A/N: Bit of crack, bit of angst. Warning: Mentions of suicide, some derogatory terms related to homouality... Hope you enjoy, tho. 's getting real

 c h a p t e r  f i v e ; 

“Isn’t this enough? Isn’t what we have enough? Why are you making life so difficult for me?”

Donghae almost threw his phone at the wall. He never knew how troublesome it’d be making pancakes, well, from scratch, of course. He looked at his basket and frowned. So far, he’d gotten a stick of butter, all-purpose flour (which he found dumb, because why couldn’t flour in general be used for everything? All-purpose, self-raising… how ‘bout go--yourself flour), a carton of eggs, milk and a tiny bottle of vanilla extract… Do I even need this ? Damnit, Donghae, why didn’t you rummage the stupid kitchen before coming here? Idiot. He stared at all the little white bottles lining the shelves in front of him. What the is baking powder? Why do I need powder to bake? I’m not even baking! I’m frying pancakes, for ’s sake! Maybe making pancakes from scratch wasn’t such a good idea. He scrolled through his phone and sighed.

Clearly, he wasn’t a morning person.

“Okay, y’know what? Screw this,” he grumbled, returning everything but the eggs, butter and milk to their places in the supermarket. He walked over to the end of the shelves and picked a box off it. “In Betty Crocker, we trust.”

While checking out, he snuck a quick glance at his phone—7:38 AM. Perfect.

Sure, he wasn’t a morning person, but for his blond friend, he endured the scorching heat nibbling at his skin, the light blinding his eyes and the smell of burnt tarmac under the wheels of cars and lorries and what not. Living mere blocks away from the supermarket was both a blessing and a curse because, one, it was very, very convenient but two, it meant walking on foot with heavy grocery bags hanging from his fingertips. He wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t 7 ing 38 AM.

Donghae spun around as he squeezed past the gap of the front door, filling the quiet house with the sounds of plastic bags rustling in his hands and clumsy footsteps padding across the parquet floor. He placed his groceries on the dining table, craning his neck to peep at his best friend’s door; a stupid move, really—it’s not like he’d be able to see whether or not Hyukjae was awake by staring at a closed door. Placing all the items he’d bought on the white surface, he picked up a box of pancake mix and flipped it, scanning the instructions printed onto its back. He frowned.

“Okay, I have the Bisquick mix, so all I need is one cup of milk and two eggs. Great, but… which cup do I use? We don’t have standard-sized cups. How am I supposed to know how much is too much? Tall cup? Short cup? Fat cup? Small—oh god, why did I decide to do this? I’m defeated by cups, and I’m not even anywhere near frying the damn pancakes. The things I do for Hyukjae. ing cups—”

“The measuring cup, you idiot.”

“Jesus Christ!”

Donghae stumbled, dropping the box onto the floor as he grappled for the edge of the counter for leverage. He shut his eyes, soothing himself with the cushion of his palm, rubbing it in circles against his chest. He slowed his breathing, opening his eyes only to see the blond leaning against the dining table, chewing obnoxiously.

“Don’t scare me like that, good god.”

Hyukjae chuckled, munching on a saltine cracker pinched between his fingers. “Good morning to you too, Hae.”

“Why are you up so early? Damnit. I was trying to surprise you.”

“With what? The inability to pick a cup for your milk? I am surprised, Hae, so you succeeded. Good job.”

Donghae bent over, picking up the box as his eyes did a three-sixty cartwheel. “Shut up. It’s too early for your sarcasm. You didn’t answer my question. Why are you up so early?”

Hyukjae crumpled the cracker wrapper and tossed it into the bin, dusting his hands. He walked over to the dining table, pulling out a chair.

“I didn’t plan to be up this early,” he explained, shifting in his seat, “but my phone couldn’t stop buzzing.”

“You could’ve just silenced it.” Donghae said, pointing out the obvious as if the blond was the most daft person in the world. “It’s not that hard. There’s a Do Not Disturb mode for a reason.”

“If only there was a Do Not Disturb mode in real life,” Hyukjae deadpanned. “The phone wasn’t the only reason I woke up. I swear to god, Donghae, the ruckus you made as you left the house woke me up thinking it was World War 3.”

