Everybody wants to be a cat!

t-ara/iu; red in my ledger | jiyeon/jieun

augmenti — Tue, 05 May 2015 19:26:20 GMT

Title: red in my ledger
Author: augmenti
Fandom(s)/Pairing(s): t-ara/iu; jiyeon/jieun.
Prompt: marvel/winter soldier au
Rating: pg
Warnings: hints of brainwashing, memory loss, time travel, ptsd.
Summary: The past is all echoes and the present makes no sense.
A/N: Hi, long time no see! I had feelings :( There will be more of this, I'm sure.

Memories need to get lost before they can be remembered. Some times they filter back in the most unexpected moments. She’s walking down the street in Seoul one minute, minding her own business in the tide of people, and the next she’s knocked twelve of them to the ground, yelling for them to Get the fuck down, seriously! and punched a hole in an oncoming car because she thought for just an instant, out of the corner of her eye, that it was a missile.

It wasn’t always like this.

It wasn’t, it wasn’t, it can’t have always been like this, memories slipping like pebbles through water, like water through her fingers; one hand flesh and normal, the other one a metal monstrosity. When did it - how did it -

It wasn’t always metal, she wasn’t always a monster.

She has to tell herself this when she rockets through crowds and launches over cars to propel herself on top of a building, up the side of a wall and using her arm as the point of rotation to pull off a backflip onto another building and disappearing from the scene of the crime before siren’s even start whining in the distance.

Her name is Park Jiyeon, and she was born -- no. She was made. Rotting in a cell or chained to a wall or clamped to a table. Park Jiyeon is the Great Leader’s secret weapon. That’s what they told her. She was a gift to mankind, to the leader. An assassin, reshaping the world one kill at a time.

She doesn’t remember the kills until she tries to sleep. They come back in flashes, like nightmares, and keep her up all night, tense and aching. The waiting never stops and hasn’t stopped and never will stop. She’s sure it’s going to go on forever, that she’ll just be this collection of side notes, this missing person’s report from fifty years ago. She’s not that old, when she looks at herself in the mirror in some old ahjumma’s bathroom. The old lady doesn’t know she’s not her granddaughter, but someone comes around daily to check on her and make sure she’s okay. Make sure she hasn’t died yet.

“I was born in 1915,” the old woman says wistfully, accepting the tea Jiyeon hands her one day. Jiyeon thinks, me too.

She puts down the teapot with wobbling fingers. She opens her mouth to give a polite excuse and a whine comes out. She turns and walks out of the living room, stops to put on her boots, and doesn’t start running until she’s out of the front gate. But once she runs she goes and goes and doesn’t stop until memories stop and she’s standing on the top of Seoul Tower, boots on the railing and pieces of metal crushed behind her from her monstrous hand. On top of the world, of this brave new world, and she doesn’t even know how she got there.

She had a family once, who loved her. A mother and a father and a brother. They must have lived full lives, had families that had families. There were a lot of wars (she knows, she knows she was in them), and she had friends. All of her life, she had a friend, and she had long brown hair and a dazzling smile and a shoulder Jiyeon was tall enough to fit her chin on when they hugged. She used to wrap her arms around her and tuck her face into her hair and smell fresh flowers.

She thinks she had a name, but now she’s just a feeling making her chest ache. She’s lost her, she has. Just like everything else. Because she’s not a girl, she’s Dr. Frankenstein’s monster except she was made for glorious purpose. A purpose that burned so bright that it shut down the doctors with their pointy sticks and electric pulses. With that chair and the way it tore her head apart.

She’s not Park Jiyeon, because she’s dead and buried somewhere. She was a strong willed girl with too much to give and everything to lose and she lost it all. Her head is screaming her name like it means something, like it’ll come back, like she still matters. Like she has choices.

But the voice is too real to be her memory, all of which feel more like they echo from down a long tube or a tunnel. Dislocated by time and space and electricity. Memories aren’t real. They never feel real, they never pull at her flesh hand like this one’s doing.

“Park Jiyeon!”

The voice is an echo of an echo of a smiling face. Of daisies and sunlight and loud laughter. She turns on the bar of metal, feet sure where her mind is not, and catches the eye of a face as young as hers. A hand so much warmer, so soft and warm. She wants to ask, how is this possible? She wants to ask: Am I finally dead?

She opens her mouth to say Who the hell is Park Jiyeon? but something else comes out. It bubbles out around hot tears and her gasping breath.

“Jieun-ah?”

f(x); show me your teeth. {sulli/krystal.}

augmenti — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 23:43:48 GMT

Title: show me your teeth.
Author: augmenti
Fandom(s)/Pairing(s): f(x), sulli/krystal
Prompt: werewolves
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: hints of graphic violence.
Summary: First rule of anti-society: Do not talk about the anti-society.
Also on AO3 | dreamwidth

When it happens it doesn’t seem like a dream. They always do that in movies, make it a sort of quick thing, a montage of quick flashes and trees and blood and screaming. Really, Jinri doesn’t remember a whole lot of screaming happening. She definitely doesn’t remember the trees, or the flashes. There isn’t really any growling, either. In fact, everything was really peaceful.

Morning sun filtered through the trees, a slow wind brushed her hair off her shoulders as she ran. The only thing she really remembered before she was how the air under her sneakers felt when she was ripped off the path and into the woods. She distinctly remembered stopping to brush at the coarse, fine hair of her knees down from the way they’d risen up right before everything in the universe that she knew just completely flipped upside down.

A snap in front of her nose jerks her right out of her reverie, as Krystal sits down on the other side of her table, slapping a notebook on the cafeteria table.

“Yo Jinri, what’s up?” She asks like she doesn’t care, turning to her bag and pulling out an apple. Jinri knows it’s an apple before she pulls it out because it’s a Monday, and Krystal always has apples on Monday’s. Even more than that though, she knows it’s an apple because it’s been festering in her bag all day, and she’s smelled it in every class so far. That’s the fact that she ignores. The same way she ignores that she knows just how tasteless it’s going to be, just how soft it is compared to how it should be.

Jinri ignores this the same way she’s been ignoring the little pain in the middle of her chest when she grins and says, “Just the sky.” She hides every little thing wrong with her somewhere next to the wolf biting it’s way out of the depths of her stomach. As much as she hates to say it, the same way she hates how Krystal snaps her fingers, snaps her heels, snaps her notebook open, snaps at the apple in one hand, is the way she feels when her heart snaps beneath her ribcage at every idol glance.

“So, have I missed anything good?” Krystal asks. Snap, goes her apple, as she takes another bite.

Jinri shrugs, leaning forward and putting her chin in her hand. Fingers flash towards one table. “Amber’s wearing her jersey again.”

“Ugh, does she have no other clothes?”

“Sunyoung’s got the fat jeans on again.”

“Monster thighs again,” Krystal sighs. “How will we survive PE?” She finishes her apple and swipes it into the bin, because she has freakishly long limbs and painted nails and really amazing aim. Krystal isn’t a PE star, she isn’t a Dancing Queen. She’s just someone who hates everyone just like Jinri, so they fit. Her dyed hair, painted nails, black on black on ripped jeans compared to Jinri’s ruffle skirts, teddy bear shirts, natural hair. They shouldn’t be outcasts, but they are. It’s a free will sort of thing.

The only one’s who can ridicule society accurately are the one’s that quit that thing like no one’s business, so quoted Krystal at their very first lunch meeting, freshman year.

“I think Victoria’s date is pregnant,” Krystal says absently, and Jinri nearly chokes on a pear.

“I think he’s just had too much beer.”

“Ah, they start so young these days,” Krystal flips back her hair with a lamentable sigh, raising her make up plastered eyes skyward. Once, Jinri thought they should feel bad about this, the calling out of weirdo’s, the judgement, the ridicule. However, it’s their civic duty to evaluate society. Krystal also might have said that, and Jinri might be shamelessly in love with her.

So it feels all the worse that she has to keep so many secrets from her.

Yet, she doesn’t want it any other way.

Fall starts when Jinri wakes up in the middle of the night, feverish and aching. She can’t move, she can’t run, her legs feel like lead and burning all at once, her head is on fire, and she screams out but no one ever seems to hear. She’s locked herself in the cellar room, deep in the basement where it smells like moldy wood chips and can’t be opened if you wedge it closed just right. It’s all but soundproof, all but perfect. Except she shreds her clothing, slams her wolf head on the roof, bruises herself spectacularly, and only just manages to make it back into her bed in the morning before her mother wakes up for work. She has to take off of school for three days with a fever.

The movies tell you about this part, but it’s so easy to pretend it doesn’t happen, so easy to pretend they can just hop right back into life when they’re feeling like they just ate their previous skin.

She still feels horrible when she finally manages to crawl out of bed again and catch the bus to school. She manages, somehow, to cake on make up to look normal. She manages to put on her favorite skirt. She manages to style her hair. Somehow, she even puts on heels. Somehow, she gets through the day.

The only hiccup is when she gets to lunch, takes one look at the goulash for lunch and all but hurls.

