pitiful destiny, point your finger at me.

"Mom's here," he says after a moment, quiet but certain, kicking off his shoes in heavy contrast to Sungyeol's more gentle action. "Dad’s probably out somewhere, I think. Mom’ll be in the kitchen with Jihyo." His voice dips, almost fond, almost mocking, almost something else entirely. "She’s been on this strange kick where she makes soup for everything lately. Says it’s ‘healing' or something, but I don't like soup — I'm more a simple meat guy. "

Jihoon steps further in, brushing his hair back with a loose hand, and the air seems to thicken - or, perhaps, it had always been thick. The Yoon household was far too small for four living beings, especially in the harsh heat of summer.

As he approaches the stairs, he looks back at Sungyeol, expression softening for just a moment before he masks it with his usual grin. "Don’t worry, Jiji won't be sleeping yet," he adds, as if answering an unspoken question for the other. "If you're lucky, maybe she'll try and feed you the soup for healing your loser-itis condition."

He gestures toward the hallway with a tilt of his chin. "Anyway let’s go up before she starts a whole scene. You can sit at the desk, i'll take the bed."

The door to his bedroom creaks a little when he pushes it open . . . not from age, but from how the unsealed frame swells the same every summer. The room beyond is small enough that his shoulder brushes Sungyeol's as they step inside - he wonders if the other notices the slight static buzz as they brush closely.

The bedroom itself is barely big enough for two people to stand in without bumping into each other. A narrow bed sits pressed against the wall, sheets tucked in neatly except for one stubborn corner. The desk beside it is cluttered, with notebooks stacked high, a half-empty Hello Kitty branded cup of ball point, and fountain pens, and one single plush toy that had seemed to make her way from the bed to the desk as if varied in importance (he doesn't point out that it's the toy Sungyeol had won him at the fair long ago — he doesn't think he needs to).

There really isn’t much else.

sungyeol hums in response but doesn’t alter the cautious, measured way he moves through the entryway, each step deliberate and soundless. honestly, it hardly matters whether the baby is asleep or not, he'd just prefer to avoid the woman altogether.

most teenagers flinch from adult conversations, but for sungyeol it runs deeper than that awkward teen angst. ever since his mother died—ever since she got sick, really—they’ve all looked at him with the same expression. that awful mix of pity and unease that adults wear when they don’t know what to say, the one that makes sungyeol feel like it's his job to console them.

he despises it.

the expression on his face is already mildly annoyed before jihoon's childish insult, but his eyes narrow just a touch more when he glances back at him.

“ whatever. and since when is there a food on earth you don't like? ” sungyeol has always been the pickier of the two. jihoon seemed to delight in making sungyeol squirm with the way he'd try anything offered to him, no matter how... unique.

(he does not notice the buzz when their shoulders brush. that is, it is the same feeling he experiences each time they make contact. it is familiar enough now that it slips beneath his awareness entirely.)

it strikes him, as they climb the flight of stairs, how long it’s been since they've actually hung out in jihoon's room. sungyeol's house is not that much bigger, but his room is at least big enough for them to spend time in comfortably without feeling like the walls are closing in. as they step inside, his eyes are drawn to the plush cat that sits on the desk. the black beady eyes bore into his, as if the thing is judging him for some unknown sin.

he turns it away from him when he plops down into the creaky desk chair.

“ move out—- where the hell would you go? ” sungyeol asks, frowning. their small town is populated mostly by the elderly, aside from their two families. jihyo had been the first baby born here since seulmi over a decade prior. everyone that grows up here leaves for opportunities in the city, and they hardly come back.

not that sungyeol can blame them. but if jihoon were to do that—if he were to vanish again—he thinks he might really go crazy.

“ she's only a baby, anyway. ” he mutters, drawing his legs up onto the chair, knees tucked to his chest with his chin resting atop them. “ the hell does she need her own room for? ”

it’s a lazy, throwaway complaint, but his voice sounds distant even to himself. the air in the room feels different, somehow—denser, resonant, as if filled with a low vibration just beyond his hearing. he tries to tell himself it’s the cicadas outside, their shrill chorus pressing against the windows. but the sound feels too close.

as if it's in the room with him.