Donghae snickered, reaching for a carton of milk in the fridge. “You always exaggerate things.” He placed it on the countertop alongside the box of pancake mix and eggs before reaching up to rummage through the kitchen cupboards for a—what’s it called—measuring cup? Yeah, that. Donghae had no idea what a measuring cup looked like, but hey, it was pretty straightforward, wasn’t it? Just look for a stupid cup that has numbers on it, Donghae. It’s not that hard, he said to himself as he tiptoed, feet on the risk of cramping.

“You’re looking in the wrong cupboard, Donghae.” Hyukjae said, clicking his tongue. “I put baking items in the second cupboard to the left. You should know this by now.” He got up, walking over to the counter with an irritated look scratched into his pale skin. He bumped Donghae out of the way with his hip, reaching up to pick up a transparent cup before handing it to his best friend. “There. Did you a favour.”

“Why do you always like to make me feel so stupid…” Donghae mumbled, sulking as he snatched the cup and placed it on the counter. He snapped the milk carton open with his thumb and began pouring milk into it. “Why does everyone like to make me feel so stupid…”

“I—Hae,” Hyukjae sighed, reaching around him for a mixing bowl. He knew that if he didn’t immediately salvage the situation, his innocent little man-child of a friend would take things to heart and spend the next few hours cooped up in his room on the verge of tears… the ultimate scenario that he did not want to have to deal with. “You’re not stupid. You’re just really, really child-like and I can’t help keeping a watchful eye on you. That’s it. You’re my best friend, I’ve known you for two decades...yada yada… but I just want to be sure you’re safe.”

“I’m making pancakes, Hyukjae, not detonating a bomb!” Donghae whined, staring at the measuring cup. He had no idea if he’d filled it with enough milk. Does one cup mean… filling the measuring cup to the brim? Is that it? I mean, this is one measuring cup, which is equivalent to ‘one cup’, no? Oh my god, Donghae, maybe you really are stupid. “I can do it myself, and anyway, this was supposed to be a surprise! You’re so patronising.”

Hyukjae grabbed his best friend’s wrist, stopping him in time before the milk overflowed. “I’m not patronising, Donghae. I’m taking care of you. And our kitchen. And house. I don’t want to live in a cardboard box by the street.”

Donghae folded his arms, moving aside with one of his distinct, Donghae-esque pouts protruding out his relatively handsome face. “See? You’re being mean again. I give up. You make the pancakes since I’m too stupid to do so.” He huffed, making sure his hmph was loud enough to trigger guilt in his best friend’s conscience but, as always, Hyukjae took it as a little joke. Donghae was petty, very petty, but the blond never felt threatened when he threw one of his infamous tantrums. He’d never admit it but he found childish Donghae very… adorable.

He laughed softly, slipping his hands underneath his best friend’s arms to untangle them, tugging on his hand to beckon him forward. “We’ll do it together, okay? It’s really simple, since you’re using an instant mix. Read the label for me.”

Donghae picked up the yellow box and pressed his hip against the edge of the counter, resting his cheek on one hand and holding the box with his other. His eyes scanned the little prints on the back of the box, brows knitted as he read each word.

“Number one, grease or spray griddle or skillet. Heat over medium-high heat or electric griddle to 375°F. Surface is ready when a few drops of water sprinkled on it dance and disappear… What does that even mean? The is a skillet? Griddle? Surface is ready when a few drops of water dance? Why do I need the water to dance? This isn’t a recital! What is—”

“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d kiss you to shut you the up, I swear.” Hyukjae said nonchalantly, pulling a drawer open to retrieve a wooden spoon, barely paying any mind to the gaping mouth of his child-like friend. He leaned against the counter and waited for Donghae to quit whining which, thankfully, happened within a matter of seconds. “I need the packet. Open the box.”

Donghae rolled his eyes, mimicking his best friend’s words silently as if to mock him. He tore the box open and pulled the packet out, staring at its silver packaging as if it was the first time he’d ever seen plastic. He looked up, cracking into a playful smirk as Hyukjae stared back at him expectantly with a palm held out.