She never thought of how much goulash looks like human insides until she ate her own for a midnight snack.

“Seriously,” Krystal’s voice snaps in her mind, snapping like a dragon, like a wasp, like the jaw of her wolfy self when it attacked her human carcass. “So many people were gone! Victoria, Amber, Luna: All gone! I had no one to tease and no one to talk to about it. All of my entertainment abandoned me.” She puffs out her cheeks, puts on her most annoyed look.

It would look a lot better if she weren’t wearing so much mascara, Jinri thinks, and then feels awful about it for some reason.

“I even had to write about my sister in the book! Look, see?” She whirls her notebook in Jinri’s direction, and she tips her head obediently to read her messy handwriting.

Today, Jessica stared blankly at the wall, ignoring this plane of existence. “I mean really, she didn’t even notice that Hyoyeon kept bumping shoulders with her, trying to get her attention. What is this, How I Met Your Sister?”

Jinri snorts, because it doesn’t make sense. Because no TV has anything on what’s been going on, not even Teen Wolf, and she has to hate that show on principle of hating everything. Especially sensationalized, confusing, reality unreality. “I don’t think your sister lives on this plane of existence.”

At this, Krystal rolls her eyes. She’s really good at that. “She got abducted by aliens when she was eight and hasn’t come back to earth since. The person we know is just an alien in her skin, temporarily living her life until they’ve finished probing her and getting her pregnant to investigate interracial intercourse.”

The theory is so well thought out and so ridiculous that Jinri laughs all the way into Government, and even draws it in the margins of her textbook when the teacher isn’t looking.

After class, she’s so focused in getting to English to show Krystal her drawing that she doesn’t realize that Amber’s there until she shoves her into the girl’s bathroom, pushes her into a stall, and locks the door behind them. Amber is the kind of person who’s ridiculously focused even when they’re grinning. She’s a star soccer player, and one time she even kicked the ball from midfield to the net. It was the best thing anyone in this town had ever seen. It rocketed her from lowbrow skater girl status to instant popularity.

She rolls that popularity off her shoulders, laughs it off with a twinkle in her eye and always says that she just likes to play the game. It’s the truth and everyone laughs about it because it’s supposed to be good to be humble but all Jinri’s ever wanted to see Amber do is say, ‘Damn right, I did that, and I could do it again but I don’t because your team is a joke, stop using me as an excuse to not do anything.’ She doesn’t, though, because she’s always been too nice. Because Amber doesn’t have any balls, no matter how short she wears her hair.

Now, though, she’s taking all the force and intensity she’s ever wanted to see and pushing it into the fucking nails at her shoulders. This close she can smell the burger she ate for lunch, smell the protein bar she had at breakfast, smell the fresh grass in her shoes and fresh air in her hair. There’s also something more there, something familiar, but Jinri doesn’t want to think about it.

Until Amber, with her intense gaze, pushes her shoulders until she falls against the stall wall and then pins her there and shoves until the wall creaks, lowers her voice to an inhuman level and asks, eyes flashing, “Where do you transform?”

“Transform, what?” Jinri asks, her heart speeding up in her chest.

“Where?” Amber asks, and just like that, Jinri knows why her scent is so familiar the same way she dreams about waking up next to crushed beer bottles with a chunk of her throat healing over and a monster in a head that just won’t go away.

“In my basement.” She says and shoves Amber back, pushing her into the toilet paper roll and not even saying sorry when she does it. She doesn’t like it, she doesn’t like the proximity, and she hates how she can hear Amber’s palpitating heartbeat. The only person she ever wants to be that close to again is Krystal, and that is a disturbing thought. “Why are we in here, you want to take another bite out of me?”

She says it to hurt, and it does. Amber’s eyes go wide and her face goes slack. Her body goes stiff, though, and she pushes her again with ah and meant to keep her there. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Jinri level’s a glare that hurts to give, the hate feels so intense. She’s never been as angry as she is right now and it makes her feel euphoric. “No! I’m not okay! You left me in the middle of the woods - and it was you I know - because we’ve just passed that bridge and okay, fine! You bit me, you left me there, I’ve been through three really, really horrible transformations - I mean wow, Teen Wolf never prepared me for that - And now, NOW, you come?”

Amber’s shaking now, badly enough that it looks like she’s going to fall into the toilet. Her knees even bump the porcelain. “It isn’t like that, though. It wasn’t supposed to be a thing, okay? No one was supposed to be there and I wasn’t supposed to get out. They didn’t tie my chain securely. It’s a thing, I look more buff than I am.”

She realizes then that Amber’s just a baby too. Just a little baby wolf with no idea what she’s doing at all. “Who didn’t?”

Amber runs a hand through her hair, multiple times, biting her lips like she’s trying really hard not to say what Jinri desperately needs to know.

“I mean, you’re talking about this like there’s some sort of structure, like there’s some kind of system in place to help people or something. Like there’s more of us. Like we’re some Werewolf Federation of North America, and doesn’t that sound great?”

Amber laughs, shakily, runs a hand across her chin, glances up into her eyes, and then down. Jinri makes sure to inflect extra intensity into her gaze. She even takes a page out of Krystal’s book and snaps her foot down really hard on the pee smelling floor.

“Yeah, there is. Well, sort of. It’s like a pack, right? Werewolves come in packs.”

“Federation,” Jinri snaps.

“Yeah, whatever. But no, that’s not right. It’s a family.” Amber tilts her head. “I’m a beta. Sunyoung’s a Beta. Victoria’s the Alpha, but she doesn’t have a mate. She tests people, right? But she’s the Alpha.”

Jinri’s lips curls before she even realizes it. Because these are all people who’ve been in certain circles of society all her life. These are people who have been ridiculously in the limelight of events. They’re really talented, really charismatic, and more. “This conversation just got a lot more stupid, okay.”

Amber opens her mouth to reply, manages a “You were a mistake--” Before the door to the bathroom bangs open and a flock of chattering, perfume infested girls rush into the room. Taking the chance for what it is, Jinri unlatches the stall and out of the bathroom, down the hall and to class before the final bell can ring.

For all the horrible horribleness of all of these sudden bathroom-revelations, it’s the last part that really hurts.

“You were a mistake,” Rushed out with shifting eyes the same way her mom said it once when she was way too drunk and Jinri had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You were a mistake, just like her father said before he ran off. A mistake, just like everything she’d ever been told by any society, ever.

It stewed in her head all through the end of the school day, all through the night, all through the next day.

Until Krystal yanked the thought away with a snap of her gum.

“What’s with you?” Krystal’s voice grates on her ears. “It’s almost like you don’t want to do this today.”

Jinri could tell she’d been trying to make her feel better. So far, she’s made fun of everything on Sunyoung, from her shoes to the way her voice carried over the tables, “Like she thinks she’s in a musical now, or something. Ugh, look at that sweater. She definitely wants to be in Rent or something.”

It’s the accusation that makes her snap. Just one too many snaps, breaking her concentration, creeping into her life, getting into her mind.

“Ugh, so what if she does!” Jinri slams her hands down on the table so loud that her tray rattles.

“So what if she wears stupid shirts, so what if Victoria’s ass looks bad in those jeans, they’re her jeans, let her wear them! So what if Amber’s face looks like it got run over by a truck, if she’s slumping like a slug in the sun, if she’s got wobbly knees or if her hair looks really dumb in that cut! It’s not going to change anything, they’re still going to be idiots tomorrow, trying really hard to get into society even if we’re all going to be in society anyway, no matter how we reject it like some dumb punk rock people! It’s just! Useless!”

She throws her hands up in disgust, yanks on her hair until she can feel the strands snapping, and then drops her face onto her book.

“Wow,” Krystal says, and it’s quiet for once. If Jinri had looked up, she’d be able to see just why her heart leapt the way it did. “I never said anything like that about Amber. That was all you.” She says, instead of anything else, and then snaps her gum resolutely. It was so beside the entire point that Jinri caves immediately, frustration tacking onto the thread of conversation.

“I can’t help it, Amber ruined my life.” She groans, buries her head in her arms, tries to block out the sunlight. She can feel the tension in Krystal’s arms when she says it.

“You...mean. You like Amber?”

“What, no!” Jinri looks up, fixes Krystal with the best glare she has. “Never! Come on.”

“Oh, good.” Krystal has a weird lilt to her voice, an odd blush to her cheeks. Jinri opens her mouth to ask her about it but Krystal finishes peeling the new stick of gum from her bag and pops it into her open mouth. When her fingers brush so softly against them and they both freeze a little, Jinri breathes out and tries not to think too much about it when Krystal pulls her hand away and hides her face behind a curtain of long hair.

“Because you’re not allowed to like anyone, it’s against the rules, remember. ‘No relations with society,’ remember.” Krystal tapped her notebook. “Number three. Right after–”

“Right after ‘Take no prisoners’ and ‘No empathizing with the enemy.’” The enemy being society, society being everyone else. “Wow, I’ve been really bad at this.”

