Archive of Our Own

Jihoon doesn’t ask for much. Just a soundproof room, a full equipped studio, and a mini-fridge packed with Red Bull—medicinal enough to make him gag, but just what he needs to stay up ‘til dawn.

And most of all, he just wants some fucking privacy. That’s all he asks for.  

But the universe doesn’t grant him that because it likes to remind him that he's not special. He's just like every other university student of South Korea, forced to live up to the social expectations of drinking and mingling—just because. Too bad Jihoon doesn’t like people either.

So when Soonyoung—the one responsible for seating him amidst the idiocy to waste his precious time away—gives him a jab in the ribs painful enough to make him wince, Jihoon for a short second contemplates on knocking Soonyoung into the category of godamn… people.

“What,” Jihoon hisses harshly, yanking earphones out of his ears—and fuck, he tugs the cord quickly before one of them plops into his barely touched glass of beer. From the side, Soonyoung gives him one of those creepy looks where his mouth is stretched into a smile, but his eyes are trying to fry him from across the air. Not that it could scare anyone because his eyes are usually in slits, and really, it’s Kwon Soonyoung.

“C’mon, Ji.” Soonyoung flexes the corner of this mouth and whispers. “Lift your drink and clank the damn, fucking, thing.”

It’s only then that Jihoon realizes that the entire table’s looking at him expectantly, their eyes half lidded to match their dumb droopy grins.

“Long time no see, Lee,” Slurs Seo Eunwoo from the right end of the table. He attempts a smirk, his glazed eyes failing miserably at trying to mask his disapproval. “Fucking honour to have our top Composition major to join us tonight. Glad to be worthy of your precious time.”

Jihoon ignores him. Goddamn people. It gets even worse when they mesh with alcohol. He grabs his glass, lifts it to his mouth, and pretends to drink it by dipping his lips into the now lukewarm liquid. He almost spills it down the front of his shirt when Soonyoung bursts out laughing and starts slapping him in the back—and of course it’s something the redhead sitting a couple of seats down had said, again, for the hundredth time tonight. If Jihoon’s learned anything in the last couple of hours, it’s the fact that this first-year named Boo Seungkwan doesn’t shut up. Ever.

Soonyoung doesn’t even have the decency to grace him a glance when Jihoon excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

“Phone and wallet.” He outstretches his hand instead, continuing to stuff his mouth with chicken wings. It causes Jihoon to pause, knees bent awkwardly and ass hovering over his chair, before quickly sitting back down.

“What?” He whisper-shouts over the buzz of people—sweet mother of Jesus, people—talking and laughing, and Soonyoung looks at him with so much doubt that Jihoon might actually be offended if he cared enough. Soonyoung’s greasy hands are still beckoning him to hand over his phone.

“You won’t need them in there. Unless you’re planning on bailing, of course.”

Jihoon hates this, hates him, but he can’t afford to lose his only friend. So he shoves his hand inside his pocket, and snaps as viciously as he can before handing his belongings over.

“I wasn’t bailing, you fuck.”

“And I trust you, Ji.”

Jihoon makes a mental note to find a friend replacement ASAP, preferably someone who doesn’t know him so fucking well. He’s storming—he's not irritated, just a tiny bit miffed—making way for the wooden bathroom sign hanging on the ceiling, that he misses a patch of cherry red hair that rounds the corner. Someone smacks right into him, and Jihoon’s automatic cursing is cut short by a small yelp. The round face below a brush of red bangs is a familiar one, the plump, chubby cheeks being a notable helper. It’s Boo Seungkwan—the loud one.

Seungkwan’s frown smooths out instantly when he looks up to see who he’s crashed into.

“Jihoon sunbaenim!” He lights up with a smile, “I’m really glad you made it today. Sorry I crashed into you, I think I might be a bit tipsy but I’m fine, I really am.” He says reassuringly before Jihoon can even ask, and Jihoon thinks Seungkwan not only talks with his mouth, but with his hands, and with his facial muscles as well. “But are you okay? Here let me—”

Seungkwan rambles on, brushing off Jihoon’s shoulders, and Jihoon would gladly pass it off as a polite gesture if Seungkwan’s hands aren’t so wet and dripping with water.

“I’m fine.” Jihoon raises his arms to stop him, trying not to come off crabby. (“Be nice, there are going to be lots of hoobaes there.” Soonyoung had told him. “I am nice.” Jihoon had snapped back.) “Just, let me pass, will you?”

Seungkwan closes his mouth—possibly for the first time tonight—smiles, and glues himself to the wall so that Jihoon can pass by him into the narrow corridor that reaches the bathroom.

It’s merely five minutes later when Jihoon comes back out in a similar state, hands dripping wet, and grumbling under his breath. They’d run out of paper towels—of course. He stops in his tracks when he sees the back of Seungkwan’s head at the mouth of the corridor and suppresses the urge to sigh dramatically. For some fucking reason, this day’s just not letting him have anything easy. The kid’s standing in the exact spot where Jihoon had left him minutes ago, hidden behind the corner that allows the view of their table, but impossible the other way around. Opting to avoid all forms of socialization, Jihoon’s about to squeeze past the kid—hopefully it doesn’t get too awkward—when he hears it,

“Well still, I’m still surprised that Seungkwan’s gay.”

It roots Jihoon back to his spot.

“I can’t believe you can’t believe he’s gay.” It’s Seo Eunwoo retorting back, pouring himself another drink. “Everything he says and does screams faggot. It’s kind of sad actually—the kid’s hilarious, and I would’ve liked him if I didn’t know he liked sucking dick.”

Water drips down Seungkwan’s hands. He’s not moving, and Jihoon has nowhere to keep his eyes except the back of his small head. He’s not too sure whether he wants to see the expression Seungkwan is wearing, but one thing’s for sure. He’s probably not smiling anymore.

