BOY SCOUT. － s.yh + j.jh

9: entry forty-three

There was not much behind the countless kisses Yoonoh planted upon Youngho's lips, if not for the fact that they made him happy and he believed it to be a good way of showing how grateful he was.

The senior scout never spoke against the action until then, and so even when Yoonoh had had a particularly tough day at school, he'd meet his friend either at the centre or at each other's homes and sneak a kiss when they were alone, always amazed to see how it felt as though magic had helped him feel momentarily better. Kissing Youngho had so become his personal healing spell, and cast upon him instant happiness.

That day was possibly the most special day of the whole year － as Yoonoh saw it, at least － i.e. the 9th of February, Youngho's sixteenth birthday.

After having celebrated together with both his school and scout friends, he and Yoonoh helped clean the living room and kitchen up as the latter had offered to stay after the party and lessen the workload of the family. Therefore, both with wet cloths in hand and a pair of speakers still playing music in the background － though now at a lower volume and only the songs off of a western R&B artist's latest album － the two mucked around and chatted, occassionally surprising the other with a flying plastic cup hurtling the boy's way or by flapping water from their cloths.

Yoonoh was happy to see his senior near radiant, lips constantly curled and the corners of his eyes wrinkling with every laugh.

"Thanks for helping out, Yoon," the older had said after some time, placing the used napkins he'd gathered in a dish plate on the kitchen tabletop, later wiping his hands in the cloth he had flipped over his shoulder.

Yoonoh hummed, setting down a stack of cups and glancing back at the mostly clean lounge with satisfaction.

"No biggie," he replied contentedly, "It's your special day."

His words brought a chortle out of the newly-sixteen-year-old boy, who then extended a hand to muss up Yoonoh's hair, leaving it to stand in awkward chunks and angles.

"You're too sweet," he admitted, amidst his laughter that only strengthened at the sight of said boy's pursed lips at the action.

"What's the pout for, shorty?"

"You －" he paused, busy with flattening his hair back into a decent style with his palms, "You treat me like a kid, but I'll soon be sixteen too, y'know."

The youngest remained grumbling under his breath while Youngho watched, entertained yet somehow distant, mind drifting along a river of thoughts he struggled to go against.

"That'll be in another two years," he quipped, enjoying the red flush that had begun to paint his friend's ears and cheeks, down to the tip of his nose, "and either way, I would be eighteen then, so you'll always be a kid to me."

The brunet huffed, deciding that being comfortable with his hair at that point was a lost cause, and whether it looked alright or not would be his senior's fault, and the latter should look at it and feel guilty.

Subsequently, his eyes darted up to those of Youngho who rose a brow, something he took as an almost challenging expression.

"Two years isn't a big difference."

"Well, the whole twenty centimetres of our height is."

The joke didn't sit well with the younger, who instantly whined and gave a feeble shove at the taller, pout reformed and stronger than the moment prior.

"You're a jerk."

Youngho scoffed. "Maybe, but at least I'm a hot one."

"You're prettier than you're hot."

A blink and then silence, Yoonoh awaiting some sort of response from his friend who stiffened to stone at the pronunciation of the word.

The brunet shuffled minimally on his feet, as if trying to go unnoticed.

"I'm not pretty, Yoon," he contrasted, smile long faded from his lips, "I'm not a girl."

At the added end, the youngest squinted his eyes in bewilderment. "And what, boys can't be pretty? Are only girls pretty? That's not fair."

"Yeah, but that's how it is."

There followed a moment of contemplation, the gears in Yoonoh's skull clearly rotating into motion as he tried to comprehend and give sense to something so odd.

In conclusion he huffed out a breath and shrugged his shoulders, as if shaking off the weight of the thought.

"I don't care," he almost rebelliously announced, chin held high, "I still think you're pretty, Johnny."

With that, he proceeded to rise onto his toes and purse his lips, clearly intending on planting a kiss upon those of his friend, but oddly enough he was stopped by a hand clutching his shoulder.

Yoonoh stilled, baffled by the action that had never occurred before. He saw an emotion of some sort flash across Youngho's hardening gaze, and it made worry settle over him like a fine coat of dust.

"You need to stop doing that."

He frowned, slowly flattening his feet on the floor.

"Wha－"

"You need to stop kissing me on the mouth, okay?"

Youngho awaited the younger's reaction with bathed breath, mildly regretting how crudely he had turned him down. The latter was peering up at him in panic and concern, the idea that Youngho was possibly starting to hate him festering in his mind, buzzing like a trapped bee in his skull.

"Oh － Okay."

He hesitated, almost scared to make things worse.

"Can I kiss you on the cheek instead?"

"That's. . . fine, I guess."

His forty-third entry began with describing how fun the birthday party had been, but quickly recounted the events which had transpired when he and Youngho were alone, wondering if the other no longer wanted him as a friend.

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