Forewarning: Use of Alcohol

Jeongin called a quick hello as he shuffled into the shop. Changbin, who was scowling at something on his phone as he leaned up against his car, wordlessly sent a quick wave and a smile before returning to the device in his hands. The younger returned the gesture, taking the time to scan who else was in here with them, only to feel a small frown tug at his lips and a pit grow in his stomach when he didn't see a certain mop of blond hair among the rest of the crew. He made a mental note to send a text later.

More interestingly though, was the events at the wooden table. It always seemed to be a hot location when the crew members weren't working with their cars or when they needed a short break, but it's role seemed to shift today. It acted as a pillow for a sleeping Hyunjin, a footrest for a drifting off Minho, and a stepping stool for a very wobbly Jisung. He stepped carefully as he quietly observed the trio from a decent distance, attempting like a detective to piece together the bits of information from the table. Bottles consisting of a stench that lingered in the shop, glasses half filled or emptied besides the pooling of a starch liquid, a limited response time as they now started to recognize the presence of the youngest in the shop.

"Innie!" Jisung was the first to notice, eyes going wide and hand flinging haphazardly into the air to offer a wave. He hopped off the table and stalked over to the younger, throwing an arm around him in an awkward hug as he dragged him towards the table, pointing at the random drinks they had splayed out on the table as he raved in a half audible but expectant slur, "Look, look, t'is is called a cement mixer. Ya take yur acid, and ya base and ya drink them and it makes cement."

"Oh, okay, thank you for telling me," Jeongin carefully scooted away from Jisung before he could register why. Among his gut telling him he should back away and the obvious wave of confusion throat punching him, he realized the other smelled foul. There was a strange stench on his breath, the same one in the shop, but also a familiar one on his clothes. And although Jeongin convinced himself he hadn't been around a smell like that before, he could shake the feeling it had been around him sometime before this.

"Jeongin, come here," Changbin called him over as he pocketed his phone, other hand busy waving him over before Jisung could get a word out. The younger complied, dropping his head slightly ad he took a place by the other's side to observe the other crew members. Jisung began lightly pouting as Minho tried to converse wit him in a broken tongue. Next to Jeongin, Changbin sighed in something like pity, "Stay away from them; they're drinking again, or already plastered."

Jeongin quirked an eyebrow. He bit gently at the side of his lip as he scanned over them, "Why? Isn't it illegal?"

"We're not really the type to draw the line with legalities," Changbin answered rather solemnly as he watched Mimho and Jisung interact, Hyunjin as blacked out against the table as before.

On the other side, Jisung stumbled over to Minho's seat. He swung a leg over to straddle his hips, the older responding even through a half drunken stupor by placing his hands on Jisung's hips as if the motion had become muscle memory rather than a conscious choice. Like they had been in this position maybe a hundred, a thousand, maybe even a million times before. Jisung began mumbling almost incoherently, "You're hot."

"Thank you," Came the response from Minho. Which, if Jeongin hadn't been starting at him from across the room and had to judge based on his voice, he would almost argue the older wasn't nearly as gone as the other two.

"Shotgun... Let's- yuh."

"Not in front of the children."

"Then we should go back to my place, I'll introduce you to my parentssss."

"I've never met your parents."

"That's oky, I hav'n't seen 'em for a looong time either," Jisung said as he cupped the older's cheeks. He rubbed a finger gently on Minho's cheekbone, only to immediately pull back, "!!!!! Why is your face coming off?! Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?!"

"It's concealer," Changbin told as he frowned to himself, "You said that last time too."

Though it didn't seem like Jisung could hear the older since he just continued to stare at the concealer painting his hand in a horrified shock. At some point he made the same motion with his hands that took the make-up off in the first place, looking foolishly like he was trying to put it back on. It worked about as well as one could imagine; it didn't. If anything it pulled more of the concealer off. Regardless, Minho softly thanked him and let Jisung do whatever he was doing.

Fighting against a mild interested, Jeongin turned his back to them to address Changbin, "Um, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"You're not going to drink?"

"No," He sighed a replied. Judging by his tone, Jeongin guessed he wanted to throw back a few shots as well but stopped himself. Changbin explained, "Chan has a strict 'No driving under the influence rule' we try to follow, so someone needs to stay sober enough to drive these idiots home. It's a law too, but, we tend to have an easier time listening to Chan than laws."

Jisung leaned over, nearly faceplanting on the floor as he sung, "You kn'w, he wouldn't care if ya didn't get high, ya druggie~"

"Okay, that's it," Changbin pushed off the car, jaw tightening as he stormed toward the two. His voice seething with a painful twinge, "I'm going to take the horn dogs home before their drunk mouths let anything else out. If Chan isn't around by time I dump them off, I'll take you home."

"It's okay, I don't want to go home tonight," Jeongin pressed the pads of his fingers together as he shuffled behind him to the table. He asked quietly as he followed, "What about Hyunjin?"

"Not unusual, let him sleep it off," In almost an instant, the other's glare softened, "He needs that peace of mind. I just wish he found a better way than blacking out."

