D-2

October 29th, 6:00 PM




There is just one hour left until the fan signing is expected to start, and Hansol is currently trying very hard not to cry his eyes out and accidentally ruin his meticulously-applied eyeliner. One of the staff who up until now has been circling the rest of the members like a crazed bee, attempts to help him insert his yellow contact lenses, that she oh-so passionately claims 'put the finishing touches to his scary wolf attire.' Which, coincidently, isn't scary at all.

Hansol was told they were going for a more ‘y and mysterious' look, rather than a ‘vicious-meat-guzzling-beast’, and he has to admit to himself, as he examines his reflection in the brightly-lit mirror of the dressing room, that the final result turned out to be very true to that promise. In a good way — don’t get him wrong!

His bangs have been swiftly brushed away from his forehead and parted mostly to one side, drawing all the attention to the dark shadows that have been created around his eyes and the glimmering gold of his irises. There is a pair of furry ink-colored ears sitting snuggly atop his head and a black wide choker positioned skewly around his neck, adding to the overall disheveled aesthetic. In addition, the two first buttons of his black shirt have been made undone, exposing his collarbones and the top of his chest, and when he opens his mouth to imitate a predatory growl, he can see two sharp canines poking out from the sides.

“You look very handsome,” the lady assistant compliments him, as she tries to stifle involuntary giggles behind the back of her hand.

“Thanks, noona.” Hansol smiles graciously, and lets her brush invisible dust off of his shoulders. Once she makes sure there are no longer imaginary dirt particles floating around anywhere near his clothes, she walks off to assist Junhui, who's struggling to put on his cape on the other side of the room.

“Woah, you look really cool, Hansol!” Mingyu exclaims as he passes by the long line of dressing mirrors, accompanied by a very sparkly-looking Minghao, who nods in agreement and punches Hansol's shoulder to emphasize his amazement.

The two of them make a pretty handsome pair, Hansol notes in astonishment. What with their elaborate and glittery costumes. They look very exquisite, if he do say so himself.

Hansol almost starts to have second thoughts about the deal he has made with Jeonghan, but then he notices how Mingyu keeps pulling on the bottom of his fancy vest — which climbs up on his waist with every movement he makes. He can't help but feel a little sorry for the guy.

Hansol is extremely glad that he's wearing a comfortable oversized cotton button-down shirt and doesn't have to deal with uncooperative pieces of clothing for the rest of the evening. Well, aside from skin-tight leather pants, of course. And the choker. God, he can't forget the choker.

“He may look cool but not as nearly as cool as me!” Soonyoung announces and jumps down from one of the tall stools on Hansol's right, swirling around as he approaches the rest of the group, to better showcase the long robe he's wearing. The numerous wrinkles that have been painted on his face become even more apparent when his cheeks stretch up to give way to a wide grin.

“You look way cooler than me!” Hansol laughs at the sight of the gray hair-bun that’s been clipped onto the top of Soonyoung's head, and the old fashioned, flower-patterned dress he's wearing underneath his robe. Soonyoung shakes his head with a rather pleased-looking smile, then grips the shoulder of the closest person to him (Minghao in this case), and steers him in the direction of one of the far corners of the room.

“You should all take a good look at DK's costume, they gave him an axe!” He points his finger to where Seokmin is standing in his full hunter-getup glory, chatting away casually with Seungkwan.

”See?” Sounnyong chirps enthusiastically once everyone's attention has been drawn to the boisterous pair.

Oh.

Hansol is definitely seeing something, but it ain't no axe.

“What? That's so not fair! How come he gets to have a weapon and we don't?”

“Cinderella is supposed to be a pacifist technically, but if it bothers you that much you can always make do with one of the brooms lying around in the janitor closet.”

“But what if he ends up breaking it, hyung?”

"Good point. Can’t have him adding up to his already-existing debt now, can we?"

“Hey, I'm not that bad!”

.

Hansol could swear the 'stylist-noonas' are on a secret mission to see him on his early death bed. Because why in the name of all that is holy, would they let Seungkwan wear that out of all things?

Who even gave that outfit a green light? That person must be a major sadist!

God… his shorts. Those shorts must be the tiniest shorts Hansol has ever seen on another man in all eighteen years of his life! And did they absolutely have to be so freakin’ tight?!

.

Who thought that pairing those strikingly red trousers with white knee-high socks is a good idea? Hansol is ought to thank them. If he can even survive the next few hours without doing something totally embarrassing that'll end his idol career for good, that is.

Hansol can't lie, Seungkwan looks really nice. Like, amazingly so. He has a bright-red cloak that reaches just a little over his shoulders and ties up at the front with a big, black and frilly bow (which is most likely the cutest sight Hansol has ever witnessed). His hair has been stylized into countless little Cupid-curls and is now sitting messily under his hood, giving his high cheekbones and round face a soft frame.

God, he's adorable, Hansol thinks, and his lungs momentarily forget how to do their job and supply the rest of his body with much needed oxygen, because the longer he lets his gaze linger the more he notices how Seungkwan's eyes are practically sparkling, and how his cheeks are tinted with the most dainty, faintest of blushes.

For some inexplicable reason, that small detail manages to throw him off more than anything else. That, and the fact that Seungkwan is laughing very loudly from something Seokmin has just said...

This kind of occurrence is perfectly normal (in fact, he would consider it kind of abnormal if those two weren’t joking around at least somewhat). Yet, Hansol can't help but feel a little bit sick to his stomach at the sight. And although there is no rational reasoning as to why it should be happening, his heart sinks lower and lower in his chest with every touch Seungkwan initiates with Seokmin, and every rickety, long-winded whizz that ends up escaping his mouth.

