On bad days, Lee likes to see what Jack Sang's up to. It always makes him feel a little better to see his whatever---his occasional friend, his no shit, you're really annoying, his oh my gosh, I hate you but I also kind of really want to kiss you like, sometimes, when you're not being so annoying---with his nose in the dirt, especially since he spends most of his free time turning it up at Lee.

So because the four-hundredth---he's been counting---message he'd left on his mother's phone had been finally met with a robotic, Sorry, this number is no longer in service, and Yumeko Mori---who he likes to consider his only real friend in the world---is being kind of a bitch, Lee heads over to the space behind the school that's been long whitewashed by the imprint of Jack's twice-broken nose. The memory of blood against cement, cracked shards of ruined dignity glittering in the sunlight like exposed bone, is far too fresh in Lee's mind, a ballpoint-inked tattoo that won't come off no matter how many times he scrubs.

The sunset paints the shell of Lee's ears a flushed, rosy pink, echoing the light hemmings of fake ecstasy shimmering over his heated cheeks. Lee knows he doesn't need to try to be happy---not when he's gotten the indirect confirmation that his mother no longer wants him---but old habits tend to die like new morals. Slow and hard.

The crinkle of the brown paper bag between his snow-bleached knuckles fades into a murmur of background noise, a funnelled choir against the panorama of the world's orange-yellow backdrop. Lee kicks his sneaker forward, watching pebbles fly into gales of dust and long-dried rain. His gait's a little looser today, and as always, he's not sure whether it's because of the falsified joy, or because he needs to be loose around Jack Sang to hold on to whatever fragments of sanity remain in his pea-sized brain.

As expected, Jack's slumped over in the brown-tinted dirt, looking only a fraction of the five-foot-eleven he is. As if he's shorter than Lee, not nearly three inches taller---a fact Jack likes to literally lord over Lee's head a bit too much for his liking. All height and no bark, Lee thinks gleefully, watching Jack roll over with an agonised groan.

"Hi," Lee greets cheerfully, dropping both himself and the paper bag into the soil next to his something something---the best name for Jack that he can come up with.

His chest burns---unforgiving, rust-smeared, heart long scorched, long crashed.

Jack lifts his head, just a centimeter, pure distaste scrawled over his face in neon-pink crayon. Maybe it's just the bruises. Or maybe it's the way the sunset is a perfect melody over his pin-straight features, daubing his honey-brown eyes in ebbing, tangerine dreams.

He's not happy to see Lee. He never is---or rarely, at least, because there are times when Lee's able to shoot his heart-tipped darts through the impenetrable shell that is Jack Sang. But today, he's angry, bitter as black coffee, humiliation sparking off his defined edges like wet fingers to a light switch.

"Why are you here?" Jack grumbles, patience worn, fine-cut as the forest-green of Dunhill cigarettes. He's impervious right now, a thick sheet of bulletproof glass in Lee's face. Grit lines every inch of his being, from the oozing red slits in his exposed ankles to the formerly crisp folds of his scarlet tie.

Even though Lee knows there'll be no getting through to Jack today, he's a little too stubborn for his own good, so he grins anyway, plastering all the falling stars in the world into the span of his jagged molars. "Had to check up on my bestie, didn't I?"

"Not your bestie."

"You are now."

"Still not your bestie."

Lee laughs, the motion grating on his tongue. Yumeko always says he has a chuckle that sticks, glueing itself to the backs of everyone's throats and spreading over their tastebuds like wildfire. "A virus," she usually calls it, and Lee hates how badly he wants Jack to get infected. The pebbly ground digs into the holes in his jeans. He wonders why he does this---does this all the time, bending over forwards and backwards and in-between for a stupid boy with more hormones than deep thought and too much anger to match his desperate lack of common sense.

"Better start keeping your mouth shut, Pref." Lee feels his smile widen at the way Jack's own lips turn down, scalding against the pallour of his bloodied cheeks. "You could run into some real trouble one day. You know, worse than breaking your nose again."

