#HELLO MY NAME IS ALEX AND I'M MCHECKIN' LOSING IT IWEUDHWIUEDHIDHWIEUDHIUEDHIH

[jeoseungsaja]

It starts with them, sitting on a bench and eating bungeo-ppang from Hyuk’s favorite stall. “You have a crumb on your mouth.” Patrick points it out to his dear friend. That should have been sufficient; Hyuk is more than capable of getting it himself, but something propels Patrick to do more. “Here, let me get it.“ The center of his forehead crinkled in concentration, he reaches over to wipe it off himself. It’s not sanitary by any means, but he’s not thinking about that as he thumbs away the crumb, finger brushing over the corner of Hyuk’s mouth. This is when it should really be ending, but instead, his finger lingers there along with the rest of his hand cupping Hyuk’s cheek. The skin there is soft and warm, but Patrick’s eyes stay on his lips. How nicely shaped they are, how nice they might feel against his own-

That’s not a thought he’s supposed to be having about his dear friend.

Letting his hand drop, Patrick chuckles nervously. “Sorry, I figured I’d get it myself since we don’t have any napkins-” There’s an unused stack between them. He looks away, flustered. “Tea.” Patrick stands up abruptly. “I saw a cart selling some. I can, I mean, I’ll buy us a cup, help wash down the bungeo-ppang-” ( HELLO it's time for...patrick to deal with a pesky thing known as feelings sjdkflsdj but also feel free to ignore if you think this doesn't fit?? have a wonderful day alex!! )

@ofgentleresolve ♚ catch hyuk having the dokis---

♔ ———–

   Scent of pastries and red bean paste fills the air; the ringing and clanging of metallic molds echoes through, as well as the sound of people asking for fish-shaped cake. Amid the different, street food booths residing in Gangnam District, the Bungeoppang stall is definitely one of Hyuk’s favorites. He actually visits it often, to the point that the sweet, old lady recognizes his face --- and Patrick’s too. Truth be told, the detective’s convinced Mrs. Nam has an awfully good memory, because whenever he appears by himself to ask for one piece of sweetened bread, he always asks for his dear friend. Always.

“Where is he?” “Who?”  “You know who. The tall, handsome gentleman you bring sometimes.”  “Ah, he couldn’t be here today, halmeoni. He lives far away, remember?”  “Tell him to come again, I’ll make sure to fill his bread up to the brim with red bean paste!” “Yes, I will.” 

   And she did keep her promise. As soon as she saw Patrick standing beside Hyuk, with that gentle smile which characterizes the professor; Mrs. Nam’s face lightened up and she hurriedly went ahead to use fresh red bean paste to create a fluffy and chubby bungeoppang. Regardless of his private sphere, Patrick’s way to treat others is always drenched with respect and a set of mannerisms most would consider charming and gentle. It’s no surprise Mrs. Nam took an immediate liking to him. Hyuk doesn’t blame her in the slightest. 

    He can’t help but tease his dear friend, though. Once they receive their pastries and walk over the nearest bench, he tells Patrick about Mrs. Nam’s promise; even proceeds to playfully complain when giving the first bite of his pastry and noticing that no paste oozes out of bread until the second or third chomp. 

    “Yah, how comes she likes you more than me, huh? I visit her more often and this is what I get?!” 

   Hyuk can hear Patrick’s chuckle. It’s melodic, a dulcet tune that sounds much better live than through all those phone calls and video calls. He pretends to huff, yet a smile threatens to spill when a side of his mouth lifts. The detective hides this by taking another bite of pastry; fish now without a head, only the tail is left. 

   “Ah, you said you wanted me to disorganize your Rubik’s cube; give it to me.” 

   Free hand stretches toward his friend. Once the item lands on his palm, he eats the rest of the bread quickly (far too quickly; leaving some crumbles behind that he’ll brush off once he stands up) and tosses the wrapper in the nearest bin. He looks up to see Patrick. 

