brown eyes.

Damnit, he can never resist these kicked puppy looks. Jaehwan and even Hongbin – the sassy maknae has a date with a girl – constantly use those looks when they want something from him, and it always works.

“Wonshik-oppa,” she says, rather, screams; they are on the dance floor after all, with loud music blasting.

“Suzy-yah,” he nods, releasing Hakyeon, who crosses his arms petulantly in front of his body – it is kind of cute, how his brow furrow and his lips jut on a pout –, clearly annoyed with the interruption. Wonshik counts this as a point for him. “What’s the matter?”

“Jaehwan-oppa is feeling really bad; he drunk a lot,” the girl fidgets, glancing briefly in the bar’s direction. “He already threw up once, and maybe it’ll be better if he goes home. We’re thinking of calling a cab for him.”

Immediately Wonshik worries; Jaehwan knows how to handle his alcohol the best, and if he’s drunk enough to puke, it is because he really abused. Which is somehow weird, since the arts’ student isn’t one to go downing every drink he buys; no, Jaehwan is one for sip in the middle of animated conversations. “Take me to him,” he basically orders the girl, who smiles slightly and gestures for him to follow.

He’s about to go after her when he hears someone cleaning their throat. Hakyeon still looks impossibly aggravated with the entire situation, and Wonshik curses mentally Jaehwan’s – and by extent, Suzy’s – timing. Of all days, he just had to abuse the day Wonshik was getting some progress done with his target.

“Where are you going?” the dancer asks, whole stance mimicking the annoyance on his voice.

Wonshik rubs his neck, apologetic. “I’m sorry, but I have to go– A friend of mine drank too much and needs my help.”

Some of Hakyeon’s annoyance seems to dissipate, and he cheekily questions, “What about me? You’re going to leave me to deal with a drunkard?”

A vein of irritation pops on his forehead, despite noticing the cheeky tone. No one talks like that about his friends, especially not Jaehwan, who’s one of his closest ones. Damn that bet to hell, not even Hakyeon. “Yah, Hakyeon, don’t talk like that about Jaehwan-hyung, okay? He’s my friend, he needs my help, so I’m going to help him.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply stalks away, finding Suzy waiting for him. She guides him past the bar, entering a door – that he wouldn’t notice ever – where five people simultaneity raise their heads to gaze at them. Wonshik recognizes Yura, Minsoo, Kibum and Jonghyun, all crouched in a circle, rounding a very drunk Jaehwan.

His friend smiles brightly at him, face flushed and damp with sweat, hair down an clinging to his forehead; he’s without his jacket, and the first three buttons of his yellow shirt are open. He seems to breathe deeply and unevenly. “Shikkie Shikkie! There yo are!”

Minsoo quickly open space for him and Wonshik kneels in front of Jaehwan, cupping his face with both hands. The skin is hot under his palms. “Damn hyung, you’re really wasted,” he says helpfully – he hears a girly scoff near him; he bets its Kibum’s – to the older boy. Jaehwan only chuckles and continues to smile dopily, like the happy drunk he is.

Like the happy Jaehwan he is. Seriously, Wonshik can’t remember the last time he was sad; as an eternal font of optimism and happiness, it’s almost impossible to imagine Jaehwan anything but happy. He’s the one who pranks him when he’s working too hard to distract him, he’s the one who sings – he could have been an idol – early in the morning while cooking breakfast, wiggling his hips clumsily but cutely.

“‘Am! There was dis blu’ drink, then... then it pink and blu’ again~” Jaehwan cheerfully tells, hands moving hectically on the air. “But my tummy hurt, an’ my mouth tastes bad.”

Wonshik sighs fondly, softly pushing the brown hair away from the other’s face. “Let’s go home, hyung. I’ll make you some tea to make your tummy better.”

Jaehwan blinks at him with glazed large eyes, his red face and red mouth never relaxing, smile still in place. He’s cute, Wonshik will admit that – only for himself; Jaehwan is strangely fixated on the word, and insists he’s the cutest artist to have ever lived –, as Jaehwan wraps his arms around his neck. An intoxicated Jaehwan is a vulnerable Jaehwan, who clings to anything and anyone, and the younger’s stomach drops just by imagining what could happen if the boy’s friends hadn’t taken him away. He could have been abused without having how to fight back or even noticing, judging by the way he is so out of himself, truly childlike.

“Up! Up!”

Chuckling at his friend’s mannerisms, Wonshik obediently lifts him, his arms supporting Jaehwan’s body, a hand on his back, the other under his bum; Jaehwan’s legs hang limply by his sides, but he snuggles on Wonshik’s chest, closing his eyes and giggling like a kid.

“We’re going,” Wonshik declares, looking to the small group; they all stare at him with curiosity, and on Suzy and Kibum’s case, knowingly. Yura nods, guiding him to another door that goes to the back of the club. “Thank you guys.”