Acid twirls itself around Jack's mouth, snapping away the invisible ties that should bind it closed but don't. Sweat stings the undersides of Lee's palms, and he wonders if he's gone too far---like he always has, like he always does. If Jack's too sensitive, or if Lee himself's just too rough. He tries not to care. He really does. It just---hurts, sometimes. Burns like Coke and Mentos shaken over dry ice.

"Shut up, Lee," Jack snaps. And then, with maybe a little more bite than he intends---at least, Lee hopes so--- "No one likes you."

Sorry, this number is no longer in service...

Click, Lee thinks, hanging up on the thoughts plaguing the malady of his mind, because he can't afford to lose it right now. Not when Jack's curled up on the ground, bruised and bloody, uniform and pride both stomped underfoot. A scared animal, cold fury his only defense. The sky drips strawberry murder over the iron clench of Jack's jaw---metallic, sharp, raw---and it's a tiny bit easier to forgive him. Even though every knife that rolls off his tongue makes it harder than it should be.

"I could say the same about you." Lee senses the violet rage in Jack's entire being, his spine crackling, stiffening, whirling into a storm. He tailgates the torpid weathervane of Jack's rapid-fire emotions, feeding off the faded adrenaline. "I could. But it'll be a lie." Lee reaches a hand up to brush aside his own blue-grey bangs---Jack hates his hair, because it's against school policy, but Lee's way too rich to care about school policy---and slips on an innocently flirtatious grin. "I like you."

He's careful when he wants to be. Too careful. He hates being careful. It hurts, sometimes. As if he's nothing but porcelain dust, disintegrating into the secondhand smoke of meticulous caution. White against the lackadaisical black of his regular universe.

It works, though. The grit of Jack's teeth falls, smashing on the ground like a ceramic dish. The tense of his jaw eases, thin slivers of anger gradually melting into the floor. "Don't even try sucking up to me."

"I'm not." Lee's hand drifts to the side of his something something's face. Under his feathery touch, Jack hardens, instinctively calcifying. Then he yields, ever so slightly, like he always does, bruised cheek slumping slack against the smooth pads of Lee's fingertips.

Fight fire with love. That's what his mother had always said, before she...

Click. Lee shuts off his mental ringtone before it can even buzz. He lets his smile widen as Jack softens, allowing himself to lean into Lee's fragile touch. Because as much as he likes riling Jack up, he loves soothing him even more. It makes him feel like a balm to numb the pain. Lee likes numbing the pain. Especially since he's usually the cause of it.

"So? Who was it this time? Malachi or Danny?" Lee asks, fingers already moving to cup the tangled edges of Jack's chestnut locks.

Jack unfurls---just a little, ever so slightly, and Lee can't tamp down the victory bubbling up inside him. "Danny." The fold gets larger---a small crease, like a paper crane, and Lee resists the urge to snip the corner off and peel it away from whatever's inside.

"What did you do to him and his boys this time?"

"The usual." A dot of pink gleams on Jack's lower lip, though whether it's from the beating or the worrying of his own teeth, Lee doesn't know. "Told them to stop smoking. Not so nicely. You know."

Lee does know. The miniscule, circular scar on his elbow seems to rip through his skin---the first and last time he'd ever taken a metaphorical bullet for Jack. The first and last time he'd forced himself to stop getting involved. The first and last time he'd drawn all the misplaced tension back into his body and locked it in a Pandora's Box of his own creation---snap, like a reverse rubberband.

"You know, it hurts less to shut the fuck up once in a while," Lee suggests blithely.

Jack snorts. "You should tell yourself that."

"Unlike you, I know who to shut up to." Lee tells himself not to push his luck---Jack's still angry, after all---but he's feeling a little dangerous today, fuelled by the lingering warmth of the setting sun and the muddy water in his lungs that never quite seems to be able to go down the sink. "I can tell they punched you in the face. How'd you get all those other cuts? You know, the ones on your legs?"