“Give it to me, Hae.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Donghae challenged childishly.

Hyukjae rubbed his face, exasperated. “Don’t kill him, Hyukjae, he’s your best friend. Don’t kill him, Hyukjae, he’s your best friend. Don’t—”

“If you want it, come and get it, na na na na!” Donghae singsonged. He ran behind the dining table, shaking the bag in mid-air to taunt his best friend. “C’mon, what are you waiting for?”

Hyukjae gritted his teeth. As childish as Donghae was, he was honestly no better. That was essentially the basis of their friendship after all—the childishness, the playfulness, the never-ending banter only made for two. Neither of them could hide their childishness from the world, really; especially Hyukjae. Beneath his cool, cold exterior was an absolute kid, the same kid that used to frolic on a beach in Seoul with his best friend, the same best friend that was taunting him playfully with a bag of pancake mix right now.

“You’re going to regret this,” he growled, lunging at the dining table with his arms out to claw at Donghae.

Donghae dodged quickly, moving in opposite directions as Hyukjae darted left to right. He credited the martial arts classes he once took for his agility.

“Give it to me, you brat!” Hyukjae yelled, chasing after his best friend in the living room. They circled the coffee table several times, laughing away like the world meant nothing to them; like the only ones in the universe were them. All glee wore away when Hyukjae decided to climb onto the coffee table, pouncing on Donghae like a cheetah lunging at its prey. They fell onto the sofa, bodies pressed together as the packet of flour burst in between them, covering their faces in sweet, powdery soot. They giggled like children, grinning stupidly at each other as they blew flour off their noses. Donghae tried to push his best friend off him but the blond had him pinned down, melting into the leather as one. Well, kinda. More like being squashed together in a big, useless pile of breakfast dust.

“Get off me, Hyukjae, my bones are cracking!” Donghae whined, struggling to push his best friend’s limbs off the sofa.

“Of course your bones are cracking, you fossil.”

“You’re literally two years older than I am, you dickhead!”

Hyukjae smirked, blowing air, morning breath air, in Donghae’s face, chuckling amusedly as the latter grimaced and wriggled about underneath him.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had just given me the damn packet, Lee Donghae.”

“Oh shut up! I was just trying to lift the mood, okay? Now look what happened! I wanted pancakes!”

“Well, too bad, wisecrack! We don’t have pancake mix and I sure as hell am not going to make some from scratch at half past eight in the morning. We’re having scrambled eggs.”

Donghae groaned. “But I want pan—”

“Scrambled. Eggs.”

Sulking, Donghae squirmed about in a sorry bid to escape his best friend’s clutches, but Hyukjae didn’t move an inch. He kicked his legs about, only to have Hyukjae press his limbs against his, immobilising him completely. Hyukjae stared at him, completely gratified and entertained.

“Fine, so get off me! ‘Cause I swear, if you don’t get off me right this instance, I’ll spit in your face!”

“As if you would.”

“Try me, Lee Hyukjae!”

But he didn’t, of course, because hygiene, that’s why. I’m not disgusting. He considered his options, flipping through the files in his mind for a solution—something that would compel the blond to get the off him. His weakness… what was his weakness?

Bingo.

Donghae dug his fingers into his best friend’s sides, tickling the latter to death. Hyukjae convulsed on top of him, eyes crinkling as he laughed his balls off. He clawed the sofa for balance, writhing about as Donghae tickled every part within his reach; the man’s sides, ribs, neck, thighs and the likes of it. He played him like a flute.

“Stop, Donghae, stop! Okay, I give, I give!” Hyukjae screamed in between hearty laughs, but contrary to what he said, he didn’t move, pressed against Donghae’s body even harder than before. Donghae shook his shoulders as his fingers trailed up the blond’s back, digging into and scratching his shirt.

“If you don’t get off me, I’m going to continue torturing—”

Choking on his words, Donghae yelped as the pair fell off the sofa with a loud thud, groaning in pain. Donghae straddled his blond friend now, heaving like he’d run a marathon. And maybe he did run a marathon, if running a marathon involved dashing about in the living room with a bag of floor only to work his fingers into his best friend’s body to escape him. Wait, what?