“I mean, yeah, sure it gets you curious and I’ve imagined him crying under my dick and begging for it, but at the end of the day? He’s still a dude with a penis. I get the chills just thinking about it.”

“Please tell me that’s not why you sat back down when Seungkwan got up to go to the bathroom.”

“Hey, I have a right to protect myself. What if the fag sees my dick and decides that he likes it?”

Maybe Seungkwan was loud but at least he was funny. Seo Eunwoo never knew when to shut up. He started snickering, throwing a few fries at the guy sitting across from him.

“Fuck, I lost my appetite. It’s so fucking gross.”

He's been told by Soonyoung numerous times before, but Jihoon is impulsive. Rather than going back to his seat next to Soonyoung, he stops before Seo Eunwoo’s end of the table and blatantly cuts through them to reach for the cheap metallic napkin holder. He plucks one out, then several more, just for good measure.

“First off, Seo Eunwoo, you are one hell of a jackass and that’s never going to change.”

That shuts him off. Seo Eunwoo’s jaws clamp together tightly as if to grate off his own teeth, but Jihoon continues anyways.

“Second, unless you’re fucked up with a desire to drill every single vagina in this pub, being gay is the same as being straight which means they don’t want to suck your sad wanker of a dick just because it dangles between your legs.” Jihoon wipes his hands dry. Soonyoung peers over curiously in his peripherals, and Jihoon curls his lips into a slight smile so that his friend thinks that he’s mingling. “Boo Seungkwan also has eyes, a brain, and a type that ain’t a fucking dipshit like you moron.”

Jihoon keeps his voice flat. “Now, for the sake of our school’s reputation, can you assholes all shut up?” He crumples the wet napkins and slips them in Seo Eunwoo’s hands, giving him a final tap on the shoulder.

“We’re eating here, and it’s fucking gross.”

When Jihoon looks up, Soonyoung’s way too occupied by whatever the next basket of chicken wing flavours are to keep an eye on him. And honestly, there were so many people in this crowded, noisy place.

So Jihoon bails.

-

It doesn’t occur to him that Soonyoung still has his phone and wallet until Jihoon’s just two blocks away from home. He almost screams Kwon Soonyoung’s name into the void, but refrains himself, takes a deep breath, and turns around to go back. What he doesn’t expect to see, is Boo Seungkwan standing a few feet away, emitting a small cry of surprise and dropping something on the ground. When Jihoon narrows his eyes, he realizes it’s his wallet. He’s surprised to see Seungkwan, but it's nothing compared to the younger male who clutches to his heart, eyes wide.

Jihoon patiently waits for him unfreeze, clearing his throat when he decides that it’s taking way too long.

“Uh,” Seungkwan jerks back to his senses, hastily picking up the wallet. “I, uh, saw Soonyoung hyung trying to chase after you and I, um, offered to take it to you, but then I kind of lost the timing to call you…”

Silence.

“And I, uh, ended up following you all the way here.”

As if to have realized how stupid it all sounds, Seungkwan breaks out into a shy smile. “Um, here.” He totters over awkwardly, reaching inside the front of his jeans and taking out Jihoon’s phone. “Your phone and wallet.”

“Thanks.” Jihoon says. He tries not to, it’s none of his business, but his eyes are already skating up and down Seungkwan’s face, inspecting it from side to side. Seungkwan doesn’t seem particularly upset. He looks like how he did all night at the table—bubbly and cheerful.

“Anyways, I should go back now that my mission here is done.” He grins. “I’ll see you at school, sunbaenim!”

He wheels back around, and Jihoon’s voice jumps out of his throat before he can stop himself.

“Hey, cherry head!”

Seungkwan spins on his heels, eyelashes flitting as he points to himself. “Uh, me?”

Jihoon blanks, not exactly sure why he’s called him.

“Yeah, um…” He manages, “Do you know your way back?”

Seungkwan laughs. “I grew up in this neighbourhood, sunbaenim.”

“Oh, okay. Great.” Jihoon nods. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Thanks for asking, though.” Cherry Head—Jihoon doesn’t know why he's calling him that—has prominent cheekbones when he smiles widely. And of course he has more things to say because Jihoon’s awkward moments have a knack of perpetuating. “You’re a lot nicer than you make yourself seem, sunbaenim.”

Jihoon’s never heard such compliment—is it a compliment?—and it makes him want to cringe and tell him to shut up. He doesn’t though, because he’s sober enough to know that’s rude and irrational, and simply resigns to a brusque nod before turning around to go back home.

It’s not the end of Cherry Head when Jihoon checks his phone past three in the morning, the device generating some dissonant chord as it slides down his keyboard. There’s a text from someone he’s 100% sure he’s never saved into his contacts.

Boo Seungkwan, the name reads.

sunbaenim, it’s me seungkwan (*＾▽＾)／
the cherry head?
sry that i saved my number without asking;; hehe
just wanted to say good night! (*≧∀≦*)

Jihoon doesn’t know what to text back, so he doesn’t. Instead, he changes the contact to Cherry Head.

-

It’s too late by the time Jihoon realizes that Cherry Head has stabilized himself in Jihoon’s life as someone constant—like an enforced pattern—because there’s not a single morning after that where Jihoon gets through without seeing Boo Seungkwan. Before his daily morning lectures, Seungkwan drops by—Jihoon has no idea how he knows his schedules but Soonyoung, he’s suspicious—to flash him a blinding grin and slip a cup of coffee in his hands.

“But you’re always working on your compositions all night, never getting a wink of sleep! You need this, sunbaenim!” Seungkwan wails, overreacting like he always does, wrapping Jihoon’s hand around the steaming cup of coffee—and it’s mocha latte today. Despite Jihoon’s aloof rejections—“I don’t drink this”—since day one, Seungkwan is almost admirably persistent. He doesn’t give up, changing the menu of beverages he brings Jihoon every day.

