hold me 𐦍 yeonbin

010 ᯓᡣ𐭩

“Try not to get ketchup on the seats. I’m borrowing this car,” Soobin says, reaching over to steal a fry from Yeonjun’s lap. If either of them stains the seats, Kai will never let Soobin borrow his van to run away with a pixie ever again. 

Yeonjun was hesitant to climb into van, saying he didn’t trust anything with round legs, until Soobin opened the bag of fast food so Yeonjun could smell it, and he hopped in immediately. No amount of strawberry smoothie could get Yeonjun to wear his seatbelt, and Soobin was too scared of what Yeonjun would do to him if he forced it. They compromised with just the lap belt.

“Car?” Yeonjun asks, worried. “You said this breed was called a ‘van.’”

“Vans are like the Beomgyu of cars.”

“Vans are unintelligent and can’t hurt people?”

Now is probably not the best time to tell Yeonjun that car crashes are one of the leading causes of death for people their age.

Soobin’s age.

Yeonjun could be a hundred years old for all he knows.

“This one won’t hurt you.”

“Then why do we have to be strapped down?” Yeonjun tugs at the belt across his lap, glaring at it like he wants to rip it in half. It snaps back down onto his legs. He pulls the seatbelt a couple more times, testing its give, before giving up and reaching into the bag for another handful of fries.

After finding out what was inside Soobin's burger, Yeonjun decided to stick to fries alone. He drowns the few fries left in a whole packet of ketchup that drips onto the seat between his legs.

“I hope your pixie magic works on ketchup stains,” Soobin says, changing the subject.

“Oh,” Yeonjun looks down at the seat. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

Soobin is impressed. He didn’t know Yeonjun knew the word “sorry," and he looks genuinely upset, and now Soobin feels bad. He keeps his eyes on the road, but glances over occasionally to see what Yeonjun’s face looks like when he’s not glaring or scared or entranced by a tree frog. Guilt looks incredibly human on him.

Yeonjun wipes up the spill with a napkin like Soobin did the first time he opened a ketchup packet and it exploded all over the dashboard. Though he appears to have the body of a human in their mid-twenties, Yeonjun’s motor skills and knowledge of basic human functions matches that of a five-year-old.

Unfortunately, Yeonjun is really cute like this. The way he can’t take his eyes off the traffic flights, the giant green highway signs, the faster cars zipping by at twice the speed limit, Soobin feels like he has a golden retriever sitting in the passenger seat instead of a pixie. His face is pressed against the window, his eyes wide, mesmerized at the world, the buildings, the roads around him like he’s never seen them before. Like he’s been stuck in an evil lab that never allowed him to explore the world.

“Other humans can see into the van, be careful,” Soobin says. “We’re not out of the city limits yet.”

Yeonjun pulls away from the window and slouches, arms folded, like he’s about to tell Soobin he never lets him have any fun.

“It’s for your own safety,” Soobin adds.

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Right, because when someone recognizes your face from the news, you’ll be able to outrun a fleet of cops on your own.”

“I’m faster than…” Yeonjun drops it. He isn’t right now, and he’s unable to lie about it.

Soobin tries to empathize, tries to imagine seeing human civilization for the first time and being scolded for trying to take it all in.