Burnout ⊗ Jeongchan

②⑧ Lines

The gentle hum of the car's tires grinded on the inside of his skull as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass, eyes glossing over as he watched the painted middle lines zoom by like bullet trains without much a destination besides the tracks ahead of them. They flew by in perfect sync with the rhythm of the music playing faintly over the radio; some song from one part of the word or the other, topping some sort of chart or another, a popular song to sing along to or an obscure underground song that seemed to play everywhere he went but never knew the name of. It wasn't as if he was paying much attention this time either.

A hand shut the radio off with a swift tap and they were left to listen to the sounds of the road. Jeongin followed the lines on the fingers, to the hands and up the wrist, following the patterns up his arms and to his collar, letting his eyes linger in places for longer he should've till he caught himself staring at the driver's face. They were different kinds of lines; not like bullet trains or freeway paint, or beats in popular songs. Not bad, just different. But everywhere. They were in the other, and the boundaries they couldn't trespass. Lines they wouldn't cross. But the longer Jeongin thought about it, what was stopping him from teetering a big closer to the edge? Inch by inch, what was stopping him?

"Sorry, thought you were trying to sleep," The gentle murmur pulled him back to reality. Jeongin hummed a note of acknowledgement but didn't say much more, instead choosing to crane his neck in a different way to get a better angle in his dissecting of an artpiece. Chan occasionally glanced over, giving enough time for a comfortable silence to settle between them before acknowledging the incessant gaping, "What?"

"It's nothing," Jeongin directed his gaze back out the window.

A light scoff came from Chan, followed by a hand playfully brushing on the younger's knee to draw his focus back to the other, "Want me to believe that?"

"It's not anything interesting," Jeongin told as he hooked his fingers into the older's, keeping the drifting hand stationary in his lap so he could inspect it further. He traced the lines in the hand with his eyes, following one crease to another to the scar trailing up the inside of his finger, to the veins on the back. Carefully, he squished the tips of Chan's fingers to see the way they moved, confessing as he did so, "I've been spending a lot more time with the crew, so I'm just thinking about them."

"You like them?" Chan asked, though, the younger wasn't too sure if he was referring to his hands or to the crew members he surrounded himself with.

Regardless, Jeongin nodded eagerly, "Very much, they're fun to be with. But, do they get along? It seems like they bicker a lot."

"I sometimes wonder about that too," Chan netted their hands together fully, keeping a firm palm to palm as he squeezed Jeongin's hand, "But whenever I doubt them they always prove me wrong in one way or another."

"Jisung said he tried to kill you."

"I don't remember it that way," Chan furrowed his eyebrows, "He pickpocketed me first, when I tried to take it back he pulled a razor on me, then tried to kill me."

"I thought he was joking," Jeongin squeaked, the tiny noise eliciting a soft laugh from the older. He recalled his classmate; an air of jubilant confidence radiating, almost glowing, off the cognitive image in his mind although it was muddled together with the memories of the other crew members. As he tried to picture the scenario Chan told, Jeongin just cocked an eyebrow and turned the corner of his lips into a grin, "I can't even imagine it."

"Tough time. That's all. They've all been through some rough things," Chan said in a tone that could almost be pinned as reminiscent. He glanced over to the younger, briefly connecting a second of eye contact, "Stop looking at me like that, not my place to tell you."