“What I need, is for you to not come here.” Jihoon grumbles, passing his cup of coffee over to Soonyoung like he does every time.

“Aw, I prefer vanilla.” Soonyoung whines, not that he ever refuses. Seungkwan pouts at this, sitting through the lecture with his arms crossed, jutting his lips out more and more whenever Soonyoung takes a sip of the latte. He takes off with a huffy harrumph when it’s time for him to attend one of his own classes.

“Ji, why can’t you be nicer to the kid?” Soonyoung snickers when Seungkwan takes one look back before the door closes, and Jihoon can’t bother to take his eyes off his notes. He sees it though, because the red is flashy enough to pick up his awareness.

Honestly? Jihoon has his reasons. The door slams loudly at that moment, the noise cutting through Prof Kim’s voice, and Seungkwan pokes his head back in.

“Oops, sorry!” He apologizes frantically before attempting to close the door behind him. Slowly and quietly this time. Jihoon shakes his head.

“He’s loud.” 

But even Jihoon can’t just pass it off and pretend it’s not weird when Seungkwan comes in on one insufferably humid August morning, the lower half of his face covered entirely in a black cough mask. The rest of his face is beaded with drops of sweat.

“Are you sick?” Jihoon questions with mild interest.

Seungkwan limply shakes his head, setting down a very sweet and complicated looking Frappuccino in front of Jihoon that Soonyoung naturally reaches for. “I crammed all night studying for my history exam, and…” He whispers defeatedly as if to have lost a war, “I ended up eating ramyun at four in the morning.”

“Sure.” Jihoon turns back to his laptop. “That explains everything.”

Seungkwan blows up at Jihoon’s sarcasm.

“Don’t you know what that means?!” He dramatically flails his arms around, voice coming out muffled against his mask. “That means my face, already round and fat to begin with, got even more bloated! Swollen up! I look like a freaking puffer fish!”

“A deflated puffer fish.” Jihoon corrects him, and Seungkwan burrows deeper into his chair, moping uncharacteristically. There’s a pang of guilt when he sees Seungkwan’s red locks, damp and sticking to his forehead from sweat.

“This is dumb and you’re going to make yourself faint from a heat stroke this way.” Jihoon says, maintaining his unimpressed tone, reaching out to take the mask off Seungkwan’s face. The first-year immediately dodges in the quickest and swiftest motion Jihoon has ever seen.

“No! You can’t see me like this!” Seungkwan cries out, chair leaning further and further back as Jihoon tries again, “I look unspeakably horrid, you can’t— No, stop—”

“Shut up, Seungkwan, you’re so loud.” Jihoon shushes him when people sitting around them start looking over their way, but their chairs screech against the floor as he reaches forward and Seungkwan rocks back, and his subdued efforts go to waste anyways. Seungkwan whisper-screams noooooooooo when the string part of the mask finally gets caught between Jihoon’s small skinny fingers, and Jihoon rolls his eyes as he yanks.

Seungkwan wasn’t lying—it’s pretty obvious that he ate some sodium-abundant midnight snack last night, and his cheeks look more plump than usual. It makes everything about Seungkwan look rounder—like his big round eyes, his small round nose, and his distinguished round cheekbones that rolls up on his round face when he smiles roundly—if that even makes sense. All in all, he looks… cute.

“Seungkwan,” Jihoon bursts out laughing and says the first thing that comes to his mind, “you look like Thomas the train.”

Seungkwan gasps, looking moderately insulted for a second, then sits back as if to have realized something important.

“Whoa, you just laughed.” He blinks. “And you have two small dimples.”

Jihoon stops laughing. Heat slowly creeps up to his face, probably because Seungkwan has a stupid habit of pointing out dumb things about him, and it makes him feel uncomfortably queasy inside. On the outside, goosebumps prick on his arms.

“Well, I do like the fact that you’re humble and honest.” Jihoon says quickly, his rattled brain far behind his mouth. “Unspeakably horrid was not a stretch.”

“Thanks, I know.” Seungkwan slumps. Fuck. Jihoon racks his brain for a smart, subtle way to modify what he’s said, but Seungkwan chirps up shortly after that he misses the chance. “But I still had to risk revealing my puffer fish face. You need your daily caffeine after all.” He crinkles his nose in disappointment when he sees the coffee by Soonyoung’s notebook, and the fluctuations of Seungkwan’s emotions are so quick and diverse that it spirals Jihoon’s own into confusion.

“I had an entire ten minutes debate with the barista for that one.” Seungkwan chuckles. “Anyways, I should get to class early today. Exam.” He gets up, puts the mask back on and waves cheerily. “See you tomorrow, sunbaenim!”

Jihoon watches Seungkwan’s small red head bob out of his sight, and slaps Soonyoung’s hand away when it reaches for the Frappuccino. A trail of condensation forms when he drags it towards him, and Jihoon ignores Soonyoung’s raised eyebrow as he takes the straw into his mouth and slurps. It’s thick and chocolatey, and definitely way too sweet.

He ends up finishing the whole thing.

-

It’s a little unfair when Seungkwan stops coming to see him completely. Unnotified. The first couple of days he brushes it off, thinking Seungkwan could have slept in or he’s busy with his own studies. Then as an entire week passes by without hearing a single word from the younger male, Jihoon starts to worry.

sunbaenim!

More than frequently, Jihoon’s head turns at Seungkwan’s perky voice calling for him. And no matter how many double takes and triple takes he does, the kid’s never there. He starts hallucinating Seungkwan’s loud chatters and prattles, a drone of his loud voice that Jihoon’s mind used to push aside as plain noise. It happens on the streets, in the library. Quite often in his morning lecture classroom.