Why does it hurt so badly? He shouldn’t be feeling like this. Seungkwan is overly-touchy with everyone, it isn't anything new. Especially when Seokmin is involved. So what's so different now?

He doesn't understand.

"Yoohoo, Vernon! Earth to Vernon?" a raspy voice calls out somewhere on Hansol's left, and his train of thought gets severed. "Is anyone there?" A hand swishes near his face, prompting him to blink a couple of times in alarm before he can bring his eyes to focus on Mingyu, whose face is invading his personal space at the moment.

"What?" Hansol slurs out.

"You kinda out just now, are you alright?"

Hansol glances up at the worried expressions of the three guys surrounding him, and then at Mingyu's hand, which is pressed firmly on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He nods once. "Just tired."  Well, to be fair, he’s only half lying.

His answer rewards him with a tight purse of the lips from Soonyoung, and a dubiously-raised eyebrow from Minghao. But luckily, he doesn't have to provide any further explanation, because before anyone can ask him any more questions, a female staff — different from the one who previously helped him — walks up to them, and requests all the other members to leave so she can do some final touch-ups on his makeup. No one dares to argue with her. They quickly scramble to get away from the dressing area and out to the hallway, leaving her to do her job.

“How do you kids always manage to mess up your makeup minutes after I apply it, huh?” She asks with a deep sigh, and pulls out a fluffy brush from the small ‘tool pouch’ that hangs around her hips. Hansol simply shrugs and turns around in his seat to face the mirror, muttering a small, “sorry” under his breath. The woman just sighs again, and rummages through the countless makeup products inside the huge bag she has just set on the counter with an audible grunt.

“Hold on for a second, I've run out of this specific shade,” she says after examining an eye shadow pallet she rescues from deep within her monstrous bag. She goes around the room, asking the other makeup artists for the wanted product — leaving Hansol to his own devices in the meantime.

Hansol takes a careful look at his reflection. He doesn't see anything that requires immediate fixing, but then again, he's in no way a makeup professional, so he just accepts his fate for now. He finds himself fiddling with his thumbs as he patiently waits for the woman to return; until something in the mirror catches his eye, and the careless movements of his hands stop at once.

It's Seungkwan. He's leaning against the wall opposite to the line of mirrors, playing with the ruffles of his costume and staring off into space. He's also completely alone.

Seungkwan tilts his head to the side and as a result, their eyes meet in the mirror. Hansol stares for what seems like ages, unblinking. Then, Seungkwan does something that causes his whole body to freeze — he smiles at him. That bright barely-even-there smile that manages to color his entire face in warm hues.

Hansol swears his heart is going to leap out of his throat at any given moment. He averts his eyes almost too fast, opting to stare at his folded hands on top of the vanity counter instead of letting Seungkwan's gentle gaze dig deeper holes into his chest.

He can't handle it, not right now.

“Okay, I got it. I had to do a great deal of bargaining before I could get my hands on this little pest, but I eventually got it!” A female voice calls above Hansol's head and the makeup artist from earlier falls into his field of vision all too suddenly. “Now, please lift your chin up for me, Hansol-ah.” She dips a brush into her newly acquired eye shadow, and taps it repeatedly against her wrist to get rid of the excess powder.

Hansol follows her instructions and adjusts his head, but when his eyes realign with the shiny surface of the mirror, they can't seem to find a certain boy.

The boy that has been smiling at him just a mere few seconds ago.

7:00 PM



Hansol does his best not to let his mixed emotions show on his face as the compact indoor venue starts to fill up with swarms of excited fans. Wonwoo and Seokmin come to stand at either of his sides when all the members move in front of the long table at the back of the room, and for now, it's just enough to keep his smile in place. Although when Seokmin leans in to whisper a dumb joke in his ear right before their group greeting, his hands automatically clench into fists, which results in him ing up the timing. He really wishes it wasn't the case, though, because Seokmin is a great friend and he doesn't want to dislike him. Besides, he doesn't have a reason to.

Five more minutes pass by as everyone in the crowd busy themselves with setting up their cameras. Either way, Seokmin doesn't seem to notice the divergence in Hansol's attitude toward him, and keeps on trying to make light conversation while the event takes off; so Hansol responds as normally as he can. As normally as he can when Seungkwan's voice bounces from every corner of the hall and pierces straight through his chest.

Shame on him, really.

How could he possibly forget that his best friend is probably the most talkative and outgoing person to ever grace the earth, and won't ever pass down an opportunity to be at the center of attention?

Having that refound knowledge rooted deep in his awareness, Hansol just narrowly manages to get through the other next five minutes of the fan signing without having the violent urge to punch the nearest wall. Though, in the end he does find himself enjoying the usual squabbling between the rest of the members quite a bit, as they take on the job of entertaining the bigger bulk of awaiting fans.

Both of them being on the quieter side, Hansol excuses himself from the general rowdiness of his teammates, and tunes in attentively each time Wonwoo nudges him with his elbow to occasionally comment on one thing or the other. Then, someone in the front row asks if she may take some photos of ‘the mighty dragon’, Dino, pretending to breath fire towards the crowd, and of course, he complies to her wish with the utmost willingness.

Not before long and all the members are given similar requests and come up to the front to pose according to the fans’ suggestions.