   “Choose a random number---” 

   Patrick’s sudden observation catches him a little off-guard, enough to make a face riddled with confusion. What? A crumb? Ah, perhaps tiny pieces of bread managed to get lodged on his lips; it’s not the first time it happens. He hums, as if to tell Patrick that he considered his remark, languidly lifting one hand to try to grab a napkin from the spot between them. 

   But then, all attempts to move freeze when his dear friend’s voice resonates again, this time with his hand outstretched and intentions to eliminate the crumbs temporarily invading the corner of detective’s lips. 

    Patrick’s thumb grazes Hyuk’s lips and his mouth unconsciously falls faintly agape.      Hyuk’s fingers twitch; the grip around Rubik’s cube tightens.     Did he just...?      What’s that sudden jolt traversing his body?

    It’s not like them to engage in physical contact of this sort. All these years, it’s been a bit of an unspoken limit that they understood; something that didn’t really occur avidly, save for the occasional shoulder pats and squeezes; the random poking of arms or brief actions considered friendly and welcome. But this...this diverges from the usual. Especially when Patrick’s fingers refuse to leave closeness and become more attached to it; professor’s hand cupping Hyuk’s cheek. 

    The detective’s eyes widen.      Gaze dances up and down; side to side, looking at Patrick’s face.      His dear friend isn’t looking at him. Well, he’s not...looking at his eyes.      Where is...no, Hyuk might...he might be seeing things---     His breath gets lodged in his throat. 

    Hyuk blinks, continuing to feel Patrick’s hand on his skin. He can feel some of the lines born out of hours of using pen to grade notes and write those commentaries on the corners of pages; created out of markers sitting between his fingers when he smoothly explains another topic that he makes so utterly riveting just by the way he speaks. The small bumps are sensed and yet his touch feels so warm (or is it because his cheeks gaining heat?), so gentle, so nice. Heavens, there’s a part of him that wants to lean further onto it; a part of him that wants to press his hand atop Patrick’s knuckles--- 

    Stop it, Lee Hyuk. You shouldn’t have these thoughts. 

     Breath finally gets out of mouth when Patrick’s hand drops, though his skin immediately misses the comfort; the way his palm felt just right by resting there.  The detective looks down and clears his throat; nodding away quite awkwardly as if to tell his dear friend that it’s okay --- even though, well...he’s able to catch that poor excuse of his. Napkins? We had---

     Eyes peek from under lashes, managing to see his lifelong friend hurriedly standing up. Why does this feel so familiar? Like the day they were drinking tea and Hyuk chugged his cup hastily---is this...similar? It can’t be, can it? He can’t even hear his own thoughts; his heart’s beating too fast, drowning the rest. 

   “Dae-yah.” 

    Hyuk’s free hand suddenly reaches out and grabs Patrick’s wrist. Impulsive touch is not aggressive but mellow. He stands up from his seat; crumbs that were sitting on his lap now landing on the ground.

   “I---I’m going with you. What if...you, uh...need me to translate something. Your Korean is probably rusty, you haven’t--you haven’t visited in a long time, you---” 

    Now it’s his time to make poor excuses, for they both know Patrick’s hold of language is more than good enough. He’s fluent. Not only that, but Hyuk tends to speak to his dear friend in Korean from time to time as practice. Instead of letting go from Patrick’s wrist, loose fingers unconsciously slide down; feeling the skin of Patrick’s palm. 

    “Here.” 

     He carefully lifts Patrick’s hand and hushedly places the Rubik’s cube on his palm. Then, he lets go. But he stands there, right in front of him. His fingers twitch again. There’s the wish to hold. Hold Patrick’s hand or his arm or his shoulder or his face------he takes a deep breath instead; jaw tensing before he produces a close-lipped smile. 

    Hyuk swallows all those things. All those wishes.      He’s good at that.      He nods at the cube. 

     “It’s...scrambled.”

    Much like his heart and his mind and oh, God, what is he feeling; what’s going on?

    “Let’s go. We can buy tea and then drink it at Cheongdam Park. It’s nice this time of the year.” 

———– ♔