With that final notion, Changbin fixed an uncomfortable hold on Jisung's ear to practically rip the two apart. He hauled the high school student behind him, Minho trailed pathetically after; sporting the same sort of hopless look on his face that a kicked puppy would have if you took away it's favorite toy. He sent one last glance to the knocked out Hyunjin before escorting, in other words shoving, Jisung and Minho farther and farther away from the shop until nothing but their shadows casted on the cement floors and the howl of a starting engine cut the air.

Jeongin quickly discovered being alone in the shop got boring. Fast.

It didn't dawn on him for a while but this would mark the first time he was alone in the shop. There wasn't any loud laughter or nonsensical chatter, no power tools or combusting engines, no quiet glances or rambunctious behavior, none of it existed. Only a quiet. And something about it felt stiff. It was the same sort of pensive feeling when you came from a birthday party, and the sugar rush continued to suspend you in chronostasis. Or that same feeling right before a funeral, when the idea that they're no longer there hasn't set in yet and you'd be able to see them if you went home.

His distracted himself from the oppressive feeling with games on his phone and cleaning out excessive storage space. Clearing memory. He was about to delete a forgotten app when a rattling from the table broke the still. Jeongin peaked up from his phone, balancing the top of the device on his upper lip as he observed Hyunjin.

He wasn't really awake, but at the very least his eyes were barely cracked open. Not even attempting to prop himself up, his gaze shifted to his car in the corner and landed on the yet to be fixed crunched fender, "where are we?"

"The shop," Jeongin offered simply.

The other didn't respond. His body was still chained in it's position, head glued to the table as his gaze flickered from spot to spot though it felt cloudy. As if he wasn't entirely present in the moment. After a while of stretched silence, Hyunjin whispered, "i don't like crows. it's death."

"Does death scare you?" The younger lowered his phone from his face and squashed it between his hands. It seemed like a strange question to ask but it had been festering in his mind for a while. Did the crew fear death? Risking their lives every night on the roads, there must be something they're afraid of.

Something they're trying to run away from.

There was a gloss shimmering around Hyunjin's eyes that trailed down to the surface of the table, the bloodshot sclera fading as his eyelids gently fell closed and the drips of dew puddled on his cheeks, "not my own."

Jeongin furrowed his eyebrows at him, but as Hyunjin's breathing evened back out, he fell back asleep as promptly as someone flipping a light switch.

This left Jeongin to his own entertainment and the overwhelming want to drill a screw into his skull to quench a bit of the boredom building in his limbs. At this point, screaming seemed like a desirable option. It might attract attention but what good would that be if it wasn't given by whom he wanted it from?

He eyed the open bottles of alcohol, half of them he couldn't even read with text in obscure scripts he's never be able to decipher. He'd say he could smell the fumes wafting from the open tops but it might have just been the stench burned deeply into his mind. His nose scrunched up. Disgusting. It was impossible to fathom the reasons behind why the crews chose to submerge themselves in the liquid. Was there something special about it? What was so magical about loosing your bearings, your sense of self?

He wouldn't ever know unless he tried.

Without thinking, his hand reached forward.

Jeongin scooted one of the open bottles away from Hyunjin's flinching arms. He sighed in relief. That was one mess he did not want to clean up.

"Thought you were going for it."

"Not at all," Jeongin immediately responded. He didn't need to see who it was to recognize that voice, "I know you're going to say that I'm acting good again-"

"Was actually about to stop you," Chan came to a stop by his side, arms gently knocking together as he placed a plastic shopping bag he was carrying on the floor. The contents inside, when Jeongin tried to peek, were covered by a hoodie he vaguely remembered seeing the older wear one night a while ago. In one hand, he gripped an unopened soft drink while with his now free hand Chan picked a glass bottle of deep amber up off the table. He frowned at it, "Stuff they got is nasty anyway. Don't drink this, unless you want to regret it in the morning."

Jeongin scanned him over a few times, "Will you?"

"Not while you're here," The older reassured with a playful huff, striding to Minho's empty chair to sit in as if it were his throne. His hand came to his lips again, fingers trying to loop idly around an object that wasn't there before he caught himself and asked, "Going home tonight?"

Jeongin dropped his head and followed suit. He pushed the bottles back a bit and hopped up on the bit of table near to where Chan was sitting, legs rhythmically swinging back and forth, hands tucked complacently under his thighs to warm up his chilled fingers. Chewing on the inside of his lip, the unstable cave of his chest collapsed in on itself as he mewled, "No, it would be no different to if I'm staying out."

"Parents are going to start missing you."

"They probably won't notice I'm gone. I doubt they care much about me anymore."

"Did they ever?"

"I want them to care about me still," Jeongin murmured to his shoes, opting not to look at the older as he wiggled his hands free from below his legs and began to pick at his hangnails. The more he tugged to ground himself, the more he could feel himself being thrashed about by a lopsided whirlpool that couldn't make up it's mind in which direction it wanted to rip him apart. Mind over heart, emotions over logic, it really couldn't make up a decision. Or at least, he needed to anchor himself before he was swept away. He tugged hard on one hangnail and it began to bleed, "Do you?"

