all of me.
he spends half an hour escaping a horde of men dressed in black: they start their chase when they spot him in black lotus territory when he tries, and fails, to gather information about his mother’s murder.
from its start to its end, the escape leaves him with a cut on his abdomen; bruises stretch across his arms, press against his chest; an ache pounds at the sides of his head, a quiet reminder that he’s escaped certain death. at least he’s shaken them off for now, though it’s left his apartment in danger–safety flees the usual spots, leaves him homeless.
there’s someone who can help, someone daehyun trusts; someone who, even now, would help him.
the thought of him alone is enough for daehyun to smile, though he shakes it off, finds it daft to act like a school boy in love; after all, they’re just friends, nothing more, nothing less. it’s basic, he tells himself, though the flutter of emotion lingers, survives the rhythm of pain that rises and falls with each step.
daehyun arrives with a hand pressed against his abdomen to slow the bleeding as best as he can. energy has left him and the sides of his visions fold and wrinkle, start to wane as motion becomes languid; his hand is slow when he rings the doorbell, body heavy when he leans against the door frame, when he uses the last of his strength to call out.
“youngjae... it’s me, daehyun. open up.”
the night’s grown terribly old after a long day and youngjae finds himself curled up in bed with the warmth of white bedsheets. it was a busier day, more cases than usual, and he only returned home a few minutes ago. he felt drained in every way possible. all he needed right now was rest.
and just as he begins to cross over the line of being awake and being asleep, heavy eyelids closing, the ringing of a doorbell is heard and they’re back open. face is rubbed with his hands and a glance at his bedside clock is taken. it’s late but hearing that voice he’s become so familiar to makes all complaints escape his mind. there were no complaints when it came to daehyun. joking ones in a whiny voice here and there of course, but all at the same time youngjae was the type to ask ‘how high?’ if daehyun told him to jump.
the boy doesn’t even have to say his name for youngjae to know who it is. though he’s somewhat curious what the other would need this late at night.
it takes a few seconds, but he drags himself out of bed and to the door. he opens it slowly, eyebrows furrowed, confused by the sight until he notices a bloody hand on top of a wound. eyes widen, continuing to shift his eyes back and forth between the other’s face and the blood. “shit, daehyun..” is all he can say. he wraps an arm around the other’s waist, closing the door behind them, supporting his weight until they reach his couch. “what happened?”