Hyukjae grabbed his head, grimacing at the impact of it hitting the floor.

“Are you okay?” Donghae asked, slightly concerned. He reached out, the back of Hyukjae’s head gently as the nimble fingers of his free hand massaged the man’s temples. “I’m sorry, Hyukjae, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just—my head, good god!” Hyukjae wailed, gnashing his teeth. “Just get off me, Hae, please. My head is about to explode!”

“I will, Hyukjae, just—oh?” Donghae gasped, tilting his head with a grin on his face. “Morning wood?”

“LEE DONGHAE!”

The fragrance of fried eggs filled the air within the next twenty minutes. Donghae continued sweeping up the remnants of their little powder bath from earlier, closing his eyes as he smiled, taking a huge whiff of the product of his best friend’s genius culinary skills. Sure, he was just frying eggs, but so what? Donghae didn’t know how to fry eggs, so anything Hyukjae cooked felt like a five-star meal to him. Yeah, yeah, call him a simpleton. It didn’t matter to him, not when it was him who got to live with his best friend and eat up whatever Hyukjae put out. Siwon didn’t have that privilege, did he? Donghae two, Siwon zero.

Donghae stuck out a finger and pressed it against a little clump of pancake mix under the sofa, sniffing it. He blinked his eyes several times, contemplating whether or not to it. He raised his finger, pressing it against his pink lips when—

“Do not put that thing into your mouth, Lee Donghae!” Hyukjae yelled as he yanked his best friend’s wrist away from his face. He huffed, staring at him like he was disciplining a pet dog. He might as well have been.  “Hae. Can you just—can you just please—just for once, not give me a headache?”

“What?” Donghae said, frowning as he tried to bring his finger to his lips again, resisting Hyukjae’s grasp. “It’s pancake mix! I’m just curious how it tastes!”

“...that’s been under the sofa, Donghae! You’re being gross!” Hyukjae cried out, tightening his grip on Donghae’s wrist. Donghae glared at him, trying his best to look intimidating which, as always, didn’t work. “Here, if you're curious, you can the mix off my nose. Go on. Do it.”

“That’s disgusting, Hyukjae! I’m not a dog!”

“Well, you sure are acting like one!”

Donghae slackened his shoulders, ripping his arm out of Hyukjae’s hold before dusting his hands. He sat down on the floor, legs crossed, folding his arms like a five-year-old at a playpen who’d been denied the privilege of playing in the sandbox.

“What? What now?” Hyukjae asked, joining his best friend on the floor. “Say it. Throw your tantrum. I’m ready.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” Donghae exclaimed, harrumphing. “I just hate how you manhandle me all the time.”

Hyukjae sighed, closing his eyes as he counted to five, calming himself.

“I’m not manhandling you, Hae. I’m just—”

“Taking care of me? Making sure I’m safe?” Donghae interrupted, side-eyeing the blond. Hyukjae rubbed his face, massaging his temples as the biggest headache he’d ever had sat staring right at him. He clenched his jaw, breathing deeply as he churned out the following words very, very carefully.

“Yes, Hae. I’m taking care of you and making sure you’re safe because I find you on the verge of getting yourself into trouble very often, and as your best friend, I don’t want anything bad happening to you, okay? I would die knowing something bad happened to you. I will not let anything bad happen to my best friend of twenty years, because twenty years is a long time and I care about you too much to lose you over something stu—something dangerous, and that includes flour off your finger.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not, Hae. I mean it. I just don’t want you getting hurt, or y’know, having a tummy ache or whatever.” Hyukjae deadpanned, forcing his facial muscles to keep in place. Must. Not. Laugh. “Now, won’t you be a sweetheart and go to the kitchen to have breakfast? I’ll clean up here.”

