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writetomyheart2015-07-06 08:46 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-07-06 08:46 pm
[team sonic] shelter
Starting words taken from here.
This is the second story in the 紅樓夢 AU, preceded by Continue, and was also written for Fake Dating AUs Week. The title is from Shelter by the xx.
His face, in the watery light of early morning, is pale. That hangover must be hitting you hard, Jiro thinks, looking over his shoulder from where he's standing at the gas range, flipping pancakes.
"Do you want some water?" he asks, looking at his hands, spatula in one hand, the other sticky with batter that he wipes on the half apron he still has lurking in the pantry—let's not go there.
"Okay," Sehun says quietly, and Jiro remembers what hangovers feel like. Like a softer kind of heartbreak. He flips the pancake and reaches for a glass in the cabinet, the water running clear from the faucet.
"Here you go," he says, and grins at Sehun, his rainbow hair a mess; Jiro remembers absentmindedly running his fingers through it when they were sleeping, but that was last night.
It's today now; he watches Sehun swallow the aspirin he dropped into his palm, adam's apple bobbing before a familiar acrid smell nickles his nose and Jiro hurries over to the range, but the pancake is already burnt. He tosses it the garbage can, remember, the rustle of the plastic bag liner seems to say. Don't forget.
He can imagine trying to explain this to Aaron, or worse yet, Calvin.—"So what did you do on the weekend?" "Oh, nothing much, I made pancakes for a boy I picked up on the way home."—Not happening.
"You said it was your birthday?" Jiro asks, bringing the pancakes on a platter to the table, where two place settings are ready. Sehun looks back at him, from where he was staring at something in mid-air. The collar of his pajamas, my pajamas, is folded over wrong and Jiro's fingers twitch to straighten it, but that would be a bad idea. "You don't have to answer," he adds, as Sehun just looks at him.
"I'm twenty one now," Sehun says, and Jiro blinks. It sounds so young, somehow, and yet he knew that Sehun was barely a boy, puking his guts out in the rain. Sehun's voice is a little too flat, a little too crushed, and Jiro wishes he knew how to put a smile on his face.
They eat in silence.
Jiro sets down his fork, the sound of the metal resting on porcelain ringing through the still kitchen. Across from him, Sehun has gotten more and more hunched into himself with every minute, and Jiro doesn't think it's the hangover. His arms twitch; he'd like nothing more to walk around the table and give Sehun a hug, but he doesn't.
"Are you okay?" he asks instead, although he doesn't know how he would be able to help. I only end up with broken pieces.
"Not really," Sehun says, pushing around a syrup-sodden heap of mashed pancake on his plate. He hasn't eaten more than three forkfuls, as he leans away from the table, light falling across his face and casting shadows on the socket of one eye, like a phantom bruise.
We all have things we want to forget, Jiro thinks, as he opens his mouth to make a mistake.
"I have to run a few errands today, want to tag along?" Sehun looks surprised, and Jiro doesn't expect him to agree; they're strangers after all. The thank you Sehun whispered to him last night, warm body coiled around his, that was a blip in the fabric of reality. It's morning now, and they're two strangers sitting across the table from each other.
He's surprised when Sehun nods.
Jiro doesn't look at Sehun, sitting in the passenger side of his boxster, wearing his clothes. The shirt is a little big—Sehun has the shoulders but he's so slight, somehow—it makes him feel strange, looking at him. In my favourite shirt.
"You never share your clothes," Calvin always says, and he's right. Jiro shakes his head and keeps driving.
"Where are we going?" Sehun asks, and Jiro wonders why the young man seems to trust him so much. What happened yesterday? He doesn't ask though, instead answering the question as his hands spin on the wheel, hot sunlight splashing across his knuckles.
"I need some groceries, and there's a package to pick up." The silence between them stretches, but it's not heavy, like before in the kitchen, merely expectant. Sehun seems to be waiting for him to say something, but Jiro doesn't know what to say. I'm too old for this.