“Did something happen between you and Seungkwan?” Soonyoung asks one morning, and Jihoon pretends he hasn’t been dying for Soonyoung to bring him up. He grounds his gaze onto his textbook, most of his attention actually steered elsewhere.

“No, why do you ask?” Jihoon responds, and Soonyoung plops down onto the chair next to him.

“I ran into him at the library last night.” Soonyoung explains, picking out a pen from Jihoon’s pencil case. “I thought he might’ve been sick since he hasn’t been showing up? But he’s fine and I thought that maybe you got extra asshole-y one morning and told him off.”

Jihoon shoots him a look. It’s offensive because Soonyoung wasn’t even trying to get on his nerves. “I didn’t do anything. He just stopped coming one day.” He resorts to grumbling.

“Huh. Okay.” Soonyoung shrugs it off and starts rummaging through Jihoon’s backpack to pull out a piece of lined paper Jihoon didn’t even know he had.

“Whatever. I didn’t even want him here anyways.”

Jihoon mutters, forgetting to clear emotions, and he’s thankful that Soonyoung doesn't really care.

The news of Boo Seungkwan’s wellbeing doesn’t bother Jihoon at all. It doesn’t.

He blames the absence of caffeine for being unable to pay attention in class.

It’s a small world though, and the Music department’s even smaller. Seungkwan bows to him with the rest of the first-years when they happen to run into each other in the school hallways, but that doesn’t make anything better. If anything, it’s much too formal, Seungkwan bows and acknowledges him because he has to, and that makes everything ten times worse. Jihoon would be less frustrated if he’d known that he did something wrong.

So when he spots a patch of vivid cherry hair from the end of the hallway, locks eyes with the boy who looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and who so obviously whirls around, Jihoon actually runs after him. Seungkwan—who shouldn’t be so fast according to his hatred of exercise—is incredibly fast, and Jihoon’s panting to restore some air back into his lungs when he snatches Seungkwan up by his wrist. He pulls, and the blue binder and a small pile of papers in Seungkwan’s arms spill to the ground.

“Look, Cherry Head,” Jihoon exhales heavily, bent over with one hand on his knee and the other gripping hard on Seungkwan’s wrist. “I feel like I’m going to fucking puke, so you better have a worthwhile excuse on why you’re avoiding me.”

Seungkwan recoils and looks away. His other hand sweeps over Jihoon’s grip to free himself, but Jihoon can’t feel any strength in them. Seungkwan gnaws on his lips anxiously.

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” He drawls indefinitely, and that’s when a surge of anger takes over everything else that Jihoon’s been feeling—he could never pinpoint what they were anyways. But anger is easy.  

“Oh, okay.” He straightens, voice getting tense as he roughly lets go of Seungkwan’s arm. “You aren’t avoiding me, just running away and refusing to make eye contact.”

His low tone rings in the quiet hallway, and Jihoon realizes that classes have begun and they’re the only two people there. Seungkwan’s been just chewing on his lower lip for the past thirty seconds, head turned away, and Jihoon’s trying not to yell fuck you and fuck your Pavlov’s Fraps because now Jihoon’s cravings are instantaneous as soon as Prof Kim starts talking.

“What the fuck, Boo Seungkwan.” He barks instead, “You might’ve suddenly decided that you never want to see me again, but this is fucking rude and I don’t deserve to feel like shit.”

That grabs Seungkwan’s attention, and his eyes grow wide. He stares, so intensely that it’s enough to fluster anybody in his shoes—anybody, Jihoon swears to himself—and his face starts warming up in temperature.

“Haven’t you heard, sunbaenim?” Seungkwan finally speaks, sounding uncertain like he can’t tell if Jihoon’s serious. “I assumed you’ve heard… And it would’ve been self-explanatory.”

Jihoon scowls, exponentially confused. “Hear what?”

As if those two words have cut his tension loose, Seungkwan’s shoulders lax out visibly. His lips squirm, as though to be searching for the right words, but when his eyes find Jihoon’s steadfast ones again, Seungkwan just takes a deep breath.

“People have been saying that you and I are sleeping together.” He says after a second of hesitation. There’s a fleeting moment of silence, and words start flying incoherently out of his mouth when Jihoon’s face falls blank. “I’m okay with it, I mean— I’m not offended by it if that’s what you’re thinking— I mean, I am, but not because it’s you— You’re not even gay—”

Seungkwan pauses briefly, looking mildly horrified. “Fuck, sorry. What I meant is I didn’t want to harm your reputation.”

Right. Jihoon grimaces at the ever-so-shining moment of his anti-social life habits, because he had absolutely no idea there were such rumours going around.

Seungkwan’s voice crawls back inside his throat.

“I thought the rumours might die off if I stopped following you around.”

Jihoon scowls again. He still needs time to process what he’s heard, but there’s a source of irritation that lies elsewhere. “Okay, so? You’ve been avoiding me all this time because of some rumour?” He wishes Seungkwan would stop shrinking himself against the wall. “Why should it matter if it isn’t true?”

Jihoon knows he’s pressed a wrong button when Seungkwan’s eyes flash resentment.

“You don’t know, sunbae. You’re strong, independent, and you don’t care about what anybody says about you.” He snips out, tone picking up a decibel and there’s a hint of crackling fire in his voice. “I’m weak. I want people to like me. I care about what they think. Why do you think I’m always so desperate to be surrounded by everyone?”

When Seungkwan realizes he’s pushed Jihoon speechless, his blinks rapidly, looking perplexed. A blush of pink spreads across his cheekbones, and when light starts reflecting off his eyes, Jihoon prays to god that he’s not seeing tears.

“I know I never shut up.” He mumbles quietly, staring down at the papers scattered across the floor. “I’ve heard things all my life, and I still hear it. I hear people talking about me whether I want to or not. So I start talking, loudly, so that I talk over them and in the end,” Seungkwan pushes himself to sound casual, but it only makes him look even more unstable. “the only thing I hear is my own voice.”

