donât make me cry / kjy&knj.
fvntaesy:
Namjoon was torn between feeling grateful to have everything off his chest, and completely embarrassed to have told Jiyong everything. What if Jiyong didnât feel the same? If he didnât, it was likely that their friendship would be ruined forever. It was already too late, though; Jiyong knew now. He was desperate for some sort of reply from the man, but at the same time he never wanted to know what Jiyong had to say about it. Somehow he felt as if things would almost be easier if they both pretended this hadnât happened.
But just as the thought crossed his mind, Jiyong whispered his name, and a second later his body went completely slack, hand dropping from Namjoonâs own to fall at his side. It took a few seconds for Namjoon to realise what was happening, before any rational thoughts he had left his mind all at once. âJiyong!â he all but screamed, taking his hand again and gripping it tight. âDammit, Jiyong, donât do this! Fuck!â Pressing two fingers to Jiyongâs wrist, Namjoon felt for any sign of a heartbeat, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it was still there.
Not wanting to waste any time, Namjoon picked Jiyong up, carrying him carefully out the front door and into the car. He placed him in the passenger seat, trying to make sure he wasnât putting too much pressure on his shoulder before putting on his seatbelt. âStay there, sunshine, Iâll be right back,â he told him, as if Jiyong could actually hear him. Heading back inside the house, Namjoon approached the intruder, still unconscious on the floor. He quickly searched him, not finding much in the way of identification but also not really expecting to find any. He had a poorly made fake ID, but it would be enough to track him down later. Pocketing it, Namjoon grabbed both of his ankles, pulling him out the front door that way and depositing him onto the lawn. âI guess weâll see in a few weeks how much you like havinâ a hitman sent after you,â he muttered.
Locking the front door, Namjoon raced back to the car, quickly getting in and taking off. The nearest hospital was just down the road, but it felt like forever to Namjoon. He kept looking over at Jiyong, watching how much his shoulder bled, and hoping he could still be saved. Rushing him into the emergency room was easy enough, with Namjoon yelling at the top of his voice getting just about everyoneâs attention. Jiyong was quickly taken by a few doctors, and although Namjoon didnât appreciate being separated from him, he was forced to stay back and fill out paperwork while they waited for the doctors to patch up Jiyong.
It felt like years passed until he finally got word back from someone, only to be told thatâ it wasnât serious. At all. He had lost blood, but he had only passed out so quickly because of a lack of nourishment. The bullet had gone all the way through, so there was nothing to take out and the damage was minimal. Anything Jiyong had said that implied that he was dying was, as the doctor put it, Jiyong being a drama queen.
So, a few hours later, Namjoon sat in the room with Jiyong, impatiently tapping one foot and huffing every so often. âKwon Jiyong,â Namjoon breathed. âYou better be fuckinâ prepared when you wake up, boy, because you are going to die.â
When Yang woke up, all he could hear was the steady beat of his heart monitor.
His shoulder was bandaged up, and all he could think about was his tattoo. It was going to have a big, ugly scar in it, and he hated the idea of that. An irritated huff passed his lips, and he reached his hand up to rub his eyes. He was exhausted. His entire body felt heavy, and all he wanted was Namjoon.
Namjoon.
Yang sat upright quickly, but immediately regretted it. âFuck, ow,â he moaned, resting his hand on his forehead. It was only then that Namjoonâs words registered with him. He cleared his throat, glancing over at the other man. If anything, Namjoon looked more tired than Yang felt. He didnât know how long he had been here, but he was sure that Namjoon had been by his side the entire time.
âYou canât kill me. Iâm injured. My arm almost fell off,â Yang whined, jutting out his lower lip in a pout as he looked at Namjoon. Truthfully, he felt terrible. Heâd worried Namjoon so much⌠and heâd made him think he was actually dying. But in his defense, he thought, he had thought he was doing a good job of over-exaggerating.
He scooted over in bed, patting the spot next to him. âCâmere. As long as you ainât gonna reach over and strangle me as soon as you sit down,â he grinned. He didnât want to have this conversation. He didnât want Namjoon to be upset with him, though he knew that he deserved it. Namjoon was the sweetest human being Yang had ever met, and to see him put through that much stressâŚ. Yang hated it.
âIâm sorry, by the way,â he finally said. âI didnât mean to scare you. I thought you could tell I was jokinâ.â He didnât know if it was right to bring up the other part. The love part. And he wanted to. He wanted to tell Namjoon that he felt the same way. But maybe now wasnât the right time for the conversation. Right now, all he wanted was Namjoon.