"You're not old," Wu Chun always says, before clobbering him at basketball. "I'm older than you." But Jiro doesn't think that age is a number. I haven't been there in a long time, he thinks, eying Sehun who's blinking in the sunlight; he must still have a hell of a headache. It's a lie though, he might have left the bar early but it's still the same scene.
The light still hurts his eyes in the morning. Jiro reaches over to flip open the glove compartment, Sehun's eyes flick over in surprise as he hands him a pair of wayfarers.
"Put these on," he says, and looks back at the road.
Jiro is in the cereal aisle when he notices that Sehun isn't standing next to the cart, idly poking through boxes and steadfastly ignoring the messages that keep flickering across the screen of his phone.
"Sehun?" Jiro looks around but the aisle is only full of middle-aged women dragging kids away from the frosted flakes section. There's no rainbow hair in sight. Did he get bored and go home? But standing there, in the crowded aisle, Jiro feels like something isn't right. Sehun wasn't ignoring his messages for nothing.
Someone who folded the pajamas he borrowed wouldn't leave without leave without saying goodbye.
Jiro wrestles the shopping cart through the mass and turns the corner, only to see Sehun peering around a rack of potato chips. He looks pale, and Jiro feels something catch in his throat. Why does it always feel like I'm looking at myself?
Instead of calling across the space between them, Jiro rolls the cart forward and grabs a bag of chips he'll regret later. "What's wrong?"
Sehun glances to the side; Jiro can see the whites of his eyes as he follows his gaze. There's a figure in the freezer section, white t-shirt, black hair as he turns, smiling eyes that widen as he spots them and Sehun is too slow to duck away.
"Sehun!" The young man seems surprised to see him, looking at Jiro with a confused expression on his face.
"Hyunbin," Sehun says quietly, and Jiro can see the way his fingers twist in his palms, knuckles white like he's trying to hold himself together.
"I missed you at the party yesterday," Hyunbin says, walking over. His hips move with a distinct swagger, and Jiro finds himself frowning. I don't like you.
"I was—" Sehun begins, but Hyunbin cuts him off.
"Mina was wondering where you went," he grins, just before the phone lights up in his hand. "Oops, sorry, there she is now." He leaves with a flick of his hand, barely a wave, like he's brushing Sehun off. Jiro can feel the lines of his face pull into a scowl.
"Can we go?" Sehun asks, and there's a kind of catch in his throat, but his eyes are angry now. Jiro isn't sure whether it's an improvement or not, but he nods and they head for the checkout, even though he hasn't gotten milk yet. Oh well.
Sehun stays in the car when they stop at the post office, and he's on his phone when Jiro comes back, fingers angrily tapping on the screen before he lets it fall into this lap with a sigh, dropping his head back on the head rest.
"What's wrong?" Jiro asks, slipping into his seat, the car engine flaring to life.
"He posted it on twitter," Sehun says, and doesn't say anything else, but Jiro can imagine. The words are slipping out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
"Can I help?"
Sehun's eyes dart over to him, widening slightly in surprise. Skyscrapers scroll by behind his head, a city of people flying by. Jiro doesn't know what he's doing at all, but he somehow can't stop himself.
Is this another train wreck?
"I have to go to my friend's dance perfomance," Sehun says finally. "I was supposed to go with. . ." His voice trails off. Jiro nods.
"Tonight?" He's supposed to meet Calvin, look over plans for the new coffee shop, but suddenly the idea of looking at another blueprint, another spreadsheet up on the screen, blinking and drinking too much coffee before walking home alone in the dark isn't appealing. That's all.
Sehun nods. His fingers are curled around the phone, like he's waiting for a message that will never come. Waking up to a cold bed, a note on the nightstand. Jiro knows this feeling all too well.
"Sure," he says. The silence between them stretches, a question hanging in the air before it finally snaps.
"Why are you doing this?" Sehun finally asks. The wayfarers are back on his face, blocking the late afternoon sun, and Jiro doesn't like that he can't tell what he's thinking. I don't know.