Donghae glared daggers at the blond—okay, maybe not glared, more like stared at him wide-eyed—fine, maybe not daggers either, child-safe scissors more like it—getting onto his feet. He limped towards the kitchen, mumbling petty remarks under his breath as he made himself comfortable at the dining table. Hyukjae swept the flour onto a small dustpan, mentally reminding himself to vacuum the house later. He got up and cleared the pan before washing his hands, hurrying himself so he could join the man-child at the table. Donghae rested his head against his forearm on the table, playing with his fingers as he waited for his best friend to settle down. Grabbing two glasses and a carton of cold orange juice, Hyukjae twirled, kicking the fridge door shut as he sat down. He poured them some juice and set the carton aside, handing Donghae his utensils. Donghae avoided eye contact, placing his utensils on the placemat as he continued playing with his fingers, disappointed with what was on the plate in front of him.

“What is it, Lee Donghae? What now?” Hyukjae asked, mildly peeved. Donghae straightened up, sighing as he picked up his fork and knife.

“I wanted scrambled eggs. You said we’d have scrambled eggs.”

“I—didn’t you say you wanted pancakes earlier?! Then I said we’re having scrambled eggs but you didn’t want scrambled eggs and now that I’ve made something other than scrambled eggs, you want scrambled—” Hyukjae ruffled his hair, completely miffed. “You’re impossible, Lee Donghae! Impossible!”

“Fine!” Donghae exclaimed, stabbing his knife into his omelette. “I’ll eat the stupid omelette, you bully!”

Hyukjae dropped his face into his palms, screaming into them. “How in the hell am I a bully?! I feed you, clean up after you, make sure you shower and take you on walks, tolerate how hyper you get, maybe even—oh my god.”

“What?” Donghae asked, chewing loudly.

“You really are a dog.” Hyukjae concluded, doubling the size of his eyes. “I live with a dog. Doghae.”

“I’m not a dog!” Donghae screeched, slamming his fork on the table. “Stop calling me a dog!”

“Well, I wouldn’t call you a dog if you actually acted like a human! I am one dog poop away from giving you up for adoption!”

Donghae scowled, kicking his legs about as he whined… like a dog. A very whiny, overgrown dog.

“Then put me up for adoption! I’m sure someone else will love me! Someone who won’t bully me into eating an omelette when I specifically said I wanted pancakes!”

That was it. Hyukjae’s patience had worn thin. “You! Settled! On! Wanting! Something! That! Isn’t! Scrambled! Eggs! So shut up and eat the damn omelette or go get cereal out the cupboard, you ungrateful cretin! I don’t mind having two omelettes to chomp on! God!”

Donghae sulked. There it came, the infamous combination of quivering lips, glistening eyes and a reddening nose. He hung his head, shoulders shaking as little sobs echoed through the kitchen. Hyukjae heaved a sigh, getting off his chair to walk around the table. He patted his best friend’s head and pulled out the chair next to him, sitting down.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was mean. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” he said softly, holding Donghae’s hands in his. “Forgive me, okay? I’ll go make you scrambled eggs so you don’t starve.”

“I don’t want them anymore.” Donghae said blankly. “I’ll eat the omelette. I’m not ungrateful. I’m very grateful. My parents taught me to be grateful. I’m not going to fail them.”

“....right,” Hyukjae trailed off, a little weirded out by the man’s sudden confession. “I’ll… I’m just gonna… my omelette’s getting cold..”

“Hyukjae.”

“Yeah?”

Donghae swallowed, picking his utensils up again. He looked up at the blond, lips still quivering slightly as he spoke. “If I were a dog, what kind would I be?”

“What on earth…”

“Like, can I be a golden retriever?”

Hyukjae ran his fingers through his best friend’s hair, forcing himself to sound as invested in the conversation as he possibly could. He smiled gently even though all he really wanted to do was walk to the front door, grab a slipper and smack Donghae across his face with it.

“Why do you want to be a golden retriever, Hae?” He uttered through gritted teeth.

“Because, Hyukkie, I wanna retrieve gold.” Donghae said proudly, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes. He sniffled, scrunching his nose.

“Hae, golden retrievers don’t retrieve—”

“For you. I wanna retrieve gold for you.” Donghae beamed. “So we can sell it and buy a bigger house and a car and everything and—then you won’t need Siwon anymore.”

Hyukjae sighed. “So this is what it’s about. Hae, you’re really freaking precious and all, but quit it with the Siwon thing, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You’re—” he closed his eyes, exhaling, “—you’re my best friend.” Think it’s more likely you leave or kick me out of this house, no?