Jihoon has never felt so incompetent before, unable to do or say anything but just listen. Seungkwan lifts his chin up, faking a cough to cover up a sniffle, and Jihoon sees a face he’s never seen before. A face without the sunny smile that sparkles on his eyes and mouth. A face without the tiny crinkle over his nose, replaced by sallow cheeks when he bites them inside his mouth.

“My therapist told me it’s my defense mechanism.”

Seungkwan feigns a chuckle, but it’s not the same.

Jihoon swipes his tongue over his lips, trying to crack them open.

“Don’t listen to those things.” It’s all he can say. He crouches down and starts gathering the cluster of papers. “And you don’t have to try, Seungkwan, you were born loud. Your laugh, your walk, your entire existence is just really loud. You might be under-estimating yourself.”

He grabs the binder and stuffs everything disorderly between the covers.

“I had to pause my music more than enough times in the library the past few days because I thought I heard your voice.”

Seungkwan remains silent over his head, and Jihoon wants to scratch his limbs off. “Like, you know that white noise you hear when everything’s silent?”

Jihoon gets up to his feet.

“Well, the only noise I hear is you.”

Seungkwan doesn't say anything. Jihoon rushes to clear the weird, slightly awkward atmosphere that’s settled between them, brushing imaginary dirt off the binder.

“Bottom line, you’re terrifyingly loud.” He holds it out back to the first-year. “Plus, I don’t care what they say. Isn’t that enough?”

The next thing he knows, Seungkwan has his arms wrapped around his neck, face digging into his collars, and he’s bawling his eyes out. The binder’s back on the floor with paper spilled over their feet, but Jihoon’s too busy wondering what he should do with his arms that are sticking out unnaturally by his sides.

He pats Seungkwan’s back. Even Jihoon can tell that his clumsy actions are far from comforting. Seungkwan cries really loudly.

-

“Okay, tell me, why the hell are you in our major?” Jihoon inquires, half-joking and half-sincere, lowering one side of his gigantic headphones behind the glass. “You should be singing the stuff that we write. I mean, not that you can’t sing what you write, but still?”

Seungkwan smiles from inside the recording booth, unable to stop his face from matching the colour of his hair. “I don’t know.” He giggles shyly, stepping out from behind the music stand where Jihoon’s compositions are laid out haphazardly. “It’s the confidence thing, I guess.”

“Well, go get some, kid.” Jihoon snickers teasingly, finger still pressing for the speakers. “Once I hand this final in, Prof Kim’s going to jump out of his pants trying to recruit you over to vocals.”

Seungkwan laughs straight into the mic. It’s loud enough that Jihoon jolts and the headphones slide down his neck completely, but he can still hear a handful of giggles and the noise tickles against his skin.

“You know which one, his blue, checkered pyjama pants?” He adds, not wanting the warm, fuzzy feeling to end, “The ones he wears to class?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan nods, voice bubbling in amusement. “Question—did you ever see him in a different pair or…?”

“Nope.” Jihoon replies gravely. “We pitched in two years ago and gave him a new pair for Christmas—never saw Rudolph sleighing down the silky garment ever again.”

Seungkwan cracks up again, and Jihoon puts the headphones back on with a smile.

“Alright, ready for the last eight measures now?” He calls out, seeing how the slight change in his tone tenses Seungkwan up again. He motions for him to relax. “Just keep up what you’ve been doing so far and it’ll be a breeze.”

Seungkwan takes a sip out of his water bottle and gives him the OK sign. Jihoon takes the music sheet in front of him and gives the younger a brief guide—he doesn’t exactly sing, just careless bits here and there—he mostly hums the tune, shows Seungkwan where the breath marks are, and explains the sort of emotions he wants him to convey.

“After the whole yeah I just want it simple, simple part, feel free to adlib, just belt out whatever you think will work—”

“You’re really good at singing yourself, sunbae.” Seungkwan interrupts, rocking on his toes so that his eyes meet Jihoon’s gaze over the music stand.

Jihoon pauses. “Uh, thanks.” He coughs up shortly after, “But you don’t have to butter me up just because I’m your sunbae, we’ve established already that you can come visit me without having to buy me coffee every time…”

“No, I mean it.” Seungkwan chortles lightly. “You have a really nice voice. Kind that I like.”

Jihoon feels himself flush with heat.

“I mean, it’s unique.” The first-year quickly adds, “Just saying your song would sound even better if you sang it.”

Jihoon merely does a small nod, murmurs a thanks, and continues with the rest of his directions. He hopes that the dim lights in the studio doesn’t betray him, because Jihoon knows that his face is on fire, he wasn’t born to handle compliments, yet Seungkwan has a knack of saying things that makes him feel itchy, clammy, and like a total idiot because he doesn’t know what to say or do next.

Seungkwan comes out of the recording booth when they’re done, as Jihoon clicks save on the file.

“Thanks for helping out again,” Jihoon says, tapping his fingers impatiently as the small loading icon spins for an eternity. “I was going to ask Soonyoung, but this is way out of his vocal range—don’t tell him I said that unless you want me to end up completely friendless.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Seungkwan teases, grabbing his backpack on the bean bag chair and slinging it over his shoulder. Jihoon gets up, stretches his aching joints, and lets out a long groan that doesn’t register to him as embarrassingly grandpa-ish until about a second later. There’s a confusing sense of relief when he sees that it’s flown right over Seungkwan’s head, as the younger fidgets by the door.

“Um, do you want to grab a drink, or a bite to eat or something?” Seungkwan asks.

“Uh,” Jihoon drawls, and Seungkwan rushes to cut him off before he can even finish.