Wonwoo and Junhui finish their turn on a high note, with one of them comically sprawled on the stage’s floor, pretending to be zapped by a beam of energy from the other’s staff, their actions provoking bouts of laughter from everyone in the crowd.

It shouldn't come as a surprise to Hansol when Seungkwan's name is being called right after his, but his heart rate peaks like he's just finished running a marathon and his lungs do that extremely unpleasant thing when he’s nervous, and contrast painfully behind his ribs. He’s left no other option but to revisit his troublesome thoughts, and so out of a defensive instinct his bones transform into lead — just in time for him to be meant to be moving his legs and walk.

Great... 

Somewhere at the back of his brain, Hansol comes to the foggy realization that he's been experiencing a lot of breathing difficulties these past few weeks. And maybe — just maybe — he should listen to his body as it keeps screaming at him to run as far as he can at the sight of a smiling Boo Seungkwan, skipping to stand right beside him on stage.

It starts innocently enough, with simple requests such as: “Make a heart with your arms” and, “Do a flower pose” or, “Hit him over the head with your basket, Seungkwan-oppa!” Hansol does everything with mechanical proficiency, ignoring his annoying brain which is working thousand miles per hour trying to make sense of the sudden shakiness in his knees. Until he hears a new command being shouted at the top of someone's lungs, and feels how immediately after, the hand that's been comfortably placed on his shoulder suddenly flinches — even if just for a split second. He can't help but flinch a little himself.

“Bite his neck, Hansol-ah!”

“Yes, that'd be perfect!”

“Oh my god, please do that!”

Evidently, Hansol has done much worse in the past, so he can't really act too bashful now. There is permanent evidence of him smacking Seungkwan's all over the internet, for 's sake. So what's the big deal in hovering his head over Seungkwan’s neck for a few measly seconds so their fans could snap some nice pictures of them to post on their sites?

Hansol peers at Seungkwan from the corners of his eyes. It's only a stupid five-inches gap, he repeats to himself like a mantra. They've been much closer to each other before. So close, in fact, that Hansol can easily find every single one of Seungkwan's moles without even having to look.

“Put your heart into it, Vernon-ah!” Jeonghan calls excitedly from somewhere behind Hansol, snapping him out of his daze and eliciting a loud roar of squeals from the crowd. Maybe — on any other day — Hansol would've turned to give Jeonghan an incredulous look and laugh at his abrasiveness, but right now, he feels as though his head might as well rip off his body if he did do such a thing. And so, he begrudgingly gulps down his pride, and grits his teeth in a poor attempt not to vomit all of his stomach's contents as he finally brings himself to lock eyes with Seungkwan's warm russet-toned ones.

It's for the fans. 

Hansol's body moves on its own accord, left hand gripping Seungkwan's shoulder with enough urgency to make the other's eyes shift rapidly upwards, the new direction making them catch the bright radiance from the light fixtures on the ceiling. He hooks his right pointer finger in one of the loops of Seungkwan's bow, and lets it slowly pull down, unraveling the silky black knot little by little with the help of his thumb. The swish of the fabric as it comes unloose ripples through the air and all of a sudden, the atmosphere feels much too hot for Hansol. Much too intimate, and way too ing dangerous.

Seungkwan's curls bounce untamed when his poofy, scarlet hood slides down his head by the slight push of Hansol's hand; it comes up from the older's chest to brush his cheek, but only for a second and then it's quickly gone and Hansol's shaky breath is there to replace it.

Hansol can't hear the deafening clicks of camera shutters beyond the constant pump of blood in his ears, and the little changes in Seungkwan's breath. He brings his mouth just an inch away from the other's skin, stretching it big and wide to make sure his fake canines are prominently visible to the imposing flash of lights enclosing the two of them.

They stay in this position for what seems like eternity, but in reality probably only lasts up to a minute. It's just enough time to send Hansol's heart spiraling out of control, causing every last vein in his body to thump together in a mad ensemble of nerves. He suddenly has a very strong crave to bite down, pierce through the soft fawn skin of Seungkwan's neck, and make it flush a pretty pink color just like his cheeks.

No.

No, he wants to mark it red. Red like his cloak and those damned, stupid shorts. Red as in blood, red as in claim, red as in better than Seokmin, better than Seungcheol.

Better than anyone else.

"C'mon you two, I think that's more than enough for now," a voice calls out, anchoring Hansol’s sizzling thoughts back to reality. It is the same nasally voice that has pushed him to take action in the first place, he realizes halfway toward his original spot between ever-grinning Seokmin and a smirking, cackling Wonwoo.

What the hell was he thinking just now? He can’t believe his own damn mind. These feelings can’t be healthy — no, they're absolutely not, they're ed up, that’s what they are. From beginning to end, ed up!

He can't just claim a person, especially not away from his friends , which the both of them ing share, on top of that. That’d be really damn hypocritical, other than simply sickening.

This is wrong — this is so ing wrong — and Hansol feels like the biggest piece of in the all of existence for even letting this selfish yearning skim his thoughts.

In a moment of immense doubt he can’t bring himself to ignore, Hansol dares to break out of his head and search in his gaze for Seungkwan. See if he’s okay, if he could sense the negativity and possessiveness radiating from him so unbearably just seconds before; get a clue of his feelings, check if he's indeed disgusted by it all like how Hansol is, and how he feels Seungkwan should be, too.

Seungkwan’s laughter and light-hearted retorts to the teasing members reach his ears way before Hansol’s eyes successfully zoom in on his figure. It’s not enough of an indication to set the confusion in his brain straight; that’s what Seungkwan always does, he laughs.