"You said it was your birthday yesterday," Jiro finally says, his brain coming up empty and settling on something a little too close to the truth for comfort. This is a terrible idea. "Late birthday present?" Sehun just stares at him, as the silence presses on. There's sun in his eyes, but Sehun has his sunglasses.
"I have a business meeting kind of thing and I don't feel like going," Jiro says, after a few uncomfortable moments, and is surprised to see Sehun smirk in the rearview mirror.
"Okay that makes more sense," he says, and Jiro wonders why he couldn't believe the other reason.
"So let me get this straight." Calvin's voice over the phone isn't annoyed, like Jiro was expecting, but rather. . .speculative. "You're dumping our meeting because you're going out. And you won't tell me where." Jiro groans into the speaker, considers hanging up, but Calvin is still talking. "This smells like a date."
"It's not a date," Jiro hisses into the phone, eyes flicking over to Sehun who's sitting on his sofa, dark wash jeans a stark contrast to the white leather. He's wearing a borrowed sweater, soft cashmere, and he looks like a study in contrasts, sharp edges and soft curves. His eyes lift from the coffee table book on the table, long fingers idly flipping pages, Coffee Shops of Japan, and Jiro looks away.
"This sounds like a case of the lady doth protest too much," Calvin chuckles into the phone, and Jiro wants nothing more than to go over and punch the annoying expression off his face. "Is he hot? Where did you meet him?" Jiro groans and swipes to end the call.
"Let's go," he beckons to Sehun, who doesn't look like he wants to move, finally flipping the cover of the book shut. It sounds like the end of something. Or maybe the start.
The venue isn't what Jiro was expecting, as Sehun's directions end up at a large concert hall, not the small auditorium that he was subconsciously expecting. Who are you? Jiro realizes he doesn't know anything about Sehun at all.
The lobby is packed and there are people queuing up for last minute seating, even though the sign says sold out. Jiro gets caught in the crowd, too lost in his thoughts, surprised when a hand reaches back, fingers wrapping around his.
"Come on," Sehun says, and his voice is flat but Jiro can feel the fine trembling in his fingers. He squeezes, reflex, and Sehun's hand squeezes back as he pulls him through the crowd, handing the ticket taker two slips of paper before they're directed up steps.
As Jiro settles into the front row loge seat, Sehun back to twisting his fingers in his lap, he looks around at the audience and wonders.
Sehun's friend is brilliant, whoever he is, and Jiro joins in the applause, ballet is so much better than blueprints, but when he glances over at Sehun he can see him biting his lip, teeth marks denting the skin. Sehun stands up, abruptly, and Jiro is confused, rushing after him as they pass by people who are still murmuring to each other, red velvet lowering down over the last curtain call.
They're in the lobby when Jiro sees him. Hyunbin, arms wrapped around a girl's shoulders. His first thought is that she looks far too young for him, but then he looks at Sehun standing beside him and remembers what Calvin said. No.
"Sehun!" There's a voice behind them, not Hyunbin, who looks around, startled, before he sees them in the crowd, stepped forward until he spots Jiro. For some reason he can't explain, he reaches out and takes Sehun's hand.
"I'm glad you came!" The young man standing in the lobby, slightly out of breath, is starting to draw a crowd, audience members murmuring and Sehun smiles back.
"Hi Jongin. Great performance." It's a nice look, and there's a feeling in Jiro's chest that he brushes away without examining it.
"But who's your friend?" Jongin asks, eyeing Jiro curiously.
"I saw you together at the grocery store," Hyunbin says, coming up from behind them, the girl trailing behind. She looks at Sehun speculatively, and wraps her arms more tightly around Hyunbin's arm, the unvoiced claim unmistakable. Sehun's fingernails start digging into Jiro's palm, but he doesn't say anything. Jongin looks at him expectantly, as the silence clots up, a pocket in the background noise of after-performance buzz.
"I'm Jiro," Jiro finally says, and wonders what else he should add, if anything. But Jongin's expression takes on a teasing look.