“It’s okay if you don’t, I totally get it, I didn’t think it was a great idea either, especially with those rumours going around—”

“No, what?” Jihoon grabs the sweater that’s slung over his chair and pokes his head through the opening. “Yeah, I want to. I was just going to ask if you were free.”

Seungkwan’s hands—frozen in mid-air from gesticulating wildly—fall back to his sides. “Oh.”

“I just have to stop by the library to return a textbook, wanna come with? Or do you want to meet again in half an hour?”

“No, yeah, let’s go.” Seungkwan smiles, and Jihoon pretends not to notice the visible ease as he throws his USB inside his bag and ushers him out the door.

“Great. It’s my treat. What do you want to eat?” He grins back. “Your pick, just make sure it’s not curry, sushi, spicy, or anything with ketchup and pickles in it.”

The entire way to the library and to the samgyubsal place downtown, Seungkwan nags endlessly about healthy eating habits and why the spices in curry powder can be good for his body.

There are fucking ten, screw Google.

(He wouldn’t have minded if there were twenty.)

-

It’s funny once you hear something, you can’t unhear it.

No matter how much he tries, he can’t find a switch in his brain to turn off his awareness of his surroundings—like the moment of unnatural silence when Seungkwan surges in through the classroom door and bounces towards him with a Frappuccino in his hand. Whispering resumes shortly after, and half of Jihoon’s attention wanders away from Seungkwan’s loud complaints about the weather to pick up pieces of their names in the mouths other people.

“Alright, Kwon Soonyoung.” Jihoon confronts Soonyoung one afternoon, after Seungkwan leaves for class and the entire coffee shop showers them an inconspicuous glance. It’s an utter failure, very pathetic. “You know what’s up, spill.”

Soonyoung plays dumb for a while, and he’s very bad at it, Jihoon knows it and he knows it, so Soonyoung drops the act when Jihoon verbally points this out.

“Okay, fine.” He sighs, “I didn’t want to tell you because it’s stupid.”

“I’ll decide if it’s stupid or not.” Jihoon says crossly.

Soonyoung flicks his pen onto his notebook and leans forward.

“Seo Eunwoo’s been going around making it sound like you two have been—”

“Fucking?” Jihoon deadpans. “I know.”

Soonyoung wearily rubs his neck. “Yeah. Everyone knows he’s an ass so I doubt they take him seriously, but you know people.” He grimaces. “They like gossiping, it doesn’t really matter if it’s true or not, or what they think—as long as they have something to talk about in their boring lives.”

It fucking sucks. The rumour itself sucks too, yeah, but the entire circumstance of being the talk of everyone—he feels like a wad of gum that’s brutishly chewed up by everyone’s mouths. Like teeth marks, it leaves traces behind that he can’t ignore.

And how Seungkwan’s been through this his entire life. Jihoon can’t fathom it. He has random, untimely urges to punch a wall or throw his laptop across the classroom, because he can’t fucking stand it, and for him, it’s only been weeks.

He also hates the fact he cares so much about what other people are saying.

“It’s annoying, I know, but don’t stress over it too much,” Soonyoung tells him lightly, “Everyone’s been ignoring Seo Eunwoo lately and it’ll die off sooner or later.”

Unfortunately, patience is a virtue that he lacks, and Jihoon knows he’s come much too far to cultivate one now. The irritation builds and builds, and soon he isn’t so sure whom he’s so angry at—everyone, at himself, or at Seungkwan who’s cheerfully chattering away in front of him like any other day.

“Are you a saint? Or just plain stupid?” Jihoon blurts without as so much as a lead-up. Seungkwan freezes, hands just inches away from his mug of coffee on the table. “People are calling you a whore, a slut who spreads your legs for the TAs, the Profs, me, that you’re fucking your way up to your GPA, and that doesn’t bother you?”

Seungkwan’s smile slides off his face, but Jihoon’s way too caught up in his own frustration to notice. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look, just sitting here with your stupid smile plastered on your face? Do you even care, or are you just a fucking pansy?”

The chair scrapes against the floor as Seungkwan stands up. It’s an incredibly ugly sound, and that’s when Jihoon realizes he’s said some really fucked up things.

“You’re the one that told me not to listen to those things.” Seungkwan’s voice is icy and cutting, much alike to his eyes that are getting redder by the second. “You said you didn’t care, that what other people say shouldn’t matter— You know what, screw you.” He says sharply, “The only thing I’ll admit to being stupid is that I actually believed you.”

Jihoon hurries to his feet, knocking over his Frap on the table. “Wait, Seungkwan, fuck, I didn’t mean—”

Seungkwan lashes him off, gathering his belongings and getting ready to leave, and Jihoon is so afraid, and so sorry that he can’t conjure up anything inside his head that makes any kind of sense. The words ‘I’m sorry’ hitches up to his throat but they never make it out, because it feels too fucking shallow compared to what he’s just spat out.

Seungkwan rushes off, and Jihoon realizes that the thick, creamy coffee is running down his jeans.

It’s cold.

-

Jihoon doesn’t see or hear from Seungkwan again. He’s reminded of how extremely skilled Seungkwan is at avoiding him in the hallways, and this time, he’s even better at it. Jihoon knows he deserves it, so he doesn’t run after the brush of cherry red hair when he miraculously spots it one night, days after the incident.

Soonyoung shoots him a probing glance when it’s been far too long that Seungkwan hasn’t burst through the classroom door. For the first time ever, Jihoon is too guilty to pretend that everything is all right.

“You’re right, I’m an asshole and I got extra asshole-y.” He confesses, “I fucked up.”

Soonyoung stops chewing on the end of his pencil to speak up. “Ji, I don’t think you were angry at Seungkwan or at the fact that you were dragged into this.”

The thing is, Jihoon knows he’s right.

“I think you were angry because people were hurting him.”

And he might’ve realized it too late.