“Yes, you have.” Krystal says, the silent ‘duh’ hanging between them silently, heavily, because they had both agreed that saying duh was just too valley girl and the closer they got to valley girl the more they valued the opinions of jock’s and they couldn’t have that. It was rule number five.

Even though Krystal had cancelled out Jinri’s frustration, that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it, because she was still a little girl playing at a war that no one could win. Although they went to class and Jinri’s head felt clearer because of the spearmint gum and the shadow of Krystal’s nail on her lip, her heart felt divided, as annoyingly cliche as it was.

The more time passed and the closer they got to the next full moon, the more Jinri would find herself getting drawn to the rest of the ‘pack.’ Every time Amber met her eyes in Chemistry, every time she smacked Sunyoung with the ball in Dodgeball, every time Victoria passed her in the hallway, she felt an odd beckoning. Like the pull of imaginary tide, pulling her, drowning, out to sea.

She’s keeping all of this inside, a huge secret that goes against everything she and Krystal had started, but she can’t help it. It’s not like they sell werewolf how-to-guide’s, or like there’s a big gathering of them on the internet. There are no Werewolf Anonymous meetings to go to and she wouldn’t participate anyway. She’s the pastel wearing type, not the fake leather, stinky, waxy skin types.

It starts, really starts, when Amber slides in next to her at Chemistry, eyes gleaming with charisma. “Hey.”

“Hi?” Jinri pretends to ignore her, and the way her face immediately heats up. The way her heart suddenly evens out from it’s odd beating pattern when Amber’s not around. Like there are two hearts in there, and they’re only in unison when she’s around. It’s a dumb theory, but it holds up.

“How you doin’?”

Jinri finally closes her notebook in favor of giving her the biggest eyeroll of the century. “Did you really just throw that quote at me?”

“Uh, not on purpose?” Amber says with a staggering laugh, rubbing at the back of her neck. It’s awkward. Amber’s wearing a team jersey. With a logo. Jinri’s wearing pastel clothes, a flowery skirt, and she looks good. Amber just looks like a boy.

“Okay, bro.” She draws out the bro with a sneer. “What can I say? Chemistry is about to start, my lab partner is suddenly my papa wolf, and I feel all weird and twisted inside.” She feels horrified that she even revealed that much, but once she gets going she can’t stop. “By the way, you are intruding on all my rules. Every single one of them. You guys need to go away and let me handle this on my own because really, werewolf packs?”

Amber leans forward, looking pale and terrified. All that fake humor and charm suddenly gone. “You could keep it down, you know. There are people who poach people like us.”

“‘People like us,’” Jinri repeats, her voice rising as her anxiety does. “There are no ‘People Like Us’ because we don’t qualify as people.” She lowers her tone as classmates are starting to turn and stare. “Why can’t you leave me alone, I’m trying to learn.”

Amber snorts. “Why, I thought you were all anti-society.”

“Know thy enemy,” Jinri quips, turning towards the front as the bell rang. “School is about research. So I know what not to do.”

Amber touches her arm, and Jinri instantly turns to look at her, like there’s some sort of internal force making her obey. Like she wanted to. Amber’s hand is warm, and when they match eyes, there was a spark of humor there. The kind that didn’t come with condescension.

“So why don’t you do that with us, too. Come see what we’re like, after school, and then if you feel comfortable, you can transform with us. You don’t have to stay, but it’d be nice if you’d try it. I hate seeing you with so many bruises all the time.”

Jinri wants more than anything to brush it off, return kindness with cruelty, to not get involved. This breaks nearly every rule in the book already, pushes right through them all so easily. If she accepted, it was going to be the biggest breach of club rules she’s ever made.

“Okay, sure.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you outside after school.” Amber taps her mechanical pencil against the desk top until it clicks, just as the teacher walks back inside to start class. “I’ll take you to the clubhouse.”

Jinri would be lying if she hadn’t sneered internally about the term ‘clubhouse’ the whole way there. Especially since it wasn’t a clubhouse at all, but Victoria’s house.

Apparently, Victoria lived alone. Which was really convenient for a werewolf Alpha to not take advantage of, and she had henceforth converted her house into a little werewolf haven or something, because Amber and Sunyoung both stomped around it like they owned it. When they arrived, Sunyoung’s little beat up yellow slug-bug was outside in the driveway, and she was banging around in the kitchen when they walked in.

Well, she thought it was just Sunyoung, but Victoria was there too, at the stove, the counters filled with all sorts of food in the making.

As soon as Jinri steps through the door they both turn from their conversation with twin bright smiles. Sunyoung’s sitting on the counter with her legs swinging back and forth, putting filling into dumplings and handing them to Victoria, who’s setting them in a bamboo steamer on top of bamboo leaves. Both of them could cause blindness with smiles, honestly. No one in the world had smiles as bright as these three. She nearly backs right out of the kitchen right then, but Amber puts a hand on the small of her back and pushes her forward.

“Hi!” Victoria is all smiles and teeth, and Jinri’s not sure if she’s sincere or not when she does because she’s always been a hard one to crack. She’s a few years older, a senior like Jessica, and she’s only ever looked at her from a distance. It’s way more fun to make up stuff about people when you don’t really know them.

But Victoria really seems to mean it when she pushes the plate of cookies on the table towards her and all but orders her to eat. “Thanks for coming! Amber says you’re giving us a trial run, or something like that, so I’m going to do my best to convince you to stay.”

“I bet you’ll stay when you taste her food, though.” Sunyoung says, singsong, and Jinri nearly throws a cookie at her.

“That’s the plan,” Victoria chimed with a wink, trying for the same tune as Sunyoung and failing miserably, because Victoria might make amazing cookies, but she isn’t a singer.

Of all of them, Sunyoung’s the one she has the most trouble liking. She’s all sugar, all bounce. She’s so sincere about everything that it could make a nutter weep, and she really, really has bad taste in all things style, even worse in music. Which is just bad for someone who’s played the lead in every musical since freshman year. She’s not sure how she managed to force her way to the popular circle when she’s all energy and no brain, but they seem to like that in that circle anyway. Jinri would never forget the time she lost the talent show to Jieun and bawled in front of the entire assembly, but maybe that was just a personal issue.

Victoria’s house is mostly a cottage, filled to the brim with old-person stuff, and none of it makes sense until she finds out it used to be her Grandparents house, and that her Grandma left her name on the will, and that her parents are always away on business anyway so it’s nice to have a place to call home. When she talks about her family she talks matter of fact, like there is no gripe between her and them, no feeling. They support her and send her money and that’s what her parents are.

“My real family is you guys,” Victoria says, and her eyes sparkle oddly from the sunlight shining in through the window. She always knew that Victoria’s family was rich, but she didn’t know she lived alone, and she definitely didn’t know that she could cook.

Really, wow. Could she ever cook. She made dumplings for dinner. Homemade, Chinese pork dumplings, and Jinri’s pretty sure it’s the first time she ever had anything so mouth watering tasty. She’s not sure who told them that the most surefire way to get into her heart is to feed her really good food, but someone must have, because she can’t resist after that.

Against her will, against her rules, she starts to get closer to them. Before she realizes it, she’s there on a Friday with her overnight bag packed with extra bandages, and the full moon is all but about to pop over the horizon.

“Okay, it’s nearly time, pack.” Victoria says, and for the first time ever Jinri feels okay with being grouped with them. Because it’s the full moon, and she’s afraid, and Victoria is there and the Alpha and she’s taken care of all of them like some sort of saintly mother.

She follows the others to the basement, and instead of a cellar of horror with chains and brick walls and iron bars, she finds a soft, squishy room with padded walls and a torn up couch. It might not win any awards for decor with the scratches and the loose stuffing everywhere, but it’s a lot better than her tiny dungeon back home.

“W-what?” She says, because it doesn’t make any sense.

The grin Amber flashes at her is almost heavenly. “Yeah, different, huh?”

“Um, I kind of expected more...bars.” She tests the cushion on the floor with one bare foot before she steps. It’s like a padded cell, not a dungeon master’s cave.

“The benefits of being in a pack, is that the wolf is a lot more docile when it has one.” Victoria says, with a hint of authority, a hint of script. She’s done this before. “No more bruises for you, Jinri.” She grins at her, holds up a victory sign. “I’m going to take care of you tonight, okay?”

Jinri can feel the change taking hold of her even while she nods. “Okay, I guess.”

She wakes up naked, curled up between Amber and Sunyoung, feeling warm and cozy, and Victoria is threading her fingers through her hair. She looks up, dizzy, disoriented, and her own guts aren’t swirling inside of her for once. Her own remains. Her stomach growls, even, and Victoria laughs and leans down to kiss her hair.

Jinri can smell herself on her breath, and Amber, and Sunyoung too.

“Welcome to the pack,” Victoria whispers, so gently that she can’t help but laugh even though she’s naked, surrounded by girls and so comfortable with it. She feels, for the first time, maybe ever, that she’s home. She can’t help it, she laughs, and it’s dazzling.