"Finally moving past the small fry," he says, nodding approvingly, and his eyes flick past them to Hyunbin. It looks like Jongin doesn't like him either, and Jiro likes him instantly for it. "Well I have to run back but I'll see you! Tell me all about your new boyfriend!" Leaving Jiro mentally reeling, Jongin disappears back into the crowd.
There's a cough behind them, and Sehun turns slightly, but doesn't quite look at Hyunbin.
"Is that true?" Hyunbin asks, and there's a strange expression on his face. Possessive, Jiro realizes, with a kind of sick feeling in his stomach. His fingers tighten around Sehun's, he can't even feel the fingernails digging into his skin anymore.
"Is there a problem with that?" Jiro says, and walks away, Sehun following in silence.
"Thanks," Sehun says quietly in the dark as they sit in the boxster outside the address he told Jiro before they sank into silence, the lights of the city flickering by, too many intersections and flashing signals.
Jiro doesn't know what to say. Sehun is wearing the wayfarers again, and Jiro wants to take them off his face and see what he's thinking, as he makes no move to open the door. The silence is expectant, there are too many questions hanging between them.
"Did you. . .did you mean it?" he asks, finally, and Jiro thinks about Hyunbin, the girl curved around his arm, the expression on his face. Been there, done that.
"Yes," he says. They sit, in the dark, until Sehun takes Jiro's phone from the bracket and types in his number, sends a text.
"If I call you, will you come?" he asks, and Jiro nods, watching Sehun slip out the door, which closes with a dull thud behind him. His phone, lying alone on the passenger seat, vibrates, and Calvin's name flashes across the screen.
"So how was your date?" he asks, when Jiro finally answers.
"It was not a date," Jiro says, "and I didn't go anywhere after all." The lie slips out before he realizes it, but it's too late to take back. Shit.
"Then when I show up at your apartment in, say, half an hour, you'll be there?" Calvin sounds skeptical, and Jiro slumps forward onto the steering wheel for a moment.
"Yes of course," he says, before hanging up and gunning the engine.
This is the second story in the 紅樓夢 AU, preceded by Continue, and was also written for Fake Dating AUs Week. The title is from Shelter by the xx.
His face, in the watery light of early morning, is pale. That hangover must be hitting you hard, Jiro thinks, looking over his shoulder from where he's standing at the gas range, flipping pancakes.
"Do you want some water?" he asks, looking at his hands, spatula in one hand, the other sticky with batter that he wipes on the half apron he still has lurking in the pantry—let's not go there.
"Okay," Sehun says quietly, and Jiro remembers what hangovers feel like. Like a softer kind of heartbreak. He flips the pancake and reaches for a glass in the cabinet, the water running clear from the faucet.
"Here you go," he says, and grins at Sehun, his rainbow hair a mess; Jiro remembers absentmindedly running his fingers through it when they were sleeping, but that was last night.
It's today now; he watches Sehun swallow the aspirin he dropped into his palm, adam's apple bobbing before a familiar acrid smell nickles his nose and Jiro hurries over to the range, but the pancake is already burnt. He tosses it the garbage can, remember, the rustle of the plastic bag liner seems to say. Don't forget.
He can imagine trying to explain this to Aaron, or worse yet, Calvin.—"So what did you do on the weekend?" "Oh, nothing much, I made pancakes for a boy I picked up on the way home."—Not happening.
"You said it was your birthday?" Jiro asks, bringing the pancakes on a platter to the table, where two place settings are ready. Sehun looks back at him, from where he was staring at something in mid-air. The collar of his pajamas, my pajamas, is folded over wrong and Jiro's fingers twitch to straighten it, but that would be a bad idea. "You don't have to answer," he adds, as Sehun just looks at him.
"I'm twenty one now," Sehun says, and Jiro blinks. It sounds so young, somehow, and yet he knew that Sehun was barely a boy, puking his guts out in the rain. Sehun's voice is a little too flat, a little too crushed, and Jiro wishes he knew how to put a smile on his face.
They eat in silence.
