Young-soo held as tight as he could to Chan-ho, before he realized all at once that he was being pushed off. He cursed as Chan-ho shoved him, catching himself with a hand on the concrete even as Chan-ho's hands trailed his arms. God, he looked a mess. He looked a terrible mess, like he could throw up or pass out at any moment. Young-soo's heart ached with anger and concern and something even harsher, even deeper that he didn't care to place right then. All he knew was that he needed to get Chan-ho somewhere warm and dry.
But Chan-ho seemed to have other plans. Young-soo hadn't gotten a single half-formed word out before he felt Chan-ho grab at his clothes, heard the tinny sound of a bottle being knocked over even above the sound of the rain. And then, heat. So much heat in a brief second, his only warning sign before their mouths crashed into each other. Chan-ho's lips felt cold compared to the warmth of that breath on his lips.
He let himself fall into it, unthinking. His hands gripped Chan-ho's sides, encircled the boy's back and ran along the soaking fabric of his shirt. He needed to warm him up. That was the one conscious thought in his mind as he tried to hold Chan-ho closer, closer, the taste of alcohol strong on Young-soo's own tongue now. When they broke apart, it was as if the sound of the rain had stopped, silenced for Chan-ho to speak.
Those words set his body alive with fire. "Yes," he whispered, on instinct, beck and call, eager--and then, reason blanketed his eyes, the desire flickering out of his expression immediately. "I mean--fuck... no, no man, you're so fucking drunk and we gotta get you out of this rain. I was so worried--no, never mind, just come on," he whispered, forcing himself to act, not talk. He tried to loop one of Chan-ho's arms around his neck, his knees wobbling (god, even drunk, Chan-ho could kiss him blind and dumb) as he tried to stand with the other boy. For a brief moment, sensations from that night pulled at his consciousness. Again, the heat. Again, the eagerness. The rain pelted at the memory, washing it out and filling it with cold water and static noise.
"I have a car, down on the street. We'll fuck there. Just come on," he whispered, repeating the phrase, a pleading note in his voice--whether he was lying or not, not even he knew. At this point he would say anything just to get Chan-ho to safety. He should've brought towels. Why would he have brought towels? He hadn't checked the forecast before leaving, but everything seemed stupid and unplanned right then. Young-soo felt useless, the triumph of having found Chan-ho in such a place was gone before it had been noticed. "Please, Chan-ho... please."