He laughs when he’s happy, and when he’s embarrassed. He laughs when he’s agitated because of a new song release, and when he’s nervous right before going onstage to perform a particularly difficult ballade. He laughs when he’s on the verge of an emotional melt-down, or when he’s about to explode in a huge fiery fit because of the unfair treatment the people around him are forced to endure.

Seungkwan even laughs when he’s sad, he laughs and smiles until he can’t anymore. Then he cries. And once Seungkwan cries — really cries — it takes a hell lot of time until he can start laughing again. Really laugh.

Hansol was never good at handling a crying Boo Seungkwan, he never has the right words. He usually just holds him close in a bone-crushing hug and lets him cry his little far too sensitive heart out. Their limbs in an awkward, tangled, comforting mess, until Hansol makes sure the tremors of Seungkwan’s body start to steadily diminish, and his rapidly beating chest begins matching his own.

Always, like a ritual: Hansol’s fingers would comb soothingly through disheveled hair, and tap-tap a constant gentle rhythm up and down Seungkwan’s spine, until his heart-wrenching sobs get swallowed in the fabric of Hansol’s shirt and turn into tiny hiccups instead, the entire front of the garment then covered in snot.

Normally then, Hansol would continue embracing Seungkwan tightly against his body and won’t say anything. Try hard not to say anything dumb that might bring about a new influx of tears.

But he doesn’t want to think about any of that right now. He doesn’t want to think about Seungkwan at all. The ones he should be thinking of are the fans, his personal fans. The fans who are girls.

Girls like every single love interest you see in movies and dramas, girls as in the subject of many, many interview questions.

Girls like the ones in all of their songs.

Hansol likes girls, he always has. That's why, when all of the members are gathered up by the end of the day, waiting for one of the managers to announce their departure, and Soonyoung sets his sights on teasing the maknae as much as humanly possible with the help of playful inquiries, such as what actress or female idol he has taken a liking to lately, Hansol decides to step up and give his own two cents on the matter.

He speaks in a loud and clear voice, enough for everyone else in the waiting room to hear, “You know who's real pretty? TWICE’s Dahyun. We met a few times and she's totally my style, I'd date her.”

“Huh? What's that all of a sudden? I thought you didn't have an ideal type,” Mingyu points out right away, detaching his eyes from his phone screen long enough to examine Hansol with a screwed up expression.

“Well, I don’t.” Hansol shifts a little atop the couch’s cushions, the one a sleepy Jeonghan and Jihoon are currently cuddling on next to him. “It's just that I think she's really nice-looking, and also has a nice personality. You're acting like it's the first time you hear me say something like that.”

“It might as well be.”

Mingyu’s attention is back on his phone as soon as he utters his assessment, and Hansol thinks it’s safe to assume he won’t be looking up from it anytime soon. He also thinks he’s about to hurl all over himself, Jeonghan and Jihoon if he doesn't do something about it in the following five seconds, so he briskly abandons his position on the tiny lounge sofa and rushes out to the hallway.

Apparently, the universe has a knack of making Hansol’s life exceptionally complicated for him, because just when he’s about to escape into the bathroom and thoroughly cleanse the jumbled ruins of his vital organs into the most convenient sink, the door swings open and Seungkwan steps out.

Hansol almost topples straight to the ground, his anxiety instantly shooting up his throat, nearly foaming at his mouth. He begins speaking in tongues even before the other can get a single word out, “Sorry, can't talk, not, uh, not feeling too well. So I, uh, I have to— bye. I mean, see ya’, bye.” Next thing he knows, his legs carry him in the complete opposite direction of the bathroom, to the smallest unsuspicious location he can potentially find refuge in.

Hansol shuts the door of what he barely distinguishes as some kind of storage space, shakily supporting himself against a shelf of cleaning products that sits at the farmost corner from the entrance. His head is spinning, his vision darkening at the edges, and everything else is reeling in and out of place. The world is upside down and inside out, and in increasingly crumbling shambles, the flakey walls that seem to be closing on him after each ragged breath he forces into his lungs dancing and wobbling accordingly — a soup of contaminated white plaster sharply advancing up his retinas, almost staining the very tips of his eyelashes.

He’s going to die.

He’s going to ing die and it’s going to be all his ing fault. Because if his stupid brain didn’t insist on blowing everything out of proportions and seeing signs where there were none, and if his bastard of a heart didn’t jump at the slightest of gestures, and made him feel so helpless, then he wouldn't be here in the first place.

He would never have to experience this blasted pain ever again if the both of them weren't so inherently ing active, working overtime even when he wanted nothing else than for them to stop altogether.  

Wasn’t he in charge of his own emotions? His thoughts? Is he so ing weak that abstract concepts his own damn mind conceived can take over so easily, control what he can and cannot do and what people he should or shouldn't talk to?

Hansol navigates his blurring vision to a single peeling spot on the wall, counting two in his head in between each pair of inhale and exhale rattling his body.

1, 2

Inhale.

1, 2

Exhale.

1, 2

Inhale.

1, 2

Exhale.

1, 2, 3

Inhale.

1, 2, 3

Exhale.

1, 2 ,3, 4

Inhale

1, 2, 3, 4...

“Vernon?”

1, 2

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing here, man?” The door of the janitor closet creaks ajar, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway that illuminates the side of Minghao’s face. ”I was looking for you. Coups-hyung told me to get you, it's time to leave.”

“Oh, right,” Hansol breathes out, jittery palms pawing the very-much-solid walls at his sides as he contemplates getting up from the, surprisingly enough, cold stable floor. “I just, uh, I needed to have some time alone.”