Jack's silence tastes like the air after a hurricane---icy and destructive and sparking with electricity. From where he's perched, knees in the soil, hands dipped in a murky sample of unconventional heaven, Lee senses the way Jack stiffens, waves of embarrassment rolling off him in droves. Questions like this are dangerous, especially when Lee already knows the answer. But he can't help it. He likes to play with fire, and he's always ready to burn.

The grooves of Jack's elbows indent tiny chinks into the rocky soil as he yanks himself up into a sitting position---he's still got a little fight in him after all. "Don't do this to me," he growls, which essentially means they'd punched him once and the ground had done the rest of the work, because despite having the broadest shoulders Lee's ever seen, Jack's lack of regular workouts and general dislike of physical violence have led to him being the worst fighter known to man.

Lee laughs. "Okay." Then, because he knows it'll ease Jack's mood, he pulls himself up against the wall and declares, "Fucking bastards."

Bingo. The tiniest hint of a smile kisses the corner of Jack's lips, immediately roping Lee in and tethering him to it like an iron anchor. Suddenly, he's a drowning man, lashed to the desperate riptide of Jack's rare approval. "Fucking bastards," Jack echoes.

"Swearing's against school rules, Pref," Lee teases. Again, he wonders if it's too far, quickly comforting himself with the fact that he should have already calmed Jack down enough for him to be able to take a joke. After all, despite his best efforts to not memorise the way Jack feels, the inner gears of Jack Sang's clockwork mechanics never fail to etch themselves over his bones like muscle memory.

Jack is a habit he doesn't want to get rid of.

A snort escapes Jack's pursed lips. "You're one to talk, motherfucker."

Don't exactly have a mom around to fuck anymore. The thought floods the cavernous recesses of Lee's empty mind before he can stop it. Desperate to staunch the flow before he can bleed out, he thinks, Not that I would have fucked her in the first place, because sweet home Alabama!

It's easier to joke around, even if it's all only in his head. Easier than Sorry, this number is no longer in service.

"I should record this and report you," Lee proposes, folding his arms behind his head. The dusty soil is warm through the denim of his jeans, and the way the sunset soaks the world in apricot and peach and ocean breeze helps him kill his sadness just a little more. "Give you a taste of your own medicine."

"Yeah, sure. I fucking dare you."

"I'll use this as blackmail material."

"You'll get nothing out of it. I'm flat broke."

"Who said I'd ask for money?" Lee shoots his something something a crooked smile, eliciting a massive eye roll from Jack. Lee puckers his lips invitingly, and the second eye roll that follows is even bigger.

Jack drops his head back against the wall, scabbed fingers heading to the crumpled edges of his tie. The rough, starchy polyester spills over his pale fingers like blood on snow. "Why did you even come here? To make fun of me?"

"Ah---" Lee immediately starts scrabbling around, ignoring Jack's judgemental stare. "I wish. No." Once his fingers close around the edge of the brown paper bag, he lifts it up triumphantly, basking in the golden glow radiating off the giant M emblazoned on its front. He unceromoniously plops it in Jack's lap---after all, his love language is giving gifts in general, not giving them nicely. "Brought you something."

In the tempered sunset, amber streaks its way across Jack's straight nose, dotting his honey-hued eyes with faint flecks of gilded coral. Lee soaks in the way his features soften, sugar in his open mouth, velvet in his shocked eyes. "Wha---"

"I know it's probably all cold by now already, because I bought it in the morning since you like the breakfast sets, and I didn't see you all day, so---" Lee starts, anxiously reaching for the back of his neck.

"No, Lee, damn it, it's not the temperature," Jack curses. His hand shifts to the dirt-caked pocket of his white trousers, patting it furtively. "Wait, I'll pay you back---"

"No!" Lee shoots away from Jack's side like he's radioactive, hands raised. "Don't you dare. Touch me with your wallet and I'll kill you."

"Do it, no balls. I'm paying you back."