Jiro sets down his fork, the sound of the metal resting on porcelain ringing through the still kitchen. Across from him, Sehun has gotten more and more hunched into himself with every minute, and Jiro doesn't think it's the hangover. His arms twitch; he'd like nothing more to walk around the table and give Sehun a hug, but he doesn't.
"Are you okay?" he asks instead, although he doesn't know how he would be able to help. I only end up with broken pieces.
"Not really," Sehun says, pushing around a syrup-sodden heap of mashed pancake on his plate. He hasn't eaten more than three forkfuls, as he leans away from the table, light falling across his face and casting shadows on the socket of one eye, like a phantom bruise.
We all have things we want to forget, Jiro thinks, as he opens his mouth to make a mistake.
"I have to run a few errands today, want to tag along?" Sehun looks surprised, and Jiro doesn't expect him to agree; they're strangers after all. The thank you Sehun whispered to him last night, warm body coiled around his, that was a blip in the fabric of reality. It's morning now, and they're two strangers sitting across the table from each other.
He's surprised when Sehun nods.
Jiro doesn't look at Sehun, sitting in the passenger side of his boxster, wearing his clothes. The shirt is a little big—Sehun has the shoulders but he's so slight, somehow—it makes him feel strange, looking at him. In my favourite shirt.
"You never share your clothes," Calvin always says, and he's right. Jiro shakes his head and keeps driving.
"Where are we going?" Sehun asks, and Jiro wonders why the young man seems to trust him so much. What happened yesterday? He doesn't ask though, instead answering the question as his hands spin on the wheel, hot sunlight splashing across his knuckles.
"I need some groceries, and there's a package to pick up." The silence between them stretches, but it's not heavy, like before in the kitchen, merely expectant. Sehun seems to be waiting for him to say something, but Jiro doesn't know what to say. I'm too old for this.
"You're not old," Wu Chun always says, before clobbering him at basketball. "I'm older than you." But Jiro doesn't think that age is a number. I haven't been there in a long time, he thinks, eying Sehun who's blinking in the sunlight; he must still have a hell of a headache. It's a lie though, he might have left the bar early but it's still the same scene.
The light still hurts his eyes in the morning. Jiro reaches over to flip open the glove compartment, Sehun's eyes flick over in surprise as he hands him a pair of wayfarers.
"Put these on," he says, and looks back at the road.
Jiro is in the cereal aisle when he notices that Sehun isn't standing next to the cart, idly poking through boxes and steadfastly ignoring the messages that keep flickering across the screen of his phone.
"Sehun?" Jiro looks around but the aisle is only full of middle-aged women dragging kids away from the frosted flakes section. There's no rainbow hair in sight. Did he get bored and go home? But standing there, in the crowded aisle, Jiro feels like something isn't right. Sehun wasn't ignoring his messages for nothing.
Someone who folded the pajamas he borrowed wouldn't leave without leave without saying goodbye.
Jiro wrestles the shopping cart through the mass and turns the corner, only to see Sehun peering around a rack of potato chips. He looks pale, and Jiro feels something catch in his throat. Why does it always feel like I'm looking at myself?
Instead of calling across the space between them, Jiro rolls the cart forward and grabs a bag of chips he'll regret later. "What's wrong?"
Sehun glances to the side; Jiro can see the whites of his eyes as he follows his gaze. There's a figure in the freezer section, white t-shirt, black hair as he turns, smiling eyes that widen as he spots them and Sehun is too slow to duck away.
"Sehun!" The young man seems surprised to see him, looking at Jiro with a confused expression on his face.
"Hyunbin," Sehun says quietly, and Jiro can see the way his fingers twist in his palms, knuckles white like he's trying to hold himself together.
"I missed you at the party yesterday," Hyunbin says, walking over. His hips move with a distinct swagger, and Jiro finds himself frowning. I don't like you.
"I was—" Sehun begins, but Hyunbin cuts him off.
"Mina was wondering where you went," he grins, just before the phone lights up in his hand. "Oops, sorry, there she is now." He leaves with a flick of his hand, barely a wave, like he's brushing Sehun off. Jiro can feel the lines of his face pull into a scowl.