Minghao breezes inside the room before Hansol can conform to the strange heaviness of his step, his eyebrows arching up in disbelief. “And you chose to have it here?”

“You know how it is, dude, when you’re that tired you look for the nearest quiet place to crash out.”

“I guess,” Minghao concedes absentmindedly, slinging his arms around as he closely surveys their surroundings, eventually tying them up in a severe knot at his midsection. “Are you sure you're fine? Those things look like they would hurt leaning on.” He juts one of his thumbs at a dirty mop that's pressing into Hansol’s side. It does hurt.

“Yeah, everything's fine. Like I said, I was feeling a bit tired and the noise in the waiting room was a little too much. I could care less about my future back problems, really,” Hansol assures while nodding his head vigorously, and squeezes out a feeble laugh. He takes comfort in the fact that while that statement is partially a very big and ugly lie, it is also sort of true. Which ultimately means that it's just a fraction bad, not entirely horrible like the annoying twists in his stomach keep on insisting it is.

Everything’s completely fine.

Hansol will be fine, he’s confident in that. He’ll get over whatever it is that he’s been experiencing soon enough and then, surely, they will be fine.

They have to be, right?

9:51 PM



The ride back to the dorms is almost entirely silent, but Hansol finds himself not minding the unusual quiet when all he wants to do is bury himself in the warm sheets of his bed and never see the light of day ever again. He lets his head fall against Seungcheol's sturdy shoulder when they shuffle to get themselves comfortable in the backseat of one of the vans, his body slacking onto the upholstery in exhaustion.

“Don't smear your makeup all over me,” Seungcheol warns as he runs his hand through Hansol's hair, taking off the fake wolf ears and placing them in his lap with extreme care.

“No promises.” Hansol nuzzles his face further against Seungcheol. He is tired. Tired from an endless day of activities, tired of guessing the meaning of things he felt coil deep in his chest, burning up a storm inside, maliciously and without warning.

Hansol is so tired of feeling nearly neurotic but not knowing why.

It's alright, he tries to reassure himself, the sweet temptation of rest poking at his heavy eyelids at the faint sound of Junhui's cheerful humming that dribbles through the front seats. You have time, you don't have to push for an answer right away. His breathing gradually slows down, chest following right after. Seungcheol's head comes to rest gently on top of his own.

Hansol has plenty of time, he'll come to understand everything eventually. He needs to stop worrying so much; nothing is going to change if he'd allow himself to draw his conclusions in a more relaxed pace. There was no rush, right? Seungkwan was still plain old Seungkwan whichever way he looked at him, he wasn't going away anytime soon.

Hansol closes his eyes for the rest of the journey back home with a determined intent of turning his senses off, yet strangely enough, he can feel every bump and dip in the road.

~

The van rolls into an all-too familiar street and Hansol has yet to fall asleep. Junhui whirls around when the wheels screech to a full stop in front of the dorm building, and taps Hansol's shoulder lightly, whispering that he had better hurry up if he doesn't want to be the last one in line for the shower.

“We already arrived? Man, I could've definitely used a few more minutes.” Seungcheol yawns and stretches his arms out. He spends a few good seconds trying to shake off the specks of stagnancy that are seemingly still lingering in his body, before opening the car door on his right and quickly stepping out, hands shooting straight into the pockets of his padded jacket.

“C'mon, kiddo, if you'd stay here any longer your ‘gonna lose its shape!” Seungcheol slams his palm on the side of the van and ushers Hansol to do as he says with a tilt of his chin. “You too, Wonwoo. I'll feel very sorry if that indeed happens to you, seeing as you don't have an .”

Hansol exits the van with slight grogginess to his step, emitting a low groan that rumbles from deep within his chest when he's met with the sharp chilliness of October. His body jolts wide awake as the harsh night air pierces under his thin shirt and causes countless goose bumps to pop up on his skin. He already can't wait to be inside.

The members emerge from inside the cars one by one, some dragging their feet, some moving sporadically in place to fend from the cold — each with his own ritual. Soonyoung, for example, is currently jumping up and down like a hyperactive bunny and furiously rubbing his hands together. “Yo! Big bad wolf!” he shouts the moment he sees that all the passengers of van number two (the car Hansol rode in) have successfully evacuated their vehicle.

Soonyoung jogs over to their little group and wastes no time in wrapping his arm around Hansol's shoulders, lurching forward, and almost sending the both of them face-planting into the frost-covered ground.

“I must say, you were incredibly y today, you should dress up as a furry more often!”

“Funny, I’d say the same thing about you,” Wonwoo says, and tugs Soonyoung into a firm headlock. “For once, I’m too fixed on your clothes to pay any attention to your face, and if you ask me — and you do — that’s a great service to mankind, right there.”

“You’re gonna regret this, Jeon Wonwoo, hereby I swear!”

“Ooh, what are you going to do? Throw your SHINee lightstick at me?”

Wonwoo loosens his chokehold on Soonyoung, creating a breach in his defence that allows for the victim to take a shot at hitting him, but then Soonyoung’s eyes follow Wonwoo’s to a spot behind Hansol, and he abandons the idea almost instantly. They exchange knowing looks, lips quirked up in identical smirks, then Wonwoo nudges Soonyoung forward with his elbow.

“Have fun, kids.” Soonyoung swipes the band of wolf ears from Hansol’s grasp and places it on top of his head, sleeking back any unruly hair strands. “Don’t do anything too wild, though.”