“ don't worry, man. i swear i'm not gonna order anything. ” sam smiles gently when sol looks up, nodding in greeting as he approaches the counter. he's pretty sure he'd throw a mug at a customers head if they came in 10 minutes to close. he finds himself thankful for sol's more calm nature.

Jihoon doesn’t miss the way Sungyeol goes quiet . . . the way his friend’s eyes track the stray until it’s gone, then drag back to him like they might catch something clinging if he looks too long. He tilts his head, lips quirking, pretending he isn’t already buzzing under his own (borrowed) skin.

He brushes the dirt and dust off his pants in one slick, almost rehearsed, motion. Kitty doesn't watch the cat as it leaves, hastily making a getaway, as the boy begins digging at the gravelled paving with the toe of his sneaker.

"What?" Jihoon parrots back, one eyebrow raised mockingly. "You spaced out, don’t blame me if your ice cream melts before you remember how to eat it . . ." Sungyeol’s jab about being hit pulls yet another sharp grin from him, a little too quick, a little too wide - the cats bizarre outburst all but forgotten. Though, he did feel an innate sense of hurt from the rejection. Silly furry animal.

Hm. "Ah, Sungyeolie. If you hit me, you’d just hurt your own hand. Fragile, remember?"

sungyeol can't help but notice the differences in jihoon since he's come back. they don't seem to be obvious — nobody else has said anything. but for sungyeol, for the boy that spent nearly every moment of every day with him, for the boy that felt like they were just extensions of each other, he knew. something is different. like the time jihoon snuck into his room and moved everything on his desk a few inches to the left.

perhaps it is to be expected. though he won't go into detail, he cannot imagine jihoon was having a particularly great time lost where ever he was for 3 days, in the dead of winter, cold and alone. it must have been traumatizing. surely it would change anyone, right?

right?

“ i'm not fragile. ” sungyeol shoots back automatically, always on the defense, always hiding from something. sensitive, quick to anger, melancholic, perhaps, but not fragile. there's no way you could be fragile and be friends with yoon jihoon.

sungyeol stands and slings his own bag over his shoulder, heavy with text books he has no plans on reading, and follows.

“ yeah. makes sense. ” the words are empty, his mind elsewhere.

he thinks about jihoon's parents in the 3 days he was gone. thinks about how it was him who told them he couldn't find jihoon, him who went to the police station when they didn't take him seriously immediately, him who continued searching even after they so quickly concluded he must have drowned because no, no, jihoon wouldn't have drowned, jihoon wouldn't have gone to the water, it didn't make any sense, didn't they know their own kid?

they should be overattentive. they should feel guilty.

sungyeol takes a deep breath, quenching the rage building in his chest, smoothing out the lines on his face from the screwed up expression. he settles back into his usual leaden expression instead.

when they get to the house he follows jihoon in, toeing off his leather shoes and placing them nicely. he does so quietly, remembering the times they'd been barked at to keep it down so not to disturb the baby.

Busan, South Korea - In an astonishing turn of events, a 17-year-old boy who was presumed to have drowned at Ilgwang Beach 일광해수욕장 was found alive three days after vanishing from the shoreline. Witnesses said he had last been seen sitting alone on the sand before suddenly disappearing, prompting a large-scale search effort that concluded with authorities fearing the worst. To everyone’s shock, the teenager was discovered early this morning near a rocky cliff several kilometers away, dazed but physically unharmed. Officials are now investigating the strange circumstances of his survival, while locals whisper it might have been nothing short of a miracle.

Jihoon swings his feet, sat on the crumbling half wall to the side of his family home, watching Sungyeol ( @notomorrows ) sheepishy eat a vanilla soft serve. He'd had one too, of course, but as is common with most foods that crossed the pink haired boys ... they were devoured quickly. "Like I've already told you, I don't really remember a lot about what happened ... so if you ask me one more time I'm gonna hav' to make it your turn next."

Wet. Drowning. Cold. Going ... going ... gone ...