For once, school doesn’t seem daunting. For once when Jinri smiles, she means it. For once, she feels just like the carefully bright pastel colors she wears every day. When she sees Krystal, she can’t help but feel so overwhelmed by emotion that she wants to hug her, hold her, kiss her, even.

“Hey!” She says, beaming. Krystal squints at her, eyeliner thick and hair carefully catastrophic.

“Oh my god, why are you smiling like the sun?” She gripes, puts a hand up like she’s shielding her eyes from her. “You’re beaming, stop it, it hurts.”

She laughs. She hasn’t been able to stop laughing since she woke up this morning. “I know, I know! I just can’t help it. I just had a really good night, okay!” She can practically taste her own exclamation points, but she can’t seem to dial it down.

“Oh no, who are you dating. You’re dating, aren’t you. That’s against the rules, you know.”

“No, no!” Jinri shakes her head empathetically. “I’m not, I swear.”

Krystal snaps her gum, putting a hand on her hip. Other kids start to file in, pushing around them to get to classes, grouping around in their social circles. “Oh, yeah? Then what’s up?”

“I’m not sure. It was just weird. I do have to tell you something, though, and it’s important.”

“Oh good, finally, you’re going to say something. You’ve been so lame, you know. As a fellow General in our anti-society campaign, I’m really upset about how little effort you’ve been putting into this. Like Maximum lack of effort.”

“I really like you!” Jinri burst out. It was so fast, so enthusiastic, that she blinks at herself. “I really like you,” she repeats, more calmly. Then everything catches up with her in the widening of Krystal’s eyes, in the widening of her own eyes, in the way she woke up this morning feeling absolutely coddled and safe and happy.

“I really like you, and I know that dating is a society thing, and I know that friends are sort of a cliche, and I also know that all of it is against our rules. Although, isn’t following rules sort of like a social thing anyway? Can’t we just be happy together, making fun of society and going against it and still doing stuff? Because I really want to do stuff. With you. All the time.”

“You like me?” Krystal opens and closes her mouth a few times like a fish, gasping for breath. “Wow, I didn’t know you had a heart.” Jinri punches her lightly in the arm.

“Okay, okay.” Krystal looks down, then at the lockers, then at students milling and pushing and forcing their way through the hallways. Then up at the ceiling, where a blush lines her cheeks and turns her ears a bit pink. “Um, so you’re saying, you want to go on a date?”

Jinri nods, then says, “Yes.” She reaches for Krystal’s hand, and when she doesn’t pull away she squeezes it. “I would like that so much.”

Krystal finally looks back at her, tilts her head a little, and then says. “I was wondering if you’d ever ask.”

“Cliche!” Jinri bumps their hips together, and Krystal laughs, and it doesn’t sound chagrinned or bitter or horrible. It sounds real.

Jinri’s hand feels so warm, even though she has a big secret, even though everything feels like a dream. She’ll take it, this time. This movie, gas-lighting thing that her heart’s doing whenever Krystal flips her hair, or laughs, or touches her hand. Gas-lighting might be the bane of media, but she can’t seem to turn it off until Krystal snaps her fingers, or her gum, or her notebook. Or her heel. Because if anyone can kill gas-lighting, it’s Krystal, but when the happiness doesn’t disappear, she realizes that they’ve always been like this, that the bickering and the comments only add to it, and that Krystal is just awesome, no matter what.

K & J’s Anti-Society Rules

crossover; you owe me your lips {iu/t-ara; Jiyeon/iu}

augmenti — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 17:21:12 GMT

you owe me your lips
iu/t-ara, jiyeon/jieun. 2,804 words.
Jiyeon was born to tear the world down, where Jieun was just trying to survive.
Note(s): This was writen for parodicals for the ambitiousgirls challenge.

“What are you wearing?” Jieun looks down at her orange dress and white hosiery, and raises an eyebrow. Jiyeon, who looks like someone who walked right out of a fashion magazine with her perfect makeup and black, low cut dress, crosses the room in three quick click, click clicks of her stilettos on the floor, and grabs her hand. Jieun flinches at the sound.

“Sorry? What’s wrong with it?” She pulls her hand back. She’d tried hard, picked out the dress herself after much deliberation and way too many dresses that made her head spin.

“Do you really think anyone at the bars are going to want to listen to someone who looks like a china doll?” Jiyeon smiles, primly, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “And by anyone, I mean me. Now, where are your dresses?” She asks, turning on her heels like a whirlwind. Her hair nearly smacks Jieun in the face, but she sits down on her bed before it can and slumps forward, head in her hands and elbows on her knees as she sulks and watches Jiyeon tear through her closet, whipping through her clothes.

“I thought that was the point.” Her hands muffle her voice and her shoulders fall as Jiyeon pulls out a black dress.

“This is perfect.” Jiyeon pulls to her feet and spins her around with a warm hand. “Come on,” she whispers, pressing against her back and pulling out her hair tie as she does. “Lets get you dressed up.”

-

Lee Jieun is in love with a beautiful girl, who holds her close in public, but not too close, and takes her out on the town. She dresses her up and holds her by the hand and kisses her with one foot down a step on the stairwell and one hand against the back of her neck, warm and soft and everything she ever wanted. Jiyeon looks at her with hypnotising kohl dark eyes at night and a beaming smile in the morning. Jieun’s in love with a beautiful girl who can’t cook to save her life but knows how to break brick with her fist. Tonight, Jiyeon takes her by the hand with twilight in her hair and the moon kissing her lips with a promise in her smile.

Jiyeon is a girl who hides her scars with eye makeup and a smile, but she’s a warrior, through and through, and she’ll take what she can get. Park Jiyeon is a girl with the knife in her hand ready to spring on the backs of many powerful people, with her cat claws raised and ready to scratch like Catwoman with too much to lose and everything to gain. She tore down the walls of social class at a bar once in a happy accident, and met and slept her way up the social ladder until she could afford to pay for anything and everything. And if she has to get it the way she gets it, then that’s okay, because its only a tiny kink in what she could do. She exists to tear down the walls because she was born to do it. This was how she finds Lee Jieun, and subsequently, its how she falls in love the only way she knows how. Passionately, with smiles and wiles and soft words whispered in her hair during a slow dance in the floor of a stranger’s penthouse.

-

“I think he likes you.” Jiyeon has her legs tucked under her chair, and she’s tapping her nails against the surface of the table. Jieun looks up as she’s looking through the ice cream menu after a minute, distracted from trying to decide on the banana split and the hot fudge sundae. She’s a traditionalist at the heart, and smiles at the waiter from where he at the register. He runs his hand through his hair and glances over at Jiyeon. When their eyes meet he freezes, and it takes him a moment to smile again.

“I think its you he likes,” Jieun says, tapping her menu against Jiyeon’s.

Jiyeon’s cheeks go red in a heartbeat, and she folds her arms around her belly, squeezing it and shrugging her shoulders awkwardly. There’s such a contrast between this girl that Jieun knows and the one she knows that exists in the middle of the night that she can’t help but stare for a moment, either. This girl doesn’t have nearly as much eyeliner on, or even make up. Her hair is tied back with a headband and thrown over her shoulder like a wave. She has a white sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and her jeans are hardly fashionable.

“I don’t think so,” she laughs, toying with her hair. “You’re the only one that likes me.” Her eyes are razor sharp when they meet hers and Jieun knows they were playing but thinks that there was truth in that. It makes her feel a little hollow inside. She opens her mouth to argue but Jiyeon raises her hand. “We’re ready to order,” she calls, and the boy shuffles over.

Neither he nor Jiyeon make eye contact, so when he does with Jieun, baring right through to her soul like he’s judging her with his dark eyes and his icy smile, she wonders what he’s doing in a friendly ice cream shop. “I’ll have the hot fudge sundae,” she says, staring right back at him, and feels a strange sense of accomplishment when he nods and walks away.

“I’m a traditionalist.” She whispers across the table with a wink, but Jiyeon doesn’t laugh again until their ice cream arrives.

-

Jieun isn’t a fool and she knows, just knows, that she’s not Jiyeon’s only person. When Jiyeon is off taking the world by storm, she folds clothes and cleans and waits. When she’s done cleaning, she watches television. When she doesn’t want to watch tv she composes songs with her guitar, softly, so she doesn’t disturb the neighbors. She’s never been obtrusive in her life, and she doesn’t mind being quietly in her place. Its the way she is and the way her Grandmother raised her, and she has a goal and she’s sticking to it. She’s a good person, and that means not backing away when things get tough, always being there for others even when they’re not there for her.

When Jiyeon comes back, whirling and dizzy with drink and someone else’s cologne on her skin, Jieun suppressed the deep, horrible wish to scrape it off with a knife and smiles into her kiss and slides into her embrace. People have been dancing like she has for centuries, and she’s okay with that. Jiyeon is the anti-hero of her own story and she likes it that way, and Jieun knows it, when she’s pressed down into the cushions and loved, that Jiyeon’s not always going to be hers.