Kids? Hansol is a second away from asking what he means by that, but then he feels something pull at the hem of his shirt, and Wonwoo and Soonyoung slip through the front doors of the apartment complex before he can voice his wish to join them. He reluctantly turns around, sudden waves of nausea at the sides of his stomach as a sickeningly sweet scent fills up his nostrils.

“Don't go just yet, stay with me,” Seungkwan says when Hansol gathers enough courage to look at him. Once he does, though, he can't look away.

“Okay…”

~

Seungkwan leads Hansol through a dark passageway near the side of the building, careful as to not get caught by anyone. Then after making sure none of the managers have followed them, they take a familiar path down a few short streets to a modest-sized playground surrounded by a circle of lamps, and flop down on a creaking bench that sits near the muddy sandbox. A stray cat sticks its head out from a nearby bush, and Seungkwan calls for it, patting his lap invitingly and making soft kissy noises. The stray sniffs the air suspiciously as it pads toward Seungkwan with calculated steps, but eventually dims him decent enough, and jumps into his arms.  

“So you’re going to be like that, huh?” Seungkwan pouts and cradles his left hand once the cat scratches him and vaults back to the bushes due to an unsatisfactory ear-rub.

“So... what is it?” Hansol finally asks. Seungkwan snaps his head in his direction, and studies him for a long ten seconds, eyebrows raised.

“What did you wanna talk about that was so important?” Hansol clarifies in a dry tone, much like the insides of his mouth.

“Nothing, I— ”Seungkwan grips his knees tightly and presses them together, huge eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “Isn't the weather nice?”

Seungkwan absolutely hates the cold. He always steals the blankets over to his side of the bed during the night. And by always, it truly does mean always. Winter, summer, Hansol’s birthday — there are no exceptions.

“It's good to breathe some fresh air once in a while.” Seungkwan sniffles, making it almost impossible for Hansol not to take notice of the rosy patches magnificently blooming all over the bare expense of his skin.

The slight shakiness of his thighs which seems to worsen with every passing second, his exposed arms hugging the sides of his torso; everything about how he looks at the moment gives the impression that he’s just a second away from curling into himself, eventually becoming a tiny ball of scarlet cloth and tawny, tremulous limbs.

Hansol is suddenly very fascinated by the grass that grows between the cracks of the pavement beneath his frigid feet. If only he had taken his coat with him when he still had the chance… he wishes he could bring himself to close the gap between the two of them and generate some warmth back to Seungkwan's body.

Hansol's hand starts moving laggardly across the bench, fingers gingerly parting to accommodate something else between them: a familiar, comforting hotness. A second later, Seungkwan pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders, and Hansol's arm immediately returns, erroneously stiff, to his side.

“Nice outfit, by the way.” Seungkwan smirks and his shiny, red nose scrunches up in amusement.

“Yeah, you too,” Hansol coughs up into his numbed palm, feeling the telltales of a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I mean, your outfit — it really suits you,” he adds quickly, unsure as to why. “Not that you yourself don't look nice, because you do. You look great! Seriously great.”

That's it, Hansol can just go and throw himself off the nearest bridge. He glances at Seungkwan anxiously from the corners of his eyes, ready for the appalled scowl that would surely make its way to the other's face. Though, of course, it doesn’t come. Seungkwan never shows real signs of deprecation with him.

Meanwhile, between Hansol’s spontaneous confession and him being lost in his own head, Seungkwan bites his lower lip and covers his mouth with a quivering hand, and then, something marvelous happens. His face suddenly brightens up. Beautifully, as if God himself chose to hang little stars in his eyes.

Hansol's breath catches in his throat when Seungkwan breaks into uncontrollable laughter, and slides across the bench to give his arm an affectionate shove.

“C'mon, walk with me,” the older boy manages to say between snorts. “I feel like my toes are going to fall off if I don't move soon.”

~

They stroll along a dimly-lit street, Hansol's feet falling into a fixed pace a few short steps behind Seungkwan's. The wind picks up and the treetops swish violently above their heads when they pass by, causing Hansol's teeth to stutter. His chapped lips, which so far have given his mouth a nice pink frame, slowly transform into an unsightly shade of blue (a picture that perfectly exemplifies his growing risk of hypothermia).

The bushes kissing the sidewalk of which the two of them find themselves wandering onto rustle uproariously, and dry leaves fly everywhere, sticking to light posts and walls of dark brick buildings that are bunched together in a seemingly ever-lasting slope along the sides of the road. But even then, with the roaring wind in his ears, the sound of speeding cars zooming past in the distant fast-lane, and the crisp jingle of autumn fallout clamping around his body from all directions, Hansol can still hear Seungkwan's rambling loud and clear. Just as if he were walking right beside him.

Sometimes, Hansol can't help but cancel everything else around him and tune in to Seungkwan's voice. It’s an old habit he hasn’t quite grown out of yet, he presumes.

With each languid step they take up the slope, more excited descriptions spill out into the night air, turning into swirly trails of white smoke as soon as they come in contact with the outside world. Hansol feels as though his ribs are going to shatter at any moment if he doesn't do something about the vicious hammering of his heart. His eyes, which up until now have been ardently planted at his shoes, come to lay on Seungkwan's form. Once they do, though, he can't prevent himself from staring.

Somehow, Hansol has managed to forget about what Seungkwan is wearing. But now — oh, now — he's completely positive he could never erase the memory of the divine image he's seeing right before him.