“Okay, Hyukkie. That’s all I needed to know,” Donghae grinned, digging into the rest of his omelette.

They ate in silence, interrupted by the occasional mmmmm from Donghae and sounds of metal scraping against china plates. Halfway through his omelette, Hyukjae’s phone began to ring.

“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, stepping out of the kitchen to pick up the call. Donghae could only watch curiously from the kitchen, munching on his eggs.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Hyukjae.”

“What do you want, Siwon?”

“I just—I just want to say I’m sorry, and I wanna meet you for dinner to clear things up. Please let me clear things up. I don’t know what happened, so I need you to tell me your side of the story. Please, Hyukjae?”

“How do I know you won’t… say the you said the other night again?”

“Trust me, Hyukjae, I have no idea what I said… I was drunk. Probably wasn’t thinking. So I really want to clear things up. I guess whatever I said must’ve hurt you really badly. I mean… you left without a trace and haven’t texted or answered my calls, so… dinner? Just… I don’t wanna lose our friendship over something that I did… something stupid, probably.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough. Oh, and Hyukjae? Do you have plans this afternoon?”

“Um, no. Why?”

“I’m taking part in a soccer tournament that’s happening this afternoon, so I was wondering… do you wanna come watch? If you agree to dinner then we can go right after, anyway.”

Hyukjae wasn’t sure what to say, to be honest. True, he didn’t have plans that afternoon, or for the rest of the day, really, but did he want to meet Siwon? Was there a point? Didn’t Siwon mess up really badly on Thursday night? Wasn’t that enough?

“Okay,” he said eventually. “What time and where?”

“I’ll text you the address, okay? I really hope you’ll be there.”

“We’ll see. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. See you later, Hyukjae.”

“Yup, bye.”

Hyukjae chewed on his lip, slipping the phone into his pocket as he walked back to the dining table. He passed by Donghae, ruffling his hair on the way to his seat. The latter was busy his fork clean, tilting his head, nosy.

“Who’s that?” He asked, placing the fork on the placemat.

“Who else, Hae?” Hyukjae said, clicking his tongue. “What do I do…”

“Oh, that guy huh. What did he say to you?

“He wants to meet me for dinner to… fix things. But before that…”

Donghae frowned. “... before that?”

Hyukjae reached out, grabbing his best friend’s hand. “Do you have plans today?”

“Um,” Donghae hummed, retracting his hand. “That depends… on what you’re about to say.”

The blond ran his fingers through his hair, staring past Donghae. “Siwon invited me to his soccer match today, and I don’t know if I should go. I mean, on the one hand, it’s convenient since… y’know… I’m meeting him for dinner, so I might as well meet him at the stadium so he can drive us wherever. On the other hand, I’m kinda scared.”

“Scared?” Donghae echoed. “What are you scared of?”

Hyukjae shrugged, playing with the napkin on the table. “I don’t know. I haven’t really… been outside alone very much, if you've noticed. Aside from that one day that I went to the mall to get a vase, I’ve been keeping to myself… apart from going to work. That doesn’t count. I was kinda wondering…”

“...wondering?”

“If you… if you could come along? I mean, you don’t have to, but y’know—”

“I’ll go, Hyukkie. Anything for you,” Donghae said sweetly, smiling as he stood up to put the dishes away. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have plans, and I don’t want you being out there on your own if you’re afraid of… you know.” He walked over to the sink, back turned to Hyukjae as he washed the dishes on his own accord—that’s the least he could do since Hyukjae was the one that cooked, right? Unbeknownst to the blond, Donghae was glowering as he scrubbed the dishes, worried. I don’t think you realise I want to protect you as much as you want to protect me. I want you to be safe too, Hyukjae.

Hyukjae his lips, bowing his head. He felt slightly ashamed. Why was he so afraid of being on his own outside? Did that matter really scare him so badly that he avoided being alone every chance he got? When did he become such a coward?

“Thank you, Hae.” He mumbled, checking his phone as soon as it buzzed. Who else? “He just texted me the address. We have to leave by four.”

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