Hold Me Tight (Or Don't) → INDA

Chapter One

"I don't want to go in. I'll wait in the car."

"Inseong, we're going to be a while."

Inseong cards a hand through his brown hair, frowning at the boy in the passenger seat; Taeyang, his best friend. The windows of the car had clouded from the freezing cold rain outside, and he'd been occupying himself on the drive there by drawing little smiles on the glass with his fingertips. He groans, thumb smudging over one of the smiles, making it frown before it dissipates with the warmth from his fingerpad. "Please? You don't even have to talk to him." His voice is pleading, soft and so unlike him. Inseong knows he's fucked the moment he uses the puppy eyes, too. "I want to show you my new choreography..."

"Oh, my fucking God. Okay," he reaches for the keys, pulling them out of the ignition slowly, because every moment he wastes is a moment less that he has to look at him. "Why is he even here, Taeyang?"

Taeyang reaches into the backseat for his black backpack, the Adidas logo winking cheekily at Inseong, who wore practically anything except Taeyang's favorite brand. "He's helping me with a new routine," he says, tone insinuating that it's the easiest idea to comprehend and that he doesn't understand why Inseong is confused. "He's not that bad, really. Just a little obnoxious."

"You don't know him like I know him."

The conversation drops off there, a chasm slowly growing between the two, leaking an awkward, uncomfortable tenseness that threatens to swallow them whole. They leave the car, lights from the dance studio reflecting in the raindrops that fall and add to the monstrous puddles in the uneven parking lot. Taeyang runs ahead, getting under the cover of the doorway at such a high speed that he seemed more like a track star than a dancer. Inseong, trying to catch up, nearly trips over a speed bump, soaking his shoes in the water pooling at the bottom of it. "Shit!"

"Dumbass!" Taeyang laughs, holding open the door for the brunette when he finally gets there. "Take those off over here, don't soak the floor."

"'Don't soak the floor,'" he mocks, but obliges either way, skin crawling when he looks up to see him standing halfway across the room, white shirt clinging to his back and arms with sweat. His biceps ripple underneath the fabric when he crosses his arms. Gross.

"Sanghyuk!" Taeyang greets him happily, blissfully unaware of the way Inseong's blood boils behind him. "Did you start without me?"

"I did, sorry," he grins, eyes falling strictly on Inseong and refusing to leave. His blonde hair falls into his face, and he pushes it back with a hand, obviously preferring it loose rather than holding it back with the black headband tied around his wrist. "Why's he here?"

"He's my ride." He waves a hand dismissively, looking at the brunette with a smile. "I just need to change real quick," Taeyang shakes his bag, as if proving a point, and walks towards the back room. Inseong goes to sit against the wall, holding a staring contest with the floor. Of course he loses, but he doesn't care. He has a more pressing concern. Literally. Sanghyuk crosses the room in a second, placing his hand on Inseong's knee, pressing on it gently, gazing at him with his signature smirk. Inseong gags.

"Hey, 'Seong."

"Don't call me that."

Sanghyuk feigns sadness. "Why are you so mean, 'Seongie? Did I do something wrong?"

Inseong shifts his leg, forcing the other to move his hand away. "I'm not here to talk to you. Go dance or whatever you do now."

Sanghyuk grits his teeth, taking a step back. "No need to be a prick, Inseong."

Inseong, who had really, really been trying to play nice before, drops the act. "Go look in that mirror for the prick, because it's not me! You're the one who-"