And what a wonderful sight Seungkwan is, with his dangerously short, form-fitting slacks (which do an amazing job in highlighting every single one of his curves and muscles in the most delightful way imaginable). The white socks he's got on are a great contrast to his soft caramel thighs and the fact that they end just a little below the knees, makes Hansol itchy in a very immoral sense of the word. He feels like a huge bastard for thinking about how absolutely delectable Seungkwan's legs look when it's so cold outside and he's most likely freezing his off dressed in such scanty clothing.

Hansol doesn't dwell on this thought for too long, though, because the daunting guilt that squeezes its way to make a nest in his stomach is quickly replaced by something else: a blunt, cold sensation that swats him square in the face, knocking his entire body backwards, and turning his vision red with something that is — unfortunately — entirely different from Seungkwan's outrageously tight booty-shorts. He's almost sure he's bleeding. No, scratch that — he is bleeding. Not a whole lot, but the fact that there's indeed blood coming out of his body is enough to warrant a small amount of concern.

. Hansol rubs the newly throbbing spot that sits just between his knitted eyebrows. He should really stop doing this to his forehead...

“Oh my god, are you okay?” a panicked voice calls beyond the thin layer of haziness that clogs Hansol's brain.

“Y-Yeah, I was just… distracted…” He slowly stands up from where his has just landed onto the ground, trying to make the fogginess in his head go away by blinking and pressing light circles into his temples.

Before he can even begin to register anything, the first definitive thing Hansol knows is that Seungkwan's surprisingly warm hands are on him, caressing every inch of his face with frantic motions, bordering on the line of madness.

Hansol winces when gentle fingers move up his face to trace the outline of his bruise.

“Daydreaming again?” Seungkwan sighs, eyebrows furrowing deeply atop rapidly shifting eyes. “Tch, you're always tripping over your own feet! I'm surprised you aren't dead in a ditch somewhere by now.” His tone is that of a parent scolding their disobedient child, his hands the same careful touch which goal is to sooth and calm rather than reprimand. This correlation doesn't do too brilliantly in helping Hansol's condition. In fact, the pounding of his head only seems to be amplified ten times fold when Seungkwan continues on with his little rant;

“Seriously, you're so clumsy, I dread to imagine how you would end up without me and the other guys by your side.”

A new rush of pain suddenly surges through Hansol, but not the physical kind. It's a type of an uncannily familiar burn which simultaneously feels completely different from what he's ever felt before. Definitely one of the worst kinds of pain he has ever had the chance of experiencing.

Dammit, is all Hansol can think at the moment. More than the dull ache that's continuously seeping into his face, and more than the sharp sting eating away at his scraped knees, the soreness of his heart is what hurts him the most. And it's not just his heart. Hansol's entire chest clenches frighteningly; with enough force that makes him entirely certain his bones would ultimately fracture.

It hurts really badly. It hurts extremely badly, and he needs to put an end to this torturous feeling right this instance, before he implodes!

“Stop.” Hansol lays a cold hand on top of Seungkwan's hot one, steadily removing it from where it's been sketching small feathery shapes on his cheek. The older's eyes turn round and glossy, and he sniffs, his whole face colored in an unnatural shade of pink. “Why? Does it hurt that badly? It doesn't look so severe. Should I call someone? Should we go back to th—”

“Stop babying me.” Hansol presses his lips into a harsh line, the skin around his knuckles stretching taut as he clenches his hands into fists by his sides.

Seungkwan clicks his mouth shut. “What do you mean?” he asks stiffly after a moment, and Hansol curses under his breath, because he can't believe what he's hearing.

How can he not know what he means?!

“Stop treating me like a helpless child or a cute little puppy, I'm not.” Hansol finds himself biting back screams as he plants his heels into the ground, his whole body winding up in frustration. Right then, when he thinks that that's it, there's no turning back, he has finally said what he had wanted to say for so long, and now the other boy would have to hear him out, would have to give him something — anything — he could work out a sensible answer from, just then, Seungkwan chuckles. Out of all things, he chooses to chuckle.

He has the nerve to ing chuckle. 

“Could've fooled me.” Long, delicate fingers rake through Hansol’s mussed-up hair to an ink-colored band of furry ears. He desperately wants to object and move away from the overly gentle touch, but some of the fury he's felt just a few seconds before curiously dimms out, and he loses the power to act upon it.

In that moment, Chwe Hansol despises the fact that the sound of Boo Seungkwan's laughter can make him so damn weak.

“Those are wolf ears! C'mon, that's obvious — you're little red riding hood!” Hansol sputters after regaining some of his prickling sense of irritation, due to Seungkwan’s touch no longer being on him. “Well, some version of little red riding hood…” His cheeks heat up under his eyelashes, and he averts his gaze back at his shoes all-too-quickly.

“Excuse you? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I'm trying really hard not to stare but you've been walking in front of me in those shorts for the last five minutes, and I almost lost consciousness banging my head on that light post just now and it definitely wasn't because I forgot to tie my ing shoelaces — not this time!”

Now Hansol has officially done it. He just went and self-handedly dug himself a hole as deep as the ocean floor, and then proceeded to shoot himself in both legs; so even if he did manage to find some way out by some miraculous, wild chance, there was no way he'd ever be in the right physical condition to attempt an escape.

“I can't believe it, you weren't listening to anything I've just said!”

“Wait, what?” Hansol blinks. “Of course I was.”

“Yeah? What was I talking about then?”

“Oh, that?” Hansol scratches the back of his head. “I— you were telling me that really funny joke Seokmin-hyung made earlier. Yeah… yeah. I'm right, right?”

