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

Chapter 80: Anywhere But Here

JL didn't move.

Another knock. Then: "It's me."

Han.

JL stared straight ahead, like maybe if he didn't breathe too loud, Han would go away. Or explode. Either worked.

"JL," Han said again. His voice wasn't angry. That was worse. It was tired. Tired in a way that made JL feel like a very old person in a very young boy's body.

He thought about staying frozen. Maybe pretend to be out. Maybe text later and say "Sorry, was asleep" and hope Han bought it even though it was 9:41 p.m. But the door wasn't made of iron. It was made of cheap apartment composite. The kind that lets in every syllable of someone waiting outside.

And JL wasn't a coward.

Well. Mostly not.

So he got up, legs stiff. His spine was kinked from sitting on the kitchen floor too long. He shuffled across the tiles and paused at the door. Hand on the knob. Chest doing weird things like it always did, either on the verge of throwing up, exploding from something behind his ribs, or collapsing inward into a black hole. His chest was as stupid as the rest of him.

He opened it.

Han looked like someone had wrung him out and left him to dry in a thunderstorm. His hair was messy in a not-just-hot way but just fought a demon way. His shirt was the one from earlier, wrinkled and still half-tucked, which was notable because Han was always not wrinkled. Except back in Australia that night. His hands were in his pockets like he was afraid of what they might do if he let them loose.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Han looked at him like he was checking for injuries. Not physical ones. The kind under the skin.

"I didn't mean for all that to go the way it did." Han said, softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

His voice didn't match his face. The voice was gentle and sincere, with none of the earlier confrontation's edge. His face however, had a split lip, and the beginnings of what would be a spectacular bruise blooming around the edges of his mouth.

JL exhaled, shallow. "You're not supposed to catch your teammate's fist with your face in the middle of a field," he said, trying not to sound small.

"Can I come in?" Han asked.

JL didn't answer.

He stepped aside instead.

Han stepped inside and stopped. He didn't move past the entryway at first. He just stood there and took it in. JL stayed behind him, hands slack, shoulders rigid. The door clicked shut with the softest finality.

Han's eyes moved slowly, scanning. It wasn't judgment, or even curiosity, not really. Just taking inventory.

Shoes in a heap by the wall. A rack of medals, one hook snapped. A sad blue air purifier that wheezed sometimes in the middle of the night. His jacket from last week slung on a chair. The rolls of kinetic tape that JL seemed to be going through at an alarming rate.

And the laptop. On the floor. Half-tucked under the coffee table.

Han looked at all of it. JL wished he couldn't see any of it.

Every track schedule, every old team shirt, the scented candle Bobo gave him last Christmas that he never lit because he didn't want to waste it. The desk lamp. The stupid wireless mouse. The bowl of forgotten bits and bobs. The pile of receipts on the kitchen counter.

The email still open on the screen.

It all felt too much.

"I guess it's your first time in here." JL said, like he didn't already know. His voice was hoarse. He hadn't spoken in hours. He felt defeated and deflated, and right now he didn't find any pride in his knees' ability to hold him up.