-

It’s solely on impulse when he happens to see Seo Eunwoo standing by the lockers in the middle of the busy hallway, sniggering with his gang of friends. Jihoon walks up to him, doesn’t bother reacting to his mocking sneering of his name, and socks him right in the nose—and that’s that.

One broken nose, and there are consequences—Jihoon’s getting an automatic zero whether he hands in his final composition or not—but at least he got everyone to shut up.

The only shame here is that no one will get to hear Seungkwan’s singing.

Jihoon feels like his life is too quiet. He misses noise.

-

His phone on the keyboard drops to the ground when it vibrates with a text, and Jihoon has never leapt for his phone so fast when the screen flashes ‘Cherry Head’.

hey, it’s seungkwan’s friend and he’s passed out rn can you come pick him up?

After reading the message twice, Jihoon calls back immediately.

“Whoa, that was fast.” Answers a voice that’s way too deep to be Seungkwan’s.

Jihoon frowns. “Where’s Seungkwan?”

“Here. In front of me.” He states the obvious, “Dead.”

“Okay, where’s that?” Jihoon asks again, trying not to sound so annoyed.

“The tarp-stand across from our school. He kept mumbling Jihoonie hyung so I figured I’d call him.”

“I’ll be right there.” Jihoon shoves his free arm into his sweater, already flying out of his apartment. “Don’t move. Don’t move Seungkwan.”

It’s not hard to spot Seungkwan when Jihoon flaps a sheet of tarp—a respectable door—and steps inside. The bright shade of his hair hasn’t faded a bit, and it rests right next to a bowl of half-finished udon and empty bottles of soju. A boy with a light perm—and unfairly good-looking, what the fuck?—helps Jihoon sling Seungkwan’s limp arm over his neck and sits back down.

“Hey, hyung,” He munches on a yellow radish, observing Jihoon who’s struggling under Seungkwan’s weight.

“Hyung? Do I know you?” Jihoon glares.

“I’m Hansol. There. We’re practically bros now.” He says flippantly. “Kwannie likes you, so don’t be too mean to him. Kay?”

Jihoon feels like his knees are about to collapse, but he takes enough time to give this Hansol kid a death glare that unfortunately, doesn’t magically blow his head off.

“Fuck you.” He snaps, and decides to hate the kid with reason when he waves with a light chuckle.

Walking is not an option, so he takes a cab back to his apartment, avoids giving Seungkwan’s head a minor concussion on the car door frame by a close centimeter, and sweats buckets when he climbs up the stairs with the drunk male practically draped over him. It doesn’t help that Seungkwan is at least three inches taller than him, and Jihoon drops to the floor as soon as he throws the unconscious kid onto his bed. Falls back against the wall, as he watches Seungkwan sleep, too exhausted to crawl to the bathroom and dive into a tub of cold water.

When Jihoon wakes up on the floor the next morning—legs aching, neck sore, and back cramping—his bed is empty.

-

The next time Jihoon sees Seungkwan within a five meter radius, he’s at an end-of-the-year party that Hong Jisoo—a fourth-year who’s probably lost a bet—hosts over at his apartment. Jihoon is physically dragged there, by Kwon Soonyoung yet once again, and he’s seriously considering a life without him for real this time, but his thoughts are getting dwindled over the noise of goddamn people, and that’s when the back of his mind flashes with recognition of that one loud voice—Seungkwan. Jihoon turns towards the commotion and sees Seungkwan amidst a group of people laughing, mouth busy with chatter and hands flying around in assistance. No wonder he didn’t see him sooner—Seungkwan’s hair is no longer deep red but a calmer shade of chestnut brown.

It’s nice, the new look, not to mention finally having an up-to-date visual of the person he’s been thinking about nonstop. Their eyes suddenly meet, and Jihoon can read that Seungkwan’s startled. Not angry, but startled. He’s probably mirroring the same expression when Seungkwan doesn’t scowl in contempt or ignores him, but walks over.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hey.” Jihoon straightens. “Seungkwan, listen. I’m really sorry about the stuff I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He places his cup of spiked punch on a flat surface nearest him, palms getting clammy. “You don’t deserve to hear those nasty things from anybody, especially from an idiot like me, and I know I can’t take back what I said, but I really wish we could be friends again.”

Seungkwan looks at him, his features childlike and delicate, and Jihoon wants to punch himself right there and then for having hurt this kid.

“Please, please know that I’m so sorry.”

Seungkwan softly places a hand on his arm. “Sunbae, I’m not here to yell at you.” He smiles faintly. “I just wanted to let you know that I left that night because I was… embarrassed,” His ears colour, “and still mad—but more embarrassed.”

The knot in Jihoon’s stomach eases. Just a bit.

“And I heard what you did to him over there.” Seungkwan cocks his head to the side, where Seo Eunwoo is leaning against a dresser on the other side of the room, glaring spitefully their way over a nose cast. Conscious of the jerk’s gaze, Seungkwan removes his touch. He smiles instead, more genuinely this time, sprinkling the glimmer from his lips over to his ample cheeks. “Thanks.”

It’s enough to give Jihoon a tiny flicker of hope.

“Anytime.” In his mind, he has his fingers crossed. “So… friends?”

Seungkwan stops, looks at Jihoon in the eyes, and exhales deeply like he’s prepping up.

“You know I can’t be friends with you, sunbae.” He chuckles lightly, giving him a playful jab in the chest. “I hope you’re flattered.”

Before Jihoon can say anything, they’re interrupted by an utterly smashed senior—it’s Yoon Jeonghan—obnoxiously calling for everyone’s attention and give me the respect I deserve by bringing all your saggy asses over to the living room right nooooooow. Seungkwan rolls his eyes and signals him to head over together. In the large mass of people all shuffling and trying to sit in a giant circle, Jihoon ends up curled next to Soonyoung, while Seungkwan ends up diagonally across from him.