“We called a cab, Oppa,” Suzy speaks. “It’s probably waiting on the front.”

Thanking the girl, Wonshik leaves.

“Ah, it’s cold! Ah dun like cold.”

“The cab is warmer– Hey, stop squirming! I’ll drop you!”

“Yah won’t! Shikkie Shikkie’s strong~”

“Okay okay” Wonshik can’t help but laugh, entering the cab. The driver gives them a weird look, yet doesn’t say anything. He tells the man the address, adjusting Jaehwan’s position, which is basically on his lap, now he’s sat. The artist grumbles and whines, trying to get into Wonshik’s jacket, face never moving from its place on the junction between Wonshik’s neck and shoulder. He’s definitely a kid.

Getting comfortable, the literature student pets the arts student’s hair, one hand firmly holding his hip.

Ah, and Jaehwan is supposed to be the hyung.

.

.

Taekwoon receives a phone call when it’s past midnight. Sleepily he pats his bed in search for his phone, answering it silently.

“Taekwoonie,” it’s Hakyeon’s voice, and it sounds a mix of slurred and annoyed. He is out on some party of sorts; Taekwoon hates parties and all the noise. “Can you come please pick me? I’m too drunk to go by myself, and you know I don’t like to ride taxis alone,” he whines.

“No.”

“EH? Wae Taekwoonie?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“So you’d rather sleep than help your lifelong friend to get home?! You’re a meanie, just like Hyukkie,” a sob now, and god, don’t tell Hakyeon’s now crying. “Hyukkie hates me!”

Taekwoon resists the urge to end the call and go back to his peaceful sleep, yet he knows he won’t ever rest with Hakyeon smashed on a club somewhere; preparing to go out, Taekwoon resignedly hums.

“I’ll catch a bus,” he says. “Where are you?”

As Hakyeon explains the club’s location, Taekwoon puts on a loose jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, grabbing Sanghyuk’s hoodie – his own is on a place he can’t care to remember in the moment – to put on later. The apartment’s keys and his wallet, and Taekwoon leaves.

There’s a bus stop with the bus he’ll need two blocks from where they live, and Taekwoon does his best to hide in the shadows; it’s not that his neighborhood is dangerous, but it’s late, and he won’t risk. Not that a person with bad intentions will try to mug him, as in the end his 1,81cm of height normally scare away possible threats.

When he arrives, there is someone sitting on the stop, head low and ankles crossed. The person doesn’t appear dangerous, so he simply sits by their side.

They raise their face, and features Taekwoon is learning to recognize – almond eyes, light pink well-shaped lips and a straight nose on a handsome face framed by dark brown locks, a hint of dimples on cheeks – appear. A gasp is heard, before Dimples opens a smile.

“Taekwoon-hyungnim!”

Taekwoon sighs and nods. What a coincidence.

Dimples seems to be thinking the same thing. “Are you heading somewhere? Do you need any help?”

He shakes his head no.

They wait in silence, Dimples occasionally opening his mouth to say something, closing it not a second later. Taekwoon doesn’t think it as awkward; he enjoys the silence more than anyone. Dimples already knows, which doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.

“Do you want to listen? I promise you I have lots of Park Hyoshin and Sung Sikyung’s songs,” Dimples asks as he offers an earphone, the other piece already on his ear. “I also have Justin Timberlake, Seo Inguk, John Legend… You can choose.”

The bus he needs will take some time…

Taekwoon picks the earphone, placing it on his ear. “Park Hyoshin.”

The boy by his side smiles delightfully – his dimples deep on his cheeks, very distracting – and quickly puts on a song. Wild Flower starts to play softly, and Taekwoon is slowly lulled into a state of drowsy consciousness. After Wild Flower, Memories Resemble Love plays, and Taekwoon feels his eyes slipping shut; his body tilts to the side.

“Oof,” Dimples softly grumbles as Taekwoon’s head drops on his shoulder, half-asleep.

Taekwoon whispers the number of his bus, and promptly falls asleep.

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Who's alive always come back at some point, and here am I, after having dealt the most time-consuming, difficult and soul- months of my life. Congratulations to those who invented college, you've successfully created a torture method people willingly go through.

And Vet School is hell.

Anyways, this chapter had a Raken/Navi focus 'cause I kind of ignored them on the last chapters... Ehh~

Hope you all enjoyed it. Sorry everyone who waited so long for this chapter, and thank you everyone who reviewed, subscribed and voted and those that didn't do any of those, but enjoy reading what I read. I wish to hear from you someday~

Oh, and since I'm an unorganized person who doesn't know when to stop, I have a Luck one-shot in the making to thank for my 500 subscribers mark~

I will (hopefully) see you all soon!