hold me 𐦍 yeonbin

026 ᯓᡣ𐭩

When Yeonjun finishes lacing his boots, Soobin pushes the door open and waits for Yeonjun on the porch. Yeonjun rests his hands in the jacket pockets.

“Taehyun’s not a warlock.”

“Evil...pixie?”

“Let’s go.” Yeonjun pushes past him.

The thing Yeonjun hates most about cars and vans is seatbelts. Humans don’t mind being restricted, and they do it voluntarily. They have seatbelts in cars, and they have jewelry to tie their hands together, and they don’t mind how it constricts and confines them. Most humans have never been on the operating table.

“I’m not moving this van until you put it on.”

“Then we’ll be sitting here forever.”

It’s not like Soobin is strong enough to force it over him, and even if he does, Yeonjun already learned how to untie it. The bright red button is hard to miss.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“I won’t. Just drive. I’ll be fine.”

Soobin sighs, offering a key to the car and twisting it until the van starts to rumble and growl. Yeonjun isn’t afraid of the roaring this time or the way his seat vibrates. He is only afraid of what might happen if he allows his body to be strapped down again.

Soobin doesn’t make the van move. He stares at Yeonjun, but Yeonjun isn’t going to change his mind.

“Put the belt on.”

Yeonjun tugs the strap already over his lap and lets it snap back in place. “It is.”

“Both parts.”

“I didn’t last time.”

“Last time I was scared you would incinerate me if I told you what to do.”

“I can still incinerate you.”

“But you won’t.”

“I could.” Yeonjun won’t. But he will struggle.

“If a deer jumps into the road and we have to stop suddenly, the momentum will send you out the windshield.”

“Drive around the deer, then. I’m not putting the belt on.”

Soobin twists the key again and the van stops rumbling. “Then no fish for you.”

“Fine.”

It’s not fine. Yeonjun wants to see a fish up close. He wants to meet a bird that isn’t too high to reach. He’s intrigued at the concept of a snake that can’t break out of its confines through manipulation and disguise.

“Yeonjun,” Soobin says, his voice low, like a warning.

“Soobin,” Yeonjun mimics in his tone.

Soobin sighs. “I didn’t want to have to do this,” he says.

His heartbeat skips from frustration to exhilaration. Yeonjun is about to ask why when the words catch in his throat as Soobin undoes his own seatbelt and leans into Yeonjun’s space, so close that Yeonjun has to press his back into the door to avoid contact. Soobin presses his palm against the window behind Yeonjun to hold himself up and to keep Yeonjun from running. He’s almost as close as they were when they did a kiss, not yet touching.

“Put your belt on,” he says, centimeters from Yeonjun’s face.

Yeonjun can’t find his voice, so he shakes his head. He can’t suppress his dust either, escaping from him in a color he’s never felt before. It’s pink, it barely shimmers, and it isn’t pale. It’s almost red. He isn’t angry. It’s definitely not anger.