-

They’re young when they meet. She’s at a party with a friend from high school, and once they might have been more than friends, but he found someone else and she found Jiyeon, but at the time they’d both been lonely and cynical and at the end of their ropes. They’re both fighters, but Yoseob’s small and friendless and miserable, and she’s not friendless but she’s still lonely.

Yoseob has a penthouse and he has a voice, and that was enough for people to come. It was enough for Jiyeon to come, in a fur coat and a beautiful dress that glittered like stars and a red smile that shone through her heart like the reflection of the light in her eyes. She sidled up to her where she was watching people make small talk, with her hands behind her back and stumbling a little in her heels.

“You’re watching people.” She made herself laugh and she leaned against the wall next to Jiyeon, who put aside her glass with a gracious smile.

“I like to watch.” She giggles a little herself, tapping the wall with her nails in a faintly familiar beat. “You’re not like the other people here, are you?”

“How do you mean?”

“You don’t seem very full of yourself,” Jiyeon replies with a shrug. Its the first graceless thing Jieun saw her do all evening. She seems to remember after a moment herself, and lifts her shoulders up. She loops an arm through hers and smiles. “Come on, lets go chit chat with the high class folks.” And she does a little skip that nearly knocks Jieun off her heels.

-

She’s lying in the dark, on her back, her eyes open and unseeing, when she hears the front door open and click closed. She hears stilettos click across the floor and waits while Jiyeon showers off the night. She grips the sheet in her hands and twists it around and around. She twists onto her side when she hears the shower door open, but she stars at the red numbers on the alarm clock until all she can see is the color.

When Jiyeon enters the room, bare feet shuffling against the floor, she fights to keep from stiffening as Jiyeon’s arm wraps around her middle, as her breath teases her hair as she rests her head on the back of her neck.

There’s silence for a long moment, while Jieun rolls words around in her tongue, opening and closing her mouth, until she can finally speak. “Why do you do it?” The words slur together, sounding like one long blur. She tries again. “Why do you do it?” She enunciates carefully, swallowing hard as Jiyeon stiffens against her.

“It’s just what I do,” she whispers, finally. “Did you think you were the only one?”

Jieun swallows, hard, against the lump appearing in her throat. No, she wants to say. Of course not. “Do you love them?” She asks instead, gripping the sheet so hard that her hands start to shake. Jiyeon sits up on her elbow, and pushes her to face her. She can see her above her, the glow from the alarm clock in her eyes and on her nose and cheek. She feels a finger stroking her cheek and flinches.

Jiyeon draws back, and a moment later the lamp on the bedside table clicks on the faintest setting. Jiyeon’s on her knees in the middle of the bed and her thigh rubs against her own. She leans over her, fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Of course I don’t.” Her eyes are burning holes through her head.

“Don’t you get tired of it?” Jieun asks, voice hardly above a whisper. She feels very childish very suddenly, and very weary.

“Of course,” Jiyeon says, and then she gives a little nervous laugh. “Don’t you get tired of sitting at home, doing nothing?” Jieun sits up slowly, shying away from her on the bed and curling her feet up slowly.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” She dropped her knees and squared her shoulders and looked Jiyeon in the eye.

“No, and you haven’t become a star yet, either.” She reaches forward to take her hand but Jieun doesn’t move. She’s mad but tired, and she didn’t want to fight. They’re still talking quietly but tension is twisting in her gut.

“What does that have to do with all of this?” She asks, gesturing wildly around the room and at Jiyeon.

“But people know who I am,” Jiyeon breathes, and her eyes gleam. “They know who I am and they know what I can do to them. I can tear them all down, and if its you and me against the world, then thats okay.”

“This won’t work.”

“But it will,” Jiyeon says, and she inches forward on her knees, long hair tangled behind her and her eyes shining with ambition, shoulders shaking with it. “This is how I’ll take the world. And when I have it, it’ll be yours.”

“Why me?” Jieun asks, letting Jiyeon take her hand because regardless, she’s curious. There’s a light in Jiyeon’s eyes that she’s seen before but never towards her. There’s a fire growing in her gut that she thought she’d never have. Jiyeon was light and fire and chaos and she was caught in the web, spinning.

“Because I love you.” Jiyeon smiles. “And I think you should be on the top of the world.”

Jieun finds herself laughing until she’s crying, and she’s not sure if she’s happy or sad when she takes her hands and pulls her close. She doesn’t think it’ll actually happen. She’s sure that Jiyeon will burn out, like a comet or a meteor. She’s sure that she will fall, and that no one will be there when it happens. “That’s alright, then.”

-

Lee Jieun’s in love with a beautiful girl. Half the world seems to be in love with her and her sharp eye smile and her charming smile that teeters a little on the edge of crazy. Jiyeon whips a fire in her stomach and whispers chaos in her ears. She leaves her orange dress at home when they go out, and she’s dressed like a different kind of doll when she holds her hand and pulls her into the club. In retrospect, she should have known. But then, she’s sure another part of her did. Park Jiyeon flirts her way through life, lets herself be pushed against walls and kissed senseless, plays her smile like a wildcard. She’s debonair, she’s sweet, but she always turns around in the crowd to pull her close.

Park Jiyeon pushes her into the spotlight and isn’t afraid when she herself falls because of it. She gives her a smile and a diamond necklace that must have cost a fortune, and all for a chance to let Jieun’s voice be heard. And Jieun sings, and sings, and never stops, until she feels like her throat is bleeding. She doesn’t fold towels alone again, doesn’t have time now. She sings and dances and twirls and smiles like that’s all there is.

There’s disbelief at the top of the world, and loneliness. Snide comments from other stars who don’t know where she came from, or how she got there, or who she loved or who she knew. And the truth was she knew none of them, and had done none of it, but it didn’t take long for her to realise that thats all there was up there.

-

She finds Jiyeon at the river like a scene from a cliche drama. One of the ones she used to watch before, when she wasn’t a star and she only had to worry about a looming conversation with her girlfriend. Jiyeon’s at the riverbank, on a bench with an old sweater and jeans from her brother. She doesn’t look like the girl she met at Yoseob’s party, but she doesn’t need to, either.

Jieun sits down, dressed in her little black dress with white cuffs, and smooths out the ruffles absently. She stares at her hands and clasps them together, licking her lips as she looks for the right words to say.

“You look like a china doll.” Jiyeon comments, sitting back on the bench. There’s a stalwart grin on her face when Jieun looks up. And there’s a heavy realization when she realises that Jiyeon’s not a hero. She’s all muscle and pent up bitterness. She has a thick accent sometimes when she gets really mad and it doesn’t take much to make her upset. But she has an easy smile and a gleam in her eye when she reaches over and wraps her arm around her shoulders. She’s warm, and smells like herself.

“Really?” Jieun huddles closer to her, unable to look towards the sunset because she can’t pull away from Jiyeon’s smile. “I’ve always hated those.” She rests her head against her shoulder and wraps an arm around her waist. “Can we go home? I think I have a pair of sweatpants at home with my name on them.” She smiles against the curve of Jiyeon’s neck and kisses her cheek of her hero, her warrior.

Lee Jieun is in love with a girl who’s as radiant, and smart, and witty. She’s funny and nice, and maybe a little too strong. But she’s fought tooth and nail all of her life and tore down the system just to get her in, and she’ll never forget it. Lee Jieun was alone all of her life until Jiyeon came along, and that’s all she ever wanted.

“Oh yeah, you have this appointment, with a friend of mine.” She smiles, sliding their hands together and watching the sun cast gold over the water. “Park Hyomin, ever hear of her? She’s making a group, but needs more people. I thought you might be interested.”

drabble challenge!

augmenti — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 06:09:04 GMT

"using the prompts below, write 30 drabbles (one every day - or more at one time, as long as you finish all the prompts within a month) and find someone willing to hit you if you miss a day. look back at the end and go 'oh! i'm a writer!'."

beginning (one). accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

_{i gave up on this being only thirty days worth, but i'm still going to use this. going to attempt to write my fantasy au using these prompts.</i>}

shinee; drabble challenge #1.

augmenti — Tue, 25 Sep 2012 06:49:09 GMT

beginnings. onew/jonghyun.
magical au. 520 words.

Jinki stood on the third step down from the top of the landing and flicked his pocket watch nervously between his fingers. He’d lost his top hat to a gust of wind earlier, and he smoothed down his fly away bangs, checked to make sure his buttons were still in place and unruffled. He’d been waiting on the steps for the last thirty minutes at least, but there was a hope under his ribcage that refused to die, even if he could hear the laughter echoing from inside the theater.

He watched the lantern lighter trudge around with his torch. He moved from lamp to lamp, slowly lighting up the darkening street. Someone had turned on the lights at the theater, and now his shadow wavered against the steps, miming his pacing like a trickster, long and thin and dark.

He was just turning on his heel to pace back the other way when someone all but flew up the steps, tripping over Jinki’s step and face planting into the ground on the last few. He winced in sympathy. He had a scar on his chin from the time he’d done something similar.

“Dear sir, are you alright?” He asked, hopping up onto the landing and coming up beside him, crouching down to eye level.