“Gosh, you're unbelievable,” Seungkwan says, rolling his eyes. “But then again,” he makes a pause in his speech to heave a meaningful sigh, “I guess I shouldn't expect too much from someone who has the attention span of a five-year-old”.

Oh, no. Hansol’s had enough of that .

He’s had enough of Seungkwan always making it out to be like he’s some mentally-challenged toddler!

“Stop saying these stuff!” Hansol growls, and Seungkwan stumbles backwards when he proceeds to hotly lean into him, jaw set, eyes blazing. “I'm a man now, not the little kid I was four years ago! Why can't you see that, Seungkwan? I don't need your protection!”

“Hansolie, please, you’re scaring me,” Seungkwan whispers, his now-timid eyes cast down at his trembling hands.

“What? How am I scary?” Hansol laughs out maniacally, clenched fists moving up from his sides to grip Seungkwan’s shoulders. “Does the truth scare you, Seungkwan? Reality is too hard for you to handle? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to repeat it how many damn times’ necessary for you to get it through your thick little head!” With every snarled out word, Hansol pushes Seungkwam further backwards — hold tight enough to turn his knuckles an extremely angry white — until the smaller’s back meets the light post he’s knocked his head on not too long before.

“Let me say it again: I'm an adult — a man — so you should start treating me like one!"

“You think I don't already know that, you ing idiot!?” Seungkwan screams, and shoves Hansol’s chest off with both of his open palms, and this time, Hansol’s the one who ends up stumbling and falling onto the ground, the momentum causing his big bad wolf ears to fly off his head and land at his feet with a crackle.

“You think I'm blind!? Or maybe dumb?! You think I wouldn't notice that you don't look at me in the eyes anymore?! That you rather play games on your phone on your free time than talk like we used to?! That you don't sleep with me in the same bed, and don't let me touch you?!” Seungkwan struggles to balance himself, knees nearly buckling beneath the weight of his wavering body, breath coming out rapid and shallow, and voice progressively changing from loud and heated to small and frail, “You think I can't tell that you’ve been trying to avoid me for a very long time now? Give me a ing break, Hansol, these past few days I haven't even heard one measly 'good morning' from you. You don't need me, I embarrass you — this is what you want to say, don't you?!”

Immediately after the accusations leave him, Seungkwan shakes his head furiously, and toys with the ring on his right hand as if to smother his bubbling emotion, a good many pants slipping through his gaping mouth in the meanwhile. He looks down at Hansol, smiling at him wryly, his eyes glistening, full to the brim with something that the younger can only describe as pity.

“I know you’ve matured, I know you’re not an insecure child who needs my constant support anymore. I know you much prefer hanging out with other people now that you’ve finally grown into yourself and started realizing that you’re in fact a valuable, kind human being with compelling thoughts, and that you look damn good and anyone with a right mind would want you as their friend.” Seungkwan stops to sigh for the umpteenth time in the span of ten minutes. “It’s good to make friends, Hansol-ah I’m glad you’re breaking out of your comfort zone, I mean,” he laughs curtly, the humor never once reaching his pity-filled eyes, “You used to be so shy and just look at you now, you flirt with practically anyone and anything that bumps into you on the street. I just wish for when you decide to broaden your social circle, you’d know that you don’t necessarily have to neglect your original frien—”

“Do you listen to the things you say sometimes, or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?” Hansol bites out bitterly before Seungkwan can finish his sentence. “I flirt with everyone that bumps into me?” He pulls himself up from the cold pavement, stomping his feet once he straightens his body fully, the veins on his neck pronounced now more than ever.

“Should I remind you, out of the entire group — all thirteen ing members of us — you’re the one who gets the most variety guest invitations and gig offers? You’re the one who has more than three hundred contacts on their phone — more than half of them which are girls! You’re the one who goes out every other day to meet some random ing douchebag I don’t even know the ing name of! I’m not the only one who’s changed, Seungkwan!” Hansol cries out in a broken tone. By this point, two of his hands are threading exasperatedly through his hair, the words his lips produce composed of barks and howls, rather than consonants and vowels. “Since our debut, it feels like I barely ever get to see you. Could you really blame me if I eventually got sick of it all?! If anything, it’s all yourfault!”

To say Hansol regrets ever being born would be a huge ing understatement, because just as he lets those last words out, he swears he can see something shatter behind Seungkwan’s eyes.

“You know what?” Seungkwan says eerily calm after a gravely long silence, and directs a blank stare straight at Hansol’s wide-blown eyes. “You want me to stop babying you? You're a ‘man’ now? You want freedom? Then this relationship is entirely professional from now on. Don't come near me when there aren't cameras around, and I'll be sure to do my ing damnedest not to bother you either!”

“Seungkwa-” Hansol desperately flounders forward when the other begins determinately walking away from him, outstretched hand briskly grabbing at his upper arm. But Seungkwan immediately jerks it out of Hansol’s reach, causing his blood-red cloak to rip with an insufferably audible sound, and slide off his trembling shoulders.

“Don't touch me!” he yells, thick icy fog pouring out of his mouth and shrouding his face, erasing every last one of his features — from his pale, quivering lips to his squinting, shiny eyes. “Don’t you dare touching me ever again! I’m done with you, Chwe Hansol! I’m done!” He tears down the street and out of sight in a matter of seconds, and all Hansol is left with is his bleeding costume suspended from one limp hand as it flaps uncontrollably in the penetrating, thunderous wind.

, he’s so ing stupid