He hops down suddenly just as one of the local one-eyed stray cats rounds the corner, instantly arching it's back in surprise - leaving Jihoon to shoot it a half confused expression. The cat’s hiss lingered sharp in the air, hackles standing even after Jihoon slowly crouched low with a placating hand - before it promptly turned around and left, shooting the other boy a disgruntled look. "What’s your problem, huh? I’m not the one who did that to you ... "

it's only june, but the air presses down as if it's late august, thick and sticky and overstimulating. sweat beads constantly along sungyeol’s hairline, his bangs plastered to his forehead the way the fabric of his t-shirt clings to his back. the cicada trills seem louder, more relentless this year — a static, shrill whine that needles into his head, makes it hard to concentrate. he sees jihoon's mouth moving, but he only half-processes the words, muffled in the noise of his head as if it's coming from underwater. it's the same answer as last time, he can tell from the way his lips move.

he's not sure why he expects something different every time he asks, like there is something grand to reveal about those long, agonizing days his best friend was missing. as if jihoon will finally let this great big secret past his lips this time, because they're alone, because they're so close, such good friends, practically brothers—

jihoon's feet hit the pavement the same time a drop of forgotten ice cream hits his fingers. he lifts his hand to his mouth without thinking, tongue brushing sugary cream from skin, but freezes at the sharp hiss that cuts across the street. he lowers his cone, gaze fixed.

jihoon does the same thing he always does to every cat they see, but this one immediately goes on the defense, ears back and fur bristled — like a predator suddenly certain it has met something it cannot fight.

huh. that's new. his stomach dips. maybe he shouldn't be having ice cream on an empty stomach.

“ what? ” he asks, eyes trailing slowly from the retreating cat back to jihoon, searching for something, some explanation. all he sees is his friend, watching him expectantly. “ oh. i haven't started. ”

his fingers trail to his bangs, shaking them out like it might help them look half decent despite the sweat. “ yah, shut up. do you need to be right, or do you need to be hit? ”

(jihoon's right, though. if sungyeol wants to bear his soul, that's his own damn prerogative and the english language can get fucked!)

"you not ... sleeping okay ?" lí chényǔ frowns, taking a long drag off his cigarette as if in contemplation as he studies his companion. it's true --- sam seems more ... lifeless today, like he's here but not really here. it's a state of mind that lí chényǔ is well-acquainted with, himself, though he wishes he weren't. "you are ... not feel good ? sick ? aiyo ... "

lí chényǔ can't help it; he steps closer to sam, reaching up to pat his shoulder good-naturedly --- and no sooner is the thermos handed back than he laughs softly, shaking his head and trying to push it back towards his friend. "good, ah ? this ?" a gesture towards the thermos, "no auntie. i made. i make ... all kind of tea from yunnan. hard to buy, cost lot of money, but. i miss it. don't worry ... i get more. is good to share ! warm you up."

a gust of wind stings his cheeks, leaving lí chényǔ grimacing in displeasure. he digs through his pocket, fishing out a cough drop, and tries to be as subtle as he can about popping it into his mouth; the last thing he wants is for the focus of attention to pivot to him.

well. better to not even give that sort of thing the chance to happen.

“ it's expensive? ” that gets sam moving again, this time taking li chenyu's hands and wrapping his fingers around the thermos himself. “ then you enjoy it. don't waste it on me. i'm not even a big tea guy. ” these days he's probably more redbull than water. sam's about to say as much, but catches the discomfort on the other's face at the wind. it really is cold out here. if he had a scarf...

“ oh, hold on... ” sam reaches in his pocket and pulls out a mask, tugging the strings back around li chenyu's ears without considering his friend could definitely have done that on his own. he even adjusts his hair after, because, well.... his hands are already there. “ there ya go, should keep the wind off a bit. i haven't used it yet, so don't worry — no sam germs. ”

his mind catches up with him and he drops his hands to his sides with a little more heft than frankly necessary. just the caretaker nature, that's all. he meets his companion's gaze again when he calls his name, trying to work out what he's asking as he chooses his words and smiling when he does.

“ yah, chenyu. are you asking if i'm sad? if my heart hurts? ” he grins, genuinely touched by the notion. this guy... always so sweet. he bumps their shoulders together fondly and shakes his head. “ i'm fine, dude. really. just... thinking about home lately, i guess. ” just enough of the truth not to raise suspicion.