speedometer ☆ l.yy | ✔

03

You hadn't seen or heard from Jisung in nearly a week when your phone buzzed with a message. Every buzz of your phone since the night of the race had spiked your heartrate, wondering if this time it'd be Jisung. Shifting in Yangyang's arms, you pulled your phone out from your back pocket. He readjusted as well, absentmindedly kissing your temple as his focused was captured by the movie playing on his TV.

[yuta: you need to come over]

[you: what's happened?]

You typed out your message with shaky hands and blood roaring in your ears.

[yuta: just come over]

Fearing the worst, you practically launched yourself from Yangyang's grasp, hurrying to collect your various jackets and shoes you'd need to put on. Your boyfriend was confused as he watched you rush around, "Y/N?"

"I'm going to Yuta's," you said, sitting back on the couch to yank on your boots.

"Baby, it's nearly one in the morning. What could he possibly need?" He tried to reason with you, following you as you leapt back to your feet and pulled on your layers.

"What if it's Jisung?"

Yangyang stopped, switching gears with a solemn nod, "Alright, well it's fucking freezing outside, I'll drive you there."

"Thank you."

☆

The ride to Yuta's was short and silent as you were perched anxiously on the front of the seat the whole time, leg bouncing and eyes nervously scanning the passing buildings. Yuta and Jisung lived in the small apartment building right next to the shop. When Yangyang pulled up, you put a hand over his as he went to turn the car off, "Just wait here, okay?"

"Okay," he relented easily, but still looked apprehensive. "Good luck."

You ran up the stairs until you reach the third floor, apartment 3-13. Knocking firmly on the door, Yuta surprised you by throwing it open just a moment later.

"Hey," he greeted you brightly, a jarring juxtaposition to the tumultuous tsunami raging inside you.

You followed him in, looking around the familiar little apartment with a nostalgic smile. It had been a while since you'd been in Yuta and Jisung's home, the faded orange couch, broken TV constantly crackling with static, and dirty kitchenette that was never used except when you'd force them to eat a home-cooked meal from you, greeted you for the first time in almost a couple months. You used to spend almost every other Saturday night here, either having made food for them, or ordering takeout to eat on the rickety balcony attached to their window.

"Hey," you echoed, still peering around looking for the missing boy.

"Jisung's in his room. Doing his history project," Yuta gestured to the two bedroom doors, reaffirming the reason he had asked you over.

Opening Jisung's bedroom door quietly, you were happy to see that he was working on his history project, terribly drawn historical figures adorning a poster board as he was writing other information underneath them. He turned at the sound of the door opening, regarding you with slight suspicion.

The two of you were quiet for a moment until you finally decided to say, "Hi, Jisungie."

Before you could process anything, he was standing up, arms wrapped around you tightly and sobbing into your shoulder. You hugged him back, one hand gently stroking his back as you let him cry. You couldn't think of a single time that you'd seen Jisung cry. Not when his first girlfriend broke his heart, not when he talked about living on the streets, not when he'd mention his parents that he could barely remember, never. And here he was, sobbing in your arms as he held onto you tightly, as if you'd disappear if he didn't. Your heart broke for the boy, not knowing why he was crying, exactly, but wishing you could take whatever pain he was feeling from him.