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

Chapter 80: Anywhere But Here

JL unlocked the door to his apartment like someone defusing a bomb. Even though his heart was still pounding from the fight at the track, he forced himself to slow down deliberately, bracing for what was inside. Not that there was much. Just his track shoes by the mat, a charging cord dangling from the edge of the table like a wilted plant, and the dust motes floating over the table, caught in the light slatting through the windows, because he had not been eating breakfast.

He didn't turn on the lights as he stepped in, letting the door whisper shut behind him, then stood there for a second too long with his forehead against the wood, wondering if it was possible to will yourself into a parallel universe through sheer force of regret.

The kind where he hadn't had that first fight with Han. The kind where he hadn't walked into Steven's open arms afterward.

Spoiler alert: The universe, as it turned out, was remarkably resistant to desires for do-overs, no matter how desperately you needed them.

JL's apartment had the audacity to look exactly the same as when he'd left it, and it was at once insulting and inevitable that the world hadn't noticed he was unraveling and just carried on being normal. The world always carried on.

The TV's blue standby light blinked once at him, daring him to voice his thoughts out loud.

He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, then closed it. He wasn't hungry, just wanted the illusion of purpose. He ended up sitting on the floor with his back against the sink, knees up, arms draped over them, like a moody YA protagonist. Which, technically, he was. Maybe.

His phone buzzed with a notification. Probably Woongki texting, "Bro did u just peppa pig out of there???"

JL ignored it. He didn't want to explain why his heart felt like a crumpled race bib someone forgot to throw away. He tilted his head back and stared at the cracked bit of ceiling paint above the stove. It looked like an upside-down croissant, or Australia. The irony was annoying.

"I'm so stupid," he whispered to no one. Then, louder, to the fridge: "I'm so stupid."

The fridge hummed in agreement.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars burst behind them. This was what heartbreak was, wasn't it? Not some grand piano crash. Just the small indignity of sitting in socks on a dusty linoleum floor, realizing he'd accidentally hurt everyone he cared about. Again and again.

He pulled out his phone again. Opened it. Closed it. Opened it again.

Han hadn't texted.

Steven had. Just one message.

"JL, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

JL stared at it until he was sick of his own name and the letters stopped making sense. Then he locked the phone and gently placed it face-down on the floor, like it might explode.

There were three ants crossing the floor like they were reenacting Lord of the Rings, and they marched on stolidly across his laptop shoved under the coffee table. They were tiny, they had a hive to return to, and they didn't care about the metal rectangle that was the cause of so much pain.

"I'm fine," he lied to the empty room.

He definitely wasn't going to cry, he thought to himself. Not because he was being brave, but because he felt too wrung out to. Like if he had any tears left, they'd be on backorder for next month.

Then, from outside, a car door slammed.

The knock came a few seconds later. Not a polite knock. Not the kind you could ignore and pretend was a neighbor needing help with groceries. This was a know I'm here knock. The kind people did with the side of their fist, too casual to be formal, too firm to be friendly.