And the whirlpool just started spinning faster when Chan didn't answer. He didn't look to be thinking too hard of it either. There was a sharp pang in his chest, that same devastating sensation from the times his mother never dared to look at him. Like he was the scum of the Earth. The throbbing of the raw skin around his nail didn't help the thousand rip tides trying to pull him into a thousand realities. Anywhere but this one.

The hissing of Chan's soft drink pulled him back to land. His knuckles scrapped miserably on the metal berm as the tab was yanked back and the seal was broken. He raised it to the perturbed younger and announced, "Cheers; to our health."

"Just say what you mean already."

"That's what you want?"

"You're insufferable," Jeongin freed one leg from gravity to kick the chair Chan was relaxing in, sneering lightly as he did so. It didn't fall over, nor did it move an inch, but the older still gave him a wide smile that simultaneously made the world seem like it would be okay and made an uneasy feeling crawl in his gut. It didn't last for long. It never did; whatever that strong but fleeting nausea was, it never stuck around for long. Like all his other feelings, the sensation melts into a messy concoction like butter melts on a warm slab of bread.

Jeongin balanced the arch of his foot on Chan's chair, bouncing his leg slightly as he redirected the conversation as best he could, "What's the point in drinking anyway? Minho and Jisung were enjoying it but Hyunjin is that. I think he was crying earlier too."

"Getting curious?" Chan quizzed. From behind the lip of the can, Jeongin could see the beginnings of something like a smirk. Alright, fine, he narrowed his eyes, we'll play your way.

Jeongin tipped his chin up, and challenged, "Would you stop me?"

"Is there a point in stopping you? You'll get curious and try regardless. But," Chan leaned back in his seat, "You're bluffing. You won't."

"You don't know that," The younger quipped.

Chan gestured to the bottles, "Prove me wrong."

More than anything else, he really just wanted to wipe that look off the other's face. One time. If he could win one battle one time, that's all Jeongin could ask for. Forget how far he'd have to go to do it. If he could just win this one fight. Just one...

Without thinking, Jeongin reached for a bottle.

In an instant, the table legs screamed across the cement floors. He was pulled back by a firm grip, wrist locking painfully against the older's chest as he was yanked back.

And Chan was dangerously close. If he was in a rational state of mind, Jeongin probably would've punted himself across a football field because that was the first thing he noticed. Not the other hand balled up next to his hip, not the knocked over bottle that was very much open, it was his face being too close for comfort. An onlooker would have thought they never kissed before, much less made out in a closet, but it wasn't often they were in that proximity. Jeongin thanked every god he could think of in that split second for giving him the willpower to not try and squirm away. Or kiss him. Neither would be good in this situation.

"If you really want to, I'll buy you something real, not this bottom shelf poison. But three rules to this," Chan held up his fingers as he counted them off, "One; someone has to supervise you. Two; you do it on private property and away from eyes."

Jeongin edged, "The last one?"

"Do this of your own accord," Chan let go of his wrist and backed away,

"Not because I provoked you."

⊕⊕⊕

Changbin came back to the garage a while after. He jogged in, quickly scanned the area before asking Chan who was still sitting at the wooden table in the corner, sipping lightly at the unfinished soft drink, "Where's Jeongin?"

Chan nodded a quiet acknowledgement, "He's in my car, sleeping. And we moved Hyunjin to the office. How are the other two?"

"Take a wild guess. They wouldn't get off each other," Changbin rubbed his face, fingers digging into his skin to where they could have seen red flushing on his skin. Chan laughed at his dismay and gestured to the empty seat, the other happily plotting to sit with him at the table. With a quiet huff, Changbin hummed, "You know, I don't get it. He's a good kid and the crew likes him so don't get me wrong. I wouldn't peg him as your type though, so what do you see in him?"

A hefty silence filled the shop. They sat comfortably in it as Chan grabbed the can by the top and spun the remaining liquid inside like a whirlpool. Eventually he whispered, barely loud enough for the other to hear, "I see someone who has been told by so many different people, that he should be so many different people, he's forgotten to pick up the pieces of who he is."

"And you think that if he joins us, he can find himself? I don't believe that. Too cliché of you to do. Why's he here? What are you planning?"

"Must I always be after something?" Chan smiled gently up at Changbin.

"Don't pretend you're not," The racer shot back, "This would have been done a long time ago if you were after nothing. What are you doing? And why haven't you filled us in?"

Chan had a tired look in his eyes, a sort of exhaustion one gained as a badge of honor when they had seen too many things and lived through too much hardship to remember what it was supposed to look like. Any of the crew members would know that gaze. It grew on them like a vile mold and rotted their blemished skin, leaving perfect stigmas on beautiful but forgotten disasters with no home or life to return to. And he had been left to decay longer than any of the others. He was the most beautiful.

Chan carefully stood from his seat and placed his soft drink on the table between them.

"I'm waiting for my canary to sing."

✘