"Can we go?" Sehun asks, and there's a kind of catch in his throat, but his eyes are angry now. Jiro isn't sure whether it's an improvement or not, but he nods and they head for the checkout, even though he hasn't gotten milk yet. Oh well.
Sehun stays in the car when they stop at the post office, and he's on his phone when Jiro comes back, fingers angrily tapping on the screen before he lets it fall into this lap with a sigh, dropping his head back on the head rest.
"What's wrong?" Jiro asks, slipping into his seat, the car engine flaring to life.
"He posted it on twitter," Sehun says, and doesn't say anything else, but Jiro can imagine. The words are slipping out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
"Can I help?"
Sehun's eyes dart over to him, widening slightly in surprise. Skyscrapers scroll by behind his head, a city of people flying by. Jiro doesn't know what he's doing at all, but he somehow can't stop himself.
Is this another train wreck?
"I have to go to my friend's dance perfomance," Sehun says finally. "I was supposed to go with. . ." His voice trails off. Jiro nods.
"Tonight?" He's supposed to meet Calvin, look over plans for the new coffee shop, but suddenly the idea of looking at another blueprint, another spreadsheet up on the screen, blinking and drinking too much coffee before walking home alone in the dark isn't appealing. That's all.
Sehun nods. His fingers are curled around the phone, like he's waiting for a message that will never come. Waking up to a cold bed, a note on the nightstand. Jiro knows this feeling all too well.
"Sure," he says. The silence between them stretches, a question hanging in the air before it finally snaps.
"Why are you doing this?" Sehun finally asks. The wayfarers are back on his face, blocking the late afternoon sun, and Jiro doesn't like that he can't tell what he's thinking. I don't know.
"You said it was your birthday yesterday," Jiro finally says, his brain coming up empty and settling on something a little too close to the truth for comfort. This is a terrible idea. "Late birthday present?" Sehun just stares at him, as the silence presses on. There's sun in his eyes, but Sehun has his sunglasses.
"I have a business meeting kind of thing and I don't feel like going," Jiro says, after a few uncomfortable moments, and is surprised to see Sehun smirk in the rearview mirror.
"Okay that makes more sense," he says, and Jiro wonders why he couldn't believe the other reason.
"So let me get this straight." Calvin's voice over the phone isn't annoyed, like Jiro was expecting, but rather. . .speculative. "You're dumping our meeting because you're going out. And you won't tell me where." Jiro groans into the speaker, considers hanging up, but Calvin is still talking. "This smells like a date."
"It's not a date," Jiro hisses into the phone, eyes flicking over to Sehun who's sitting on his sofa, dark wash jeans a stark contrast to the white leather. He's wearing a borrowed sweater, soft cashmere, and he looks like a study in contrasts, sharp edges and soft curves. His eyes lift from the coffee table book on the table, long fingers idly flipping pages, Coffee Shops of Japan, and Jiro looks away.
"This sounds like a case of the lady doth protest too much," Calvin chuckles into the phone, and Jiro wants nothing more than to go over and punch the annoying expression off his face. "Is he hot? Where did you meet him?" Jiro groans and swipes to end the call.
"Let's go," he beckons to Sehun, who doesn't look like he wants to move, finally flipping the cover of the book shut. It sounds like the end of something. Or maybe the start.
The venue isn't what Jiro was expecting, as Sehun's directions end up at a large concert hall, not the small auditorium that he was subconsciously expecting. Who are you? Jiro realizes he doesn't know anything about Sehun at all.
The lobby is packed and there are people queuing up for last minute seating, even though the sign says sold out. Jiro gets caught in the crowd, too lost in his thoughts, surprised when a hand reaches back, fingers wrapping around his.
"Come on," Sehun says, and his voice is flat but Jiro can feel the fine trembling in his fingers. He squeezes, reflex, and Sehun's hand squeezes back as he pulls him through the crowd, handing the ticket taker two slips of paper before they're directed up steps.
As Jiro settles into the front row loge seat, Sehun back to twisting his fingers in his lap, he looks around at the audience and wonders.
Sehun's friend is brilliant, whoever he is, and Jiro joins in the applause, ballet is so much better than blueprints, but when he glances over at Sehun he can see him biting his lip, teeth marks denting the skin. Sehun stands up, abruptly, and Jiro is confused, rushing after him as they pass by people who are still murmuring to each other, red velvet lowering down over the last curtain call.
They're in the lobby when Jiro sees him. Hyunbin, arms wrapped around a girl's shoulders. His first thought is that she looks far too young for him, but then he looks at Sehun standing beside him and remembers what Calvin said. No.
"Sehun!" There's a voice behind them, not Hyunbin, who looks around, startled, before he sees them in the crowd, stepped forward until he spots Jiro. For some reason he can't explain, he reaches out and takes Sehun's hand.
"I'm glad you came!" The young man standing in the lobby, slightly out of breath, is starting to draw a crowd, audience members murmuring and Sehun smiles back.
"Hi Jongin. Great performance." It's a nice look, and there's a feeling in Jiro's chest that he brushes away without examining it.
"But who's your friend?" Jongin asks, eyeing Jiro curiously.
"I saw you together at the grocery store," Hyunbin says, coming up from behind them, the girl trailing behind. She looks at Sehun speculatively, and wraps her arms more tightly around Hyunbin's arm, the unvoiced claim unmistakable. Sehun's fingernails start digging into Jiro's palm, but he doesn't say anything. Jongin looks at him expectantly, as the silence clots up, a pocket in the background noise of after-performance buzz.
"I'm Jiro," Jiro finally says, and wonders what else he should add, if anything. But Jongin's expression takes on a teasing look.
"Finally moving past the small fry," he says, nodding approvingly, and his eyes flick past them to Hyunbin. It looks like Jongin doesn't like him either, and Jiro likes him instantly for it. "Well I have to run back but I'll see you! Tell me all about your new boyfriend!" Leaving Jiro mentally reeling, Jongin disappears back into the crowd.
There's a cough behind them, and Sehun turns slightly, but doesn't quite look at Hyunbin.
"Is that true?" Hyunbin asks, and there's a strange expression on his face. Possessive, Jiro realizes, with a kind of sick feeling in his stomach. His fingers tighten around Sehun's, he can't even feel the fingernails digging into his skin anymore.
"Is there a problem with that?" Jiro says, and walks away, Sehun following in silence.
"Thanks," Sehun says quietly in the dark as they sit in the boxster outside the address he told Jiro before they sank into silence, the lights of the city flickering by, too many intersections and flashing signals.
Jiro doesn't know what to say. Sehun is wearing the wayfarers again, and Jiro wants to take them off his face and see what he's thinking, as he makes no move to open the door. The silence is expectant, there are too many questions hanging between them.
"Did you. . .did you mean it?" he asks, finally, and Jiro thinks about Hyunbin, the girl curved around his arm, the expression on his face. Been there, done that.
"Yes," he says. They sit, in the dark, until Sehun takes Jiro's phone from the bracket and types in his number, sends a text.
"If I call you, will you come?" he asks, and Jiro nods, watching Sehun slip out the door, which closes with a dull thud behind him. His phone, lying alone on the passenger seat, vibrates, and Calvin's name flashes across the screen.
"So how was your date?" he asks, when Jiro finally answers.
"It was not a date," Jiro says, "and I didn't go anywhere after all." The lie slips out before he realizes it, but it's too late to take back. Shit.
"Then when I show up at your apartment in, say, half an hour, you'll be there?" Calvin sounds skeptical, and Jiro slumps forward onto the steering wheel for a moment.
"Yes of course," he says, before hanging up and gunning the engine.
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Comes back and drops the picture of Jiro in a white suit shirt and plastic rimmed glassesno subject
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YES OF COURSE DECK HYUNBIN I'M NOT DONE WITH HIM