The stranger gave the worst impersonation of a scoff he’d ever seen, rolling his eyes upwards and inhaling half of the handkerchief that was held to his split lip and staggering up the steps. “I’m fine,” he groaned valiantly and sat down on the step. His clothes were rumpled, his leggings were spattered with mud. He must have run quite a ways, because he was panting and out of breath and Jinki found his heart going out to him before he could help it.

“You don’t look very fine,” he put a hand on his shoulder, “we should go find a dryad.”

“No time,” the stranger muttered. “I’m late, I was supposed to meet someone here for the theater.”

“Ah, really?” Jinki asked, paused, and asked timidly, “was his name Lee Jinki?”

The stranger blinked, turning his head to look at him more closely. “Ah, I expected you to be taller.” Jinki snorted, because he wasn’t exactly the epitome of height. He pulled off one of his gloves and held his hand out to him. “I’m Jonghyun. Your new assistant from Larsin.”

“Thanks, I guess. Nice to meet you,” Jinki smiled and did the same, grasping the calloused palm beneath his own. Familiar callouses, created from unruly chemicals and magical elements. “Lets say we skip the theater and go right for the pub, mm?”

“Are wizards allowed to drink?” Jonghyun asked as Jinki stood, pulling Jonghyun up along with him.

“Oh yes, and we’re not celibate, either. It's different here compared to your countryside. I promise.” He laughed when Jonghyun blushed, and all but retreated down the stairs, flyaway hair and flush to his cheeks and all. He shocked himself - he didn’t normally flirt. But as he waited for Jonghyun, who was pressing his handkerchief against his split lip again, he realized that this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

_{i haven't been doing a very good job at this challenge. actually, i forgot about it til now. oops. attempting to world build with a fantasy au - i don't think i've ever done one in fic so i'm anxious to play with it! :)}

crossover; Say goodbye (to the world you thought you lived in).; jiyeon/iu.

augmenti — Sun, 15 Jul 2012 20:02:51 GMT

Say goodbye (to the world you thought you lived in).
Jieun got on the wrong car one day, and discovered that not everything in her world was as it seemed.
2,700 words. pg.

Jieun got on the wrong subway train one lonely night on her way home. Her phone had died and her purse hung like a dead weight on her shoulder. She clung onto the bar as the train car shuddered its way along down a tunnel with no lights. Despite the late hour, all the seats were taken. A few older ladies were reading with glasses perched on their noses. A few kids her age were staggering around in the back of the car, drunk. One lady was trying to calm her crying child. As she watched, he wiped his nose on her sleeve. Despite the normalcy of the entire event, Jieun felt distinctly like she wasn’t supposed to be there, and as she glanced around, she caught a few of them looking at her from the corner of her eye, but when she glanced back at them, they were back to normal.

A white hot string of nervousness curled around in her stomach. Where was the car going, anyway? She’d never taken a train car here, and she’d actually been surprised when it pulled up at the platform and opened its doors because she thought she’d missed the last train. Thinking it was a night car, she stepped on, but by the time she realized it was going the wrong way, it was too late.

So here she stood, huddled in the corner with her back to one of the doors, gripping the bar like a lifeline to keep her steady. She watched people out of the reflection of the window - and caught one giving her a bemused look. As she watched, the older gentleman nudged the lady next to him and they exchanged hushed whispers. She swallowed thickly, and took out her phone, punching buttons in the hopes that it wasn’t really dead. The screen beeped once, morosely, and clicked itself off. She stuffed it back in her bag and pulled in a piece of hair, looking back out the window.

Soon enough, she realized that the car was slowly but surely going down into the earth. As she watched, it passed the catacombs of an ancient civilization and wondered just how far down they were. Her soft panic turned into a hard line of alarm in her gut, making her press up against the window to peek - but yes, there. It really was an ancient temple, half of which was cut away. The colors had faded and made it look dull and grey, but it was gone before she could notice anything else.

“Where are we?” She wondered aloud, breath ghosting over the glass. She saw half of an enormous bone before her very eyes - larger than an elephant.

“We’re going to the core of the planet,” came a young girl’s voice. Her head snapped away from the window and jerked back against the wire framework. The girl looked about her age, with long blonde hair and sharp eyes and a smile that looked almost menacing in the reddish light.

Jieun blinked at her, numb. “What?”

The girl stuck out her hand, pushing her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks colored pink behind a heavy foundation. “Hi, I’m Jiyeon. It’s an honor to meet you, Jieun.”

She took her hand, brow creasing with confusion, “how do you know my name?”

Jiyeon’s mouth turned into a bashful smile. She was very pretty, Jieun thought, dropping her hand. “Oh, everyone knows you.” The train picked up speed as it burst through the crust of the planet and slipped through a crack in the plates. Jieun kept her gaze focused on Jiyeon - doing her best to ignore the molten lava pushing its way past the doors. She shied back away from it nevertheless, towards the center of the train. Jiyeon caught her hand again, pulling her close, holding a hand on her waist to keep her there.

“Don’t worry, the train is actually made of bits of a spaceship. Nothing on earth can get through these doors.” Jieun’s heart started beating faster and faster. That was real lava outside the doors, real, molten earth pushing past the glass panes, and inside the car it remained cool, air conditioned.

“I’m dreaming, right?” She touched the window with a hesitant finger, half expecting it to burn off. It didn’t. Only the faintest thrum of warmth. When she looked back at Jiyeon, the girl had a funny little half smile on her face. Her hand was still warm on Jieun’s back, like she was trying to reassure her. Her eyes glinted with the hard edge of untold truths.

“Don’t worry, this material could go through a sun.” As reassuring as her voice was, it made Jieun burst into laughter.

She leaned back against the bar, Jiyeon’s hand slipped to her shoulder, to her hand. She held it and her fingers were cold and clammy and yet so smooth. Jiyeon tilted her head in askance but Jieun snorted with laughter, trying to cover her mouth. From the other end of the train the drunks started laughing too, catcalling.

As she laughed the five minute bell chimed. Five minutes until the arrival of...where? Jieun stopped laughing abruptly and looked out the window. They’d entered into a tunnel made of a shimmering metal. As she watched, they flew at top speeds through a sort of yellow gas and into an airlock gate. The train stopped abruptly, causing her to fall awkwardly on top of Jiyeon. She pushed back, flushed and embarrassed, but Jiyeon refused to let go of her hand.

They were cleaned off with some sort of fluid that steamed as it it the sides and immediately changed into a gas, and then a whirling as a great wind sucked everything up into a great vent at the tops and bottoms of the chamber. Then the train car slowly crept forward.

She gasped, eyes wide, as they slid smoothly onto a track in mid air. The large globe was full of platforms with all sorts of trees. Birds flapped around, and as she stared, a Pterodactyl coasted by the window, its large mouth open in a shriek. Unconsciously, she gripped Jiyeon’s hand tightly as she stared at the different platforms, which all seemed to have different trains entering them, like train depots. There were stairs leading down to other, larger platforms that had buildings and houses on them, as well as more with forests, and even a lake built into the center. The globe itself was smooth and shiny and showed a blue sky.

“It’s just a simulation,” Jiyeon’s voice murmured in her ear. “Its to make inhabitants feel more at home.”

On the whole, it reminded Jieun of an ecosystem she’d made with two pop bottles in middle school. With water and plants and earth, the bottles created their own air and ecosystem, all on its own. She squeezed Jiyeon’s hand more tightly, until the girl made a small noise of discomfort.

She released it with a gasp. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. White lines discolored her fingers. Jiyeon squeezed it a few times, smiling.

“Don’t worry about it,” the girl smiled, as the train finally coasted to a stop in a thin film of steaming water. Jieun stepped back as the doors opened on all sides. Jiyeon put a hand around her waist. “Don’t touch the sides of the car, it could melt your skin off.” She carefully pulled Jieun across the small divide and onto a smooth and polished platform. Upon closer inspection, Jieun could see her reflection. She also noted, as a stone dropped into her stomach, that it was slightly transparent. The Pterodactyl from earlier had found a mate, and they were both flapping around together.

Jiyeon pulled her along by the hand towards a bored looking security guard, dressed in a very plain looking shirt and pants. “Jieun slipped onto the wrong car and ended up coming home with us. I want to show her around.”

“Yes, of course,” the guard said, “Be careful, you know humans are delicate.”

Jieun’s hand clenched tightly around her purse, too busy staring around at everything to process what they were saying. She followed Jiyeon and the crowd of people on the train with them. She stared around at everything, dazed. She felt like she’d been hit in the head, but without the pain, only the confusion. She’d thought earlier that the biggest thing worth doing that day was finishing that overdue report for work. She hadn’t expected this.

As they walked, Jiyeon bounced a little on her heels, pulling her along and chattering away. “Look! Look down there,” the girl tugged her to the edge of the platform, holding onto the railing and pointing down into the trees below. “See him?”

Jieun gasped, jerking back away from the railing in alarm. She stared at Jiyeon, at the gleeful light in her eyes, and stared back down at the ground. “It’s a t-rex!” She exclaimed, watching as his large head bobbed around on its neck. His large legs crushed a bush as he stomped around.

“The last one,” Jiyeon hummed, tapping her thumb against Jieun’s knuckles.

Jieun frowned. “But they’re extinct.” Jiyeon gave her that same infuriating smile, touched with amusement. “What’s going on? What is this place? Why am I here, who are you?” Jieun’s questions came spilling out of her once she started talking. The initial shock had worn off, and now she just wanted to know. “And how am I getting home? I live alone with my grandma, she’s going to be worried about where I am!”

“Lets find a place to eat and sit down while we talk.” Jiyeon pulled her arm. Jieun wrenched it back, balling her fingers into a fist. Raising an eyebrow, Jiyeon sighed when Jieun did the same with both of hers, crossing her arms. “Okay, fine. We’re in the center of Earth - your planet. Aliens settled here decades ago and have slowly taken over. This is their base inside your planet, where they keep a few animals that have gone extinct in the above world. When they need to get away and don’t want to be above, they come here to relax, talk to family and friends from other planets, and just get away.”

Jieun opened her mouth and closed it again. “There are aliens above?” Jiyeon nodded. “How many people are aliens?”

Jiyeon’s looked away, biting her lip. “Are you an alien?” Jieun asked, eyes gleaming with a strange sort of interest. When Jiyeon didn’t look back, she gasped. “You are, aren’t you? Are you peaceful? You’re not going to take our planet over, are you?”

Grabbing her by the hands, Jiyeon led her to a bench and sat her down. A cool breeze brushed air off of her shoulders. A bird she’d never heard before trilled a cheerful call from below. Jiyeon sat down beside her, putting a hand on her arms. “We’re all aliens, every last one of us.” Jieun’s mouth snapped shut in alarm as Jiyeon stared at her. As she watched, her eyes glinted silver before Jiyeon blinked and slipped them back to the warm copper color.

“I’m not an alien,” she whispered. If she’d been abducted, she’d know.

Jiyeon nodded. “That’s right, you’re not. We took over your planet and your people because we needed to hide from other, more dangerous forces.”

“You had no right to do that,” Jieun exclaimed. “You should have asked if you could stay here. Don’t just take over someone’s planet, and kill their people.”

Jiyeon snorted. “We didn’t kill anyone, we inhabited them. They became part of us and we melded together. As far as host bodies go, your bodies are weak - but that’s the charm of earth. You’re no threat, and the resources our enemies want are too few here.” Jiyeon smiled thinly. “We made sure of that by using up all of the expendable resources.”

Jieun’s vision blurred suddenly, feeling sick to her stomach. She rubbed something out of her eye and her fingers came away wet. “But why not me, too?”

Jiyeon smiled kindly. “We didn’t want you to go extinct. You’re the last pure human left. Plus, you have a gorgeous voice.” Jieun stared, trying to find the alien behind that face. All she could see was a kind girl with too much eye make up and a penchant for dying her hair weird colors. She couldn’t see any alien. She could almost see a friend. She stood up, pulling away from her, and walked towards the stairs. There was a market below, with food vendors with mouth watering aromas, children ran back and forth with dogs running around at their feet, excitedly.

Just that morning, she’d been woken up by her Grandma, who gave her a packed lunch and sent her off. At work, she’d chatted with co-workers about the news, and how afraid she was for America if Mitt Romney became president. On the way down to see her boss, she stumbled upon someone fighting with his wife on the phone. She felt her knees go weak, so she slipped down into a crouch. Her purse flopped on the smooth surface.

After a few minutes, she felt Jiyeon’s hand on her shoulder. “Are you angry?” Jiyeon’s voice sounded so uncertain, so like the young girl who she’d mistaken her for. Her age, radiantly beautiful, a painted on confidence in her step and her movements, a bashful smile beneath it all.

“Not really,” she said after a while, surprising herself when she realized it was true. “If I’ve lived with you guys all of my life, I guess I’ve just been doing it all along, anyway, right?”

She stood up, replacing her purse to her shoulder. “Can we get food? I’m starving.” She took Jiyeon’s hand. “You have to tell me everything! Have you been to other planets? What about other aliens? Who are you hiding from?”

Jiyeon laughed at her, squeezing her hand. “Hold on, too fast, too fast.” She breathed, pulling her to a stop on the step. “You’re really a remarkable human being,” she breathed, touching a hand to her hair. “I never thought I’d meet you in person. We all know your name, just in case, but I never thought...” She pulled her hand away, tangling her fingers in her own blonde hair. “Um, yes, food. Lets get pizza!”

-

Jieun woke slowly in the morning, revelling in the soft feel of her mattress and the comforter hiding her from the world. Her eyelashes blinked dazedly at the wall, following patterns of light with her eyes. Pigeons cooed outside her window, flapping around in the eaves of the building. The collar of her nightshirt pulled at her neck uncomfortably, and she finally rolled over to fix it.

To her surprise, she rolled right into the back of another girl, quickly recognized as Jiyeon, who mumbled softly and shifted against the pillows, soft blonde hair fanning over the pillow. For a minute, she just stared at her, one elbow propped up on her pillow, and thought of everything from the night before. They’d come back as soon as the trains turned back on, and then Jieun took her back with her to her grandma’s, where they fell into an exhausted sleep.

She slowly touched Jiyeon’s hair with a few hesitant fingers, threading them through the strands with a light touch. Just last night, she’d discovered that everyone in the world was an alien. Just last night, she’d discovered that a special train at 2 a.m could take her to the center of the earth, a secret sanctuary safe from any invaders.

Just last night, she found herself falling in love with an alien, just a little bit. But that was another big step she was willing to save for another day. She slipped out of bed slowly and padded down the hallway to where her Grandma was cooking. “Morning Grandma,” she said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. “What’s for breakfast?” She asked, pulling away with a smile. Her fingers curled over her shoulders as her Grandma patted her on the hand. She smiled and tried to mean it, and accept her part in this brand new and old, old world.

_{note: title taken from lyrics from ‘Any Other World’ by MIKA. written for unniefic’s 48 hour challenge. I just really missed writing these two.}

headcanon; park jiyeon (&friends)

augmenti — Thu, 12 Jul 2012 05:04:01 GMT

this is one of those 'lets open up a document and write out a headcanon before i lose track of everything i want to say' posts. so there will be lapslock, there will be capslock, there will be horrible grammar (probably). and this is all just my speculation and my headcanon, because everyone has different ones.

but this post is about jiyeon and her relationships, because i've been thinking about it since that post where akp was like "jiyeon has no friends outside of t-ara except for luna and iu." and this is true, it's been true, and i don't know why it's suddenly of interest now.

so jiyeon's an idol and we all know that, she's had rough times and hard times and she's done it all at a young age - she's come of age now and maybe she's falling into a sort of ~image~ where everyone thinks she's mean/ice-cold. but really, jiyeon's shy. she can do camera's and greet people and talk to them but she has a hard time getting CLOSE to them. jiyeon is a strong girl, but she's also a girl, a young girl, and korea's age hierarchy makes it hard for her to be friends with people older than her. but jiyeon can do cameras and acting and everything like that because she's an idol - she doesn't have to be herself when the camera is on and she's an actress. i think a part of her just uses it to escape. for all that she's so busy and overworked, i think she must feel the stress of that sometimes. hell, sometimes it's hard for me to get out of bed because i don't want to talk to people, and i can't imagine the energy it takes to be an idol. i can't imagine the added energy it takes to talk to people and be bffs with a ton of people and really, it's always going to be so much easier to be friends with the people close to you because they kind of become family. jiyeon's has so few friends because they become family.

jiyeon likes to be able to rely on people - and in the people she trusts i think that's important. if she's going to trust them, they have to be able to make her happy and make her feel like a person and she has to be able to be relied upon too. for instance, i remember watching heroes and this was one of the first times i ever really watched anything with her and iu in it together, but it was one where they were carrying logs on their backs? jiyeon was fine, she had a bunch of them, and poor little iu is falling behind her with like two logs. jiyeon called over her shoulder "jieun-ah, are you okay?" and iu says, "no :("

and idk. that left a really big impression on me for some reason and even after all this time i think it's still one of the big solidifying factors to how i portray them and how i see them. jiyeon and iu are super close and they can confide in each other and they can be honest and i think to jiyeon, being able to be honest is a big thing. she's strong, and she wants to be seen that way, but iu and luna are both so happy, and also responsible.

iu was brought up by her grandma and she has a lot of older mannerisms and knows all these old customs and such and i don't know how much it affects her now but i believe the way we grow up is a basis for how we are later in life and iu is really good at being solid. she's confident, but not over confident, she knows she can sing and she's really good at making friends and jiyeon may envy her for those things but the two kind of click together. they're both so adorable and lovely together and i think a true sign of friendship is like that game where you fall back against your partner - and they always catch one another.

anyway, in jiyeon's world of idol-dom and the uneven ground (imagine working for a company like ccm? you could get the rug pulled out from your feet 98498498 times a day. the company would lie about what you say or what you want and never ever ever let you sleep. so i think in a world like idol-dom, solidity is important, and jiyeon doesn't have many friends, not just because she's shy or overworked, but because of solidity.)

_{or at least. that's what i think. if you disagree or want to add to this or anything, please feel free! i'm not here to judge or condone or be all NO MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY. this is a place where we think freely, because this is our fandom and we make it. that's one of the things that make rpf so special.}

anonymous feedback meme

augmenti — Fri, 06 Jul 2012 16:23:56 GMT

ANONYMOUS FEEDBACK MEME
my thread here

I know I haven't posted anything in a million years, but I always want to improve, so if you do this, thank you! Please leave the harshest and most constructive critique you can. ♥

Kacts; Round Five!

augmenti — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 04:14:36 GMT

( previous list.)
for kacts

☀My List☀

❶cyber themes: virtual reality scenarios; e-mail/chatroom interaction, including secret admirer scenarios; technophilic themes; artificial humans; character is copied or downloaded into mechanical host body; other ghost in the machine scenarios; androids and cyborgs as partners; cyberpunk aesthetic; VR or Matrix scenarios; futuristic techno/cyberpunk AUs

❷Heroes:knights and champions; superheroes; samurai or ronin; super-soldiers; ordinary characters becoming heroes and characters overcoming fear with bravery; rebel/underground heroes; saviors and liberators; avengers; see also Heroic gestures; Good boys

❸Intelligence: quick wit; street smarts; Machiavellian cleverness; Sherlock Holmesian deductive powers; geniuses; experts; criminal masterminds; see also Special powers and skills; Geeks and nebbishes

❹Masquerade: a character pretends to be someone else, or something he's not, e.g., a nebbishy nerd must convince goons he's a ruthless arms dealer or assassin; a cop goes undercover in prison; a spy infiltrates an agency; a good guy pretends to be his AU evil twin; Cyrano scenarios

❺Wish-fulfillment: genies, spells, a wish to make someone happy, etc.

☀My Fandoms☀

f.t island; hongki/jonghun, seunghyun/jonghun, minhwan/wonbin
snsd; taeyeon/seohyun, hyoyeon/ yuri, jessica/tiffany, hyoyeon/jessica, tiffany/sunny, yuri/yoona
f(x); krystal/amber, amber/luna, sulli/krystal
2pm; chansung/nichkhun, chansung/wooyoung, wooyoung/nichkhun, taecyeon/jay, taecyeon/wooyoung
shinee; onew/taemin, taemin/key,jonghyun/onew
infinite; myungsoo/sungyeol
ss501; hyunjoong/kyujong
t-ara; jiyeon/hwayoung, qri/hwayoung, boram/qri
u-kiss; soohyun/kiseop, soohyun/hoon
dgna; suhoon/hyunmin, jisang(xing)/suhoon, gwangchul(xing)/injoon, suhoon/jihwan.

misc./others; superjunior (kibum/donghae, heechul/hankyung, zhou mi/kyuhyun), after school (raina/nana, uee/bekah, jooyeon/uee), secret (hyosung/zinger, jieun/hyosung, any) miss a (ot4, suzy/fei, jia/fei, min/suzy), beast (doojoon/dongwoon, dongwoon-fic, doojoon/yoseob), cnblue (jonghyun/yonghwa), dbsk (yunho/jaejoong, jaejoong/changmin)

crossovers;
anything with five girls: g.na, hyosung, uee, jiwon, yubin),
93-line: iu/jiyeon, iu/jiyeon/luna
91-line: jaejin, key, mir, jinwoon, dongwoon, +tagalong seunghyun (or minho.)
f4; top, hyunjoong, jaejoong, yoochun).
soloists: anyone with younha, iu, boa, park jaebum, bada, g.na
misc: hyukjae/hyoyeon, donghae/jessica, yoona/taecyeon, chansung/jinwoon, seohyun/yonghwa, nichkhun/victoria, soyeon/snsd, yubin/younha (also /taecyeon)

snsd; dynamic duo (first meetings.)

augmenti — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 22:21:58 GMT

dynamic duo (first meetings.)
the first meeting of seohyun, seoul's only consulting detective, and kim hyoyeon.
609 words.
a/n: due to be rewritten, added onto, fixed up, etc, at a later time. i just needed to get this idea out of my head before i lost it forever.

It was raining the day they met. Seohyun was watching her from the other side of the bookshelf, over a modernized copy of Pride and Prejudice. She was absolutely normal. She wore a flowery tunic over a pair of dark leggings. From the lack of a definitive click of her heels, Seohyun could tell she had flats. From the way her body moved with a fluidity and the way she never broke her posture, she guessed she was a dancer. She leaned down gracefully and picked up a copy of Vogue. As she did, Seohyun caught a flash of newspaper from the inside of her bag. A red pen circled the housing advertisements.

Seohyun smiled over her book and closed it with a snap, replacing it to the shelf and rounding the bookshelf to join her. “Hello,” she greeted with a bob of her head. The girl looked at her, warm, make up-less brown eyes blinking back at her.

“Hi,” she said, and bent down to put the magazine back.

“You’re not really interested in Vogue, are you?”

The girl blinked at her. “Excuse me? How would you know?” Her tone turned a little gruff. As though Seohyun had just insulted her. Seohyun glanced at the weapon and hunting magazines that were right in front of them and smiled, snapping her back towards her.

“I don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure of it. You were looking at the hunting magazines, but then you saw a man coming down the aisle and went for Vogue instead. You’re not wearing make up, and your skin isn’t glowing with lotion use. You’re not interested in make up, you’re interested in guns. From the way you hold yourself you are a dancer, though. You must be in your early twenties and you seem pretty normal. From the newspaper clipping falling out of your bag you’re looking for a cheap, inexpensive place to live.” She smiled at the girl’s astonished face. “Am I wrong?”

The girl’s mouth had dropped open during her monologue, and stayed there for a good ten seconds until Seohyun quirked and eyebrow and she became more self conscious about it. “No, no, you’re right.” She gave a smile, but it slipped away half hearted. “How did - who’re you?”

“Seo Juhyun, but I prefer if you call me Seohyun. I’m currently a university student but I do dabble in volunteer work.” She smiled. “You’re looking for a flatmate, and you are too. I think we could live well together. I’m neat and tidy and I’m quiet. I won’t give you too much trouble. What do you say?”

“I’ll need to see the house, first.” The girl said, a glint of interest in her eyes.

“Of course. Here’s the address,” she pulled a paper out of her bag with the address on it. Does noon tomorrow sound good to you?”

“Um, yes,” she said, taking it. She still seemed stunned at the turn of events, but it didn’t stop her from laughing about it. She seemed clever enough. There was a glint in her eye, anyway.

“Perfect,” Seohyun smiled, zipping her coat up a little tighter as she backed down the aisle. “May I ask, what is your name?”

“Hyoyeon, Kim Hyoyeon.”

“Til tomorrow then,” she bowed her head and twisted on her heel. A smile lingered on her lips as she left the store. The other side of the street was blocked off with police tape. She ran across the road and ducked under it to have a look at what she’d really been called out for. Her hobby was deduction, and her volunteer work was ‘consulting detective.’

ss501; just one dance; hyungjoon/jungmin

augmenti — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 06:50:37 GMT

Just One Dance
Hyungjoon knows he doesn’t love him, but his message can’t get through.
hyungjoon/jungmin, pg-13 2,600 words.
note: originally for voorpret for gyonggo_ss.

Hyungjoon’s entire life went from semi-awesome to semi-dreadful on a Monday. Which really wasn’t all too odd, considering Monday’s track record, but Hyungjoon came from the sort of profession where Monday’s meant nothing but “you can sleep an extra two hours” compared to the rest of the weekend. Monday, he got a call from Kyujong, saying that Hyunjoong was finally going to get himself hitched.

He’d been suspicious of Hyunjoong ever since his Marry you single came out, but to hear it, first hand, from Kyujong, just sold it. If it had been anyone else - even Hyunjoong himself - he wouldn’t have believed it. The others had the tendency to lie. The bigger the news, the bigger the lie.

“Really?” He asked, surprise making his hand stall a little too long on the shirt he was ironing. He yanked it off his shirt with a muffled curse.

“Yeah, he’s having a bachelor party soon - I’m sure he’ll send us the details later.”

“Oh yeah, do that.”

They chatted about a few other things while Hyungjoon finished his ironing when he finally asked the question. “So, who’s the wife?”

“Oh,” Kyujong’s laugh was light. “A real charmer, no one famous - believe it or not. I always thought he’d end up marrying someone famous but she’s a fashion designer.”

“Fashion designers are famous in their own right, I guess.” Hyungjoon wished there was a fashion for burn marks, he thought darkly as he tried his shirt on and discarded it into the trash. Burn marks everywhere - he’d never get the hang of it. “So what’s her name? I have to put something on the congratulations card, you know.”

“Kim Yeonji,” Kyujong laughed into the phone. “Hