hold me 𐦍 yeonbin

006 ᯓᡣ𐭩

Yeonjun reminds Soobin of someone he tried to save. Soobin wasn’t able to help them then. He couldn’t stand by like he was supposed to. He should have stayed calm, and after the affects from the trauma wore off, he should never have forgotten their name.

The last time Soobin had someone in his apartment, they ate all his food, ripped a poster off the wall, and shattered a glass against the front door before storming out. It was over a year ago, and he never invited them back. They said Soobin was a real piece of work, called him a tool and a dickhead, and then blocked him on all socials. They never returned his poster or the hoodie he leant them.

Soobin isn’t fond of company. He used to be. He used to host parties, but when the party scene grew dull as the company grew repetitive, he closed his doors to everyone but his Kai and Beomgyu, his family.

Seeing someone in his living room without a joint between their lips or a phone in their hands, ignoring his every attempt to be polite, is refreshing. Even if that person is less person and more…fairy tale. Supernatural? Unearthly? Soobin isn’t sure what to think of Yeonjun.

His fiery orange hair is the brightest thing in the room. His empty brown eyes remind Soobin of his roommates from the warehouse. They had similar stories to the pixie in his living room—the needles, the malnutrition, the fighting urge to escape and find their way back to stability. The way they drown in Soobin’s t-shirts and sweatpants because he prefers baggy clothing and often his guests own little to no clothes of their own.

He wonders if all pixies are this pretty, or if they just have a charm about them that humans are drawn to, and wearing Soobin’s clothes adds to the inhuman cuteness.

“Will you be okay out here for a minute if I take a shower? I can set up my PlayStation for you.” Wait, no, Yeonjun doesn’t know what a PlayStation is. “You don’t know what a PlayStation is, do you?”

Yeonjun opens his mouth to answer, but to avoid a mess of cracker crumbs spilled on the table over the pile of wrappers and empty plastic bottles of strawberry milk, he instead shakes his head. Yeonjun wipes the crumbs into a neat pile, looking embarrassed. Somehow, some human part of him displays a level or shame, even if he has the table manners of a toddler. Somewhere, he learned not to speak with his mouth full.

“How about a nature documentary?”

“What’s documentary?” Yeonjun asks after he finishes the crackers, then immediately replaces them with the last few from the bag. Soobin isn’t even mad that Yeonjun went through the rest of his snacks—strawberry milk, strawberries, brownies. He would rather see Yeonjun consume his entire home before cutting him off from presumably the first real food he’s had in days.

Soobin pushes out from the table and searches the couch for the remote, finding it between the cushions, and turns on the TV.

“Documentaries are movies that teach you things. There’s some good ones about animals on Earth.” Soobin pats the couch before realizing Yeonjun doesn’t understand the gesture. “Come sit,” he says.

Yeonjun stands slowly, cautiously, before joining Soobin in front of the TV. His hollow eyes light up when he falls to the couch and pulls his legs up beside him.

“It’s soft?” Yeonjun says, more a question than an observation. He runs his hand along the cotton and presses his fingers into it, testing the give.

“If you think this ratty old thing is soft, wait ‘til you try the bed,” Soobin laughs. With anyone else, Soobin realizes that would carries implications. He doesn’t feel the need to explain what he meant.

“Your heart sped up again.”

Yikes.

“Don’t worry about it.”