"You're not paying me back. You said it yourself. You're flat broke." Lee knows it's not a lie---he's known Jack Sang for nearly ten years, and he's been completely broke for at least nine of them.

"You can't just---"

"I can." Lee leans over, wrapping his fingers around Jack's hands and gently pressing the paper bag further into his slack palms. He smiles, bright and warm as the sun---a virus. "Look, just let me---let me do nice things for you once in a while, okay?"

The space between them suddenly seems too large, stretching over the blueprint of their bodies like the road map to paradise.

"I can't accept this---" Jack starts.

"Shut the fuck up and accept my love," Lee remarks cheerfully. He pulls himself off the ground, dusting off his completely-against-school-protocol jeans. The vermillion sunlight flickers, wanes, dances over the reluctance of Jack's surprise like a moth to a flame. Pressing his sun-drenched wrist to his forehead, Lee shoots a two-fingered salute to his something-something---he really needs a better name for Jack. "The only payment I'll be accepting is you enjoying your McMuffin. So you better eat up, dumbass."

wowow no dual pov??? and the book starts off with a pre-established relationship between the MCs instead of them being complete strangers??? is this even one of my books???

FUN FACT ok so the mcdonalds thing is actually based off something i did for my friend,,,like so i bring mcdonalds to school like every friday and he jokingly asked me to buy one for him and like HE WAS JOKING, OBVIOUSLY

anygays the next week i bought him a mcmuffin and kind of like dumped it on his table because LISTEN MY LOVE LANGUAGE IS GIVING GIFTS IN GENERAL NOT GIVING THEM NICELY---mans was so shocked and kept tryna pull out his wallet because he was like "WAIT I'LL PAY YOU BACK" and i was like "NO DON'T YOU DARE PAY ME BACK" and in the end i was like, "the only payment i will accept is you enjoying your muffin" because that's a nice line

honestly the face he made at breakfast was worth more than any payment,,,like he was so happy and really genuinely enjoyed his muffin, so payment received LMAO

we've been friends since we were 6 but have never been as close as we are this year (since we're in the same chinese class so we study together, he's also the one who really improved my chinese speaking skills since he'll talk to me in chinese, ask me whether i understand and then patiently explain when i don't understand what he's saying, so my chinese skills got a lot better) so i thought it would be a nice thing to just surprise him with a mcmuffin. long story short this man is now on the hunt for instant ramen shops because apparently i cannot live without ever having tried instant ramen. also we are somehow kinda sorta maybe possibly besties now so that's cool

(also i should probably note that he's my ex-bf's best friend but he's hanging out with me more than my ex-bf now LMFAOAOAO)

ANYGAYS NEW BEST FRIEND ASIDE three!!! inch!!! height!!! gap!!! only!!! wtf is this??? a couple w/o like, at least six inches between them??? (Canterbury and Ezra have 7, Jeong-Soon and Gregory have 8, Simon and Vincent have like, 6 or 7 i think?) like Jack and Lee only have!!! less than 3 inches!!! between them!!! and Lee is!!! actually also tall!!! like a main couple without a giant height difference in one of MY books??? being boyfriendless has changed me

(welcome to my a/ns. they are long. i promise they'll get shorter. eventually.)

what did y'alls think of this first chapter? i personally love Jack and Lee's love-hate chemistry already but nvm my opinion jsgdhsjsk what did YOU GUYS think? please leave me feedback because i am an attention whore <3 comments, praise, constructive criticism, a simple "you suck" (to which i will reply to with, "yeah, your dad's dick <3") anything!

love you guys so much <333 like i'm going for band camp tomorrow and i'm having an orgy with my friends tonight---(NO I'M JOKING WE'RE JUST GONNA PLAY GAMES) so i probs won't be replying to comments for at least a day or two </3 so make sure to take care, stay safe, drink lots of water, and always listen to your daddy---i mean, your resident gae dad, me 🥰

xoxo, Alex