Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 66: I'll Probably Forget

Han's car was sleek, black, and intimidating. He beeped it open, but immediately staggered.

"You're not driving," JL said flatly.

"Who else will?" Han mumbled.

"I will."

Han paused, leaning dramatically against the passenger door. "You know how to drive stick?"

JL rolled his eyes. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me. You assume too much, you stupid, infuriating Han." Coach Jim, teaching him how to drive. Coach Jim, smiling at him from the passenger seat of his old Mercedes Benz, too weak to hold the steering wheel, as JL drove him with ever-increasing frequency to the hospital.

Han smiled, soft and dopey.

"You're sweet when you're mad."

With a sigh, JL bundled him into the passenger seat.

Han was staying in his own apartment tonight, a few minutes off campus. The drive was smooth -- smoother than Han expected, though he was too far gone to comment. He just watched JL from the corner of his eye. The way his hands gripped the wheel. The way his jaw twitched when he concentrated. The little lines that deepened when he frowned.

Han was already halfway to sleep, but when they pulled into the parking lot of his apartment, he stirred again.

"Don't go."

"Han -- "

"You don't get it," Han said, voice low, slurred but painfully earnest. "You think I'm cold. Like I don't feel it. But I do. I feel everything."

JL turned to him, startled.

"I messed up," Han continued. "I thought pushing you made me good. I thought being right made me strong. But I wasn't strong. I was just scared."

JL stared.

"I'm lonely," Han said, softer now. "Even when I win. Especially when I win."

He leaned his head back, eyes fluttering shut. JL sighed, reaching over to hoist him back up again onto his shoulder. The two of them staggered slowly to Han's front door.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as JL keyed in the code Han mumbled into his collar.

"Two-five...nine-seven...love," Han whispered at the end, like the door itself needed to feel wanted.

JL snorted quietly. "That last part's not in the code."

"Should be," Han muttered.

The door clicked open.

Han staggered the moment they crossed the threshold. JL caught him -- an arm around his waist, the other grabbing his wrist instinctively. He didn't even think about it. His body had already memorized the weight of Han's.

Inside, the apartment was pristine. Predictably minimalist. Black, gray, steel -- like Han had designed his life to look like no one actually lived there. Like emotions were a design flaw.

JL glanced around and scoffed under his breath. "Why the hell do you even stay in the dorms if you have this?"

Han mumbled, barely intelligible as JL guided him toward the couch, "Like the dorm better..."

JL blinked. "You're joking."

But Han wasn't. He slumped into the couch and draped himself dramatically like a Renaissance painting. One arm stayed looped around JL's shoulder, warm and insistent.

"Don't like waking up alone," Han added softly, barely audible. "Lonely."

JL stared at him. "You have an apartment straight out of GQ, and you're crashing in the dorms for emotional support?"

Han didn't respond. Just gave a dopey, lopsided smile.

"You should lie down," JL said gently, kneeling in front of him to untie his sneakers. "You'll feel it less."

Han blinked at him, eyes glassy. "You're so nice to me."

JL pulled one shoe off, then the other. "Don't make it weird."

"Too late."

JL rolled his eyes and stood. "Water. Stay here."

The kitchen light buzzed softly as he poured a glass. When he returned, Han was sitting up -- barely -- propped against a throw pillow with one hand draped across his chest like he was waiting to be serenaded.

JL handed him the glass.

Han took it, fingers brushing JL's -- lingering, too warm.

"You always do that," Han said suddenly. "Just... show up. Quiet. Strong."

JL froze. "Drink the water."

Han sipped. Then: "You're taking care of me."

"You need it."

"I hate that."

"I know."

Han leaned his head back, letting the light catch in his lashes. "You should hate me."

JL didn't answer. Just sat beside him, not touching.

"You should," Han repeated. "I was cruel. Because I didn't know how to be kind without losing control. I only knew how to push. But you..." He turned toward JL, eyes hazy but strangely clear. "You made me want to be soft. You made me jealous. You made me better."

JL stayed quiet. Breathing slow. Controlled. Like anything more might tip the moment into something he couldn't take back.

Han reached out -- not forceful, just steady -- and touched JL's wrist.

"I love you."

The words weren't loud.

But they detonated like a fault line.

JL blinked. Once. Twice. The silence around them thickened. The hum of the refrigerator in the background. The world trying to continue as if nothing had happened.

"I love you," Han repeated. "So I'm selfish with you. I wanted you to be unbreakable. Because I only believe in someone I love."

JL still didn't move. Couldn't.

Han smiled then -- small, tilted, heartbreakingly soft. "I'll probably forget I said this tomorrow," he whispered. "But that doesn't make it less true."

Then promptly passed out.

The glass tilted -- and JL caught it just before it could spill. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

Han had slumped sideways on the couch, one arm flung dramatically over his face like a starlet in a silent film. JL set the glass on the table, then knelt beside him, brushing a few errant strands of hair off his forehead.

Even asleep, Han was ridiculous. His sharp nose was perfect in profile, lashes too long for someone who trained like a machine, lips slightly parted like he was still on the verge of saying something insufferable.

JL sighed. "Annoying. Even unconscious, you're still handsome."

He rose, grabbed the throw blanket draped neatly over the armrest, and laid it over Han with quiet precision. Then padded into the kitchen to get bottle of Condition, a morning hangover drink. 

He placed it on the table beside Han. Celebrity rapper Jay Park's face was on the bottle, and his smile seemed to say, "Yeah, you're cooked."

He glanced once more at the sleeping figure on the couch. The rise and fall of his chest. The quiet, unguarded expression he wore when no one was watching.

He just exhaled -- quiet, careful -- then turned away.

He slipped out the door, locking it softly behind him.