heart trap | beomjun / yeongyu

9

He freezes, petrified. Yeonjun lifts his head and his very beautiful, very confused eyes land on Beomgyu and Beomgyu registers that he's fucked. Royally, completely, entirely fucked.

Fuck.

Yeonjun's gaze trails down Beomgyu's body, to the towel tied messily over his chest and the rapidly beating heart clutched in his own hand. The sudden uptick in pace causes more blood to spill everywhere, and Yeonjun winces when it drips all over his hands.

The evidence is damning. Beomgyu squeezes his heart tightly, trying to will it to slow the fuck down, but the stupid thing never listens when it's inside his body let alone outside.

"I..." Yeonjun speaks, then trails off. His fingers flex around nothing, and his eyes snap towards Beomgyu's suddenly. "You..."

"Hyung—" Beomgyu croaks.

"Beomgyu," Yeonjun says. He frowns so deeply his forehead creases. "What the fuck?"

"I, well," Beomgyu stammers, racking his mind for something intelligent to say. "Surprise?"

Yeonjun blinks at him.

His lack of response causes sweat to prick the back of Beomgyu's neck, and he attempts to wipe it off before remembering he has blood all over his hands and now on his nape.

"... The person that you like is me?" Yeonjun chokes.

Beomgyu laughs wildly in his mind and begins writing out his will, because his life might as well be over now.

--

Yeonjun silently leads Beomgyu into his apartment, gesturing for him to sit down. Beomgyu's heart is still in his hands, and he doesn't seem to have the intention of giving it back. It's very poetic in a way, like the perfect physical representation of Beomgyu's miserable love life and one-sided crush.

Beomgyu sits on the couch looking like a scolded puppy and feeling like a cornered animal. Why isn't Yeonjun saying anything? Has it not registered to him what's going on? No, Yeonjun is smarter than that. He definitely knows.

He must be in a state of shock. Or so confused that he doesn't know what to say. Beomgyu wouldn't know what to say either. He bites at his nails and Yeonjun gently nudges his hand away from his mouth with his elbow, saying, "Don't bite your nails. It's bad for you."

"Sorry," Beomgyu whispers, and instead digs his fingers into the couch to give his hands something to do.

Yeonjun drags a chair over to sit in front of the couch and sits down. With Beomgyu's heart in his hand, he's getting blood everywhere, and Beomgyu winces watching it stain the carpet. With none of Kai's cleaning solution left, that's going to be a bitch to get out.

Fuck. What a disaster. He looks pointedly at his lap, rubbing his forehead in a pathetic attempt to ease some of the pressure in his head.

Yeonjun needs to say something already so they can get the awkward conversation over with. This is exactly why he never spoke up in the first place. The tense atmosphere is unbearable, and the thought that every passing moment in silence solidifies their friendship changing makes him feel ill.

And he was already ill before this, so that's a big feat.

Yeonjun leans over, heart in hand, and Beomgyu's head snaps up.

"Are... are you mad at me?" he chances asking, blurting it out before he can register what a terrible idea it is. Yeonjun's responding glare is so fierce that it makes him stop breathing for a second.