Ateez Stories & Imagines : A compilation

Yeosang • Odds •

*This story is angst so please don't read if you don't enjoy that!*
~ This first part could be a bit confusing to some, it's a bit disjointed from the rest of the story, it's more to give some background for the character's friendship. ~ 

You breathed in deeply. 

Smoke. 

Dirt. 

Something unfamiliar and sweet. 

All things that hit your senses like an assault. 

They almost overpowered the smell exuding from the plastic bag hanging gingerly between your fingertips, a whole arm's length away from your body. 

Almost. 

"Did you have to bring it with you?" Yeosang groaned, his voice muffled and distorted due to his own fingers clamping tightly over his nose. He didn't even look at you as he spoke, his eyes fixed with a strong hatred on the thin plastic in your grip. 

You pursed your lips silently, not bothering to reply to him. 

What the hell were you supposed to say?

Yeah I did, sorry that I didn't want your roommate's six month year old bag of rubbish to remain in our shared carport anymore. 

That would only end in an argument and you definitely hadn't gotten enough sleep last night to sustain you through yet another argument with Yeosang. 

Just twenty-seven more steps and you would be at the giant dumpster that was emptied on an irregular basis by the council. 

You tried to count each step, tried to focus on that rather than on the smell wafting back on you in the breeze. 

You tried not to let your irriation grow with every step and every grumbled slipping from Yeosang's mouth. 

"Should have just waited till Wooyoung got home." 

You clenched your jaw. 

Just fifteen steps left, you could see the dumpster now. 

"It's disgusting." 

And then you were seeing red, feet grinding to a halt, your body turning fiercly in the direction of Yeosang who took a moment longer than you to come to a stop, confusion murking his handsome face. 

"It is disgusting." You shoved the bag between you, sending another wave of the disgusting smell over you both. Two noses crinkled in disgust. "It's been there for six months Yeo! He lives in your apartment, you could have said something to him about it six months ago!" 

Yeosang blinked and you began to regret the decision to stop, you were pretty sure your nostrils were burning now. 

What the hell had Wooyoung left in this bag? 

"You see him as often as I do, you could have said something too." He muttered in a monotone voice, looking away from you stiffly. Not quick enough for you to miss the flicker of hurt in his eyes though. 

You exhaled, an exasperated release of sound from the back of your throat. Then you turned and continued the last steps to the dumpster, heaving the stupid rubbish bag up over the lip of the giant bin. 

You waited patiently for the dull thud of a solid mass on the metal bottom before you turned back to face your best friend, who had silently trailed after you. 

"I live in the apartment beside you. I don't see him anywhere near as much as you." You explained to him in a drained tone. Your fingers had a red ring where the plastic handle had dug into your skin and your arm ached from holding it away from your body for so long. 

You could see the guilt in Yeosang's shuffling feet and in the way that he dismissively shoved his hands into his pockets. 

It didn't make you feel any better. 

"I'm sorry." He suddenly blurted, head lifting and his dark eyes locking on yours. There was something intense dancing in those coffee depths, a dance that you'd certainly never seen in them before. 

You ignored it though, trying to focus rather on the abrupt stream of words spilling from his fast moving lips. 

"I've had a lot going on, you know that. And he's never home, and when he is it's late and I'm either asleep or trying to be. Also he never listens to me, I've literally had the same conversation with him five times in the last two weeks. 'Wooyoung please do the dishes you've left laying around' 'Yes I'll do it soon' and then he leaves and we start it all over again a few days later." 

Yeosang tossed his hands into the air and you lifted an eyebrow. 

As impressive as it was to hear your friend speak more than a sentence in one hour, you had a feeling he hadn't actually said a single thing weighing on his mind. 

His lips were an unhappy line and his eyes darted anxiously to your face again, like he was checking your reaction. 

You tried to reel in your thoughts, tried to compose yourself enough to give him an answer, the one he was clearly seeking from you. 

But suddenly all you were able to think about was the way that his chest was lifting and dropping with his uneven and frazzled breaths. 

You'd never seen him like this. 

"Jesus Yeo, it's fine. It's not that big of a deal." It was like you were hearing yourself say the words from a great distance and seeing the slight slump of his shoulders through a thick wall of fog. 

You just couldn't think and you weren't sure you wanted to think about it. You didn't want to acknowledge the feelings flushing into you, you didn't want to give the small voice in the back of your mind the attention it needed to become overpowering. 

He was just your friend, this was just about the rubbish.