“Alright, all you losers know how to play spin the bottle, right?” Jeonghan slurs, the cup of vodka spiked punch—minus the punch—sloshing over the brim from his impaired sense of balance. “Well, tonight you’re playing Angel-Jeonghan-Please-Grace-Us-With-Your-Otherworldly-Presence Spin the Bottle Edition! Cue applause.”

While the crowd is forced to cheer, Jihoon’s focus swims over to Seungkwan, everything else droning out except for the voice that plays over and over again in his head. Flattered, is one way to put it. He could probably come up with a thousand more words to describe how the younger boy makes him feel, but Jihoon has never been great at expressing how he feels—honestly. It’s one of those things that his instincts repel, and fuck, how was he going to say it now?

“Spin the bottle is la-me.” Soonyoung complains out loud, and Jeonghan springs up from positioning an empty soju bottle in the middle of the circle to aim it at his target. Jisoo comes to the rescue, writhing the bottle out of the drunk’s grip to place it back on the floor.

“Gosh, hyung, you almost killed me over a drinking game.” Soonyoung grumbles.

“Because you’re lame.” Jeonghan snaps. “And this one isn’t. Because only I get to spin the bottle, and whoever the bottle points to has to do whatever I tell them to. Basically, you just gotta worship me, or else you drink that.”

Jeonghan points to a huge glass salad bowl, where Jisoo’s pouring vodka, beer, soju, and rum in it altogether, like he’s some kind of god making a waterfall.

“Amazing.” Soonyoung says apathetically.

The game turns out to be a lot more entertaining when Soonyoung finally shuts up, Jisoo constantly dilutes Jeonghan’s vodka with some fruit punch—he’s definitely lost a bet—and the bottle starts to spin at last. The self-proclaimed angel orders people to do a sexy dance in muted silence, ass-write their names in the air, do an acrostic poem with his name, and—this poor girl—imitate a giraffe. Sadly Jihoon is only half-invested in the chaos—he’s too distracted. Seungkwan’s frequent bursts of giggles are the only noise his ears pick up, all of his senses heightened towards one direction.

“Okay, shut up everyone. Enough with the boring hooey, I’m going to taking it up a notch.” Jeonghan cackles as he flexes his wrists, giving the bottle a full turn. It starts spinning at full speed, eventually slowing down to a stop and pointing ambiguously at where Soonyoung and Jihoon’s knees meet. The bottle rolls a little, and it’s clearer that the neck slants closer to Soonyoung.

“Okay, what do you want me to—”

“Excellent, our very own Lee Jihoon!” Jeonghan yells over Soonyoung, blatantly moving the bottle so that it points directly at Jihoon. “Jihoonie, huh? What a rare opportunity.”

Jeonghan hums innocently, stroking his chin. It’s pretty fucking obvious he’s trying to conjure something up that Jihoon could never do—and at this point Jihoon knows he’s merely minutes away from downing that soup of hell. Angel, his ass.

“Okay, I got it.” He snaps his fingers and grins. “Kiss someone you like.”

“That’s stupid.” Soonyoung grouches from the side, apparently ticked off from missing the chance to play the lame game. “You’re abusing your power as the spin the bottle angel—”

“Precisely.” Jeonghan does a little flick with his hands. “Jisoo, bring our holy water.”

But Jisoo doesn’t, because Jihoon gets up from his spot, stalks over to where Seungkwan is sitting and folds down to press his lips against his. The entire room falls silent, and Jihoon thinks he could hear a pin drop, if his heart isn’t beating so loudly as if to penetrate his ribs. He pulls back, and Seungkwan’s eyes are as big as saucers.

“Bruh,” Soonyoung croaks, "impulsive."

“I can go now, right?” Jihoon asks, not particularly waiting for an answer before taking Seungkwan’s hand and pulling him up. On his way out, Jihoon sees a variety of different expressions on people’s faces—of bewilderment, or shock, of sorts—including Seo Eunwoo, who breaks away the gaze first. Behind him, he hears Soonyoung whoop and holler, and soon enough half the crowd’s joined in to make this look like an ending of a really cheesy film.

“Fuck, I’ve sobered.” Jeonghan’s voice drifts before he shuts the front door, “Nobody touch the bowl of holy water, I call it.”

He breathes when there’s finally some peace and quiet. And Jihoon realizes just how much of a big thing he’d just done, when Seungkwan’s right in front of him on the porch, gaping at him like his eyes are about to pop out.

“I’m sorry for kissing you.” Jihoon lets go of his hand. “But I had no choice. He made me do it.”

Seungkwan takes as much time as he needs before gasping again in disbelief.

“You like me?”

It’s a fucking yes or no question, yet Jihoon’s entire body burns up like fire to gasoline.

“Yes.” Jihoon edges out, then gathers some courage to repeat it louder. “Yeah, I like you. A lot.”

And the embarrassment that surges—the kind that makes Jihoon want to scratch his face off—is completely worth it when a smile blooms on Seungkwan’s mouth. He tries to bite it down, but the corners of his lips continue to curve up—like he can’t hide it.

It staggers for a second though.

“You didn’t have to do that in front of everybody though, Seo Eunwoo was there, our whole department was there, they’ll talk—”

“I really,” Jihoon can’t emphasize this enough, “couldn’t care less.”

Seungkwan beams this time, absolutely brilliantly, and before Jihoon can indulge himself in that warm, bright radiance, Seungkwan’s lips are on his, and the smile tastes even more wonderful than it looks.

“So… not friends?” Jihoon grins when they part.

“So not friends.” Seungkwan links his fingers around Jihoon’s, leaning forward for another kiss when there’s a window opening somewhere.

Jihoon hears Soonyoung squeal.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

A chant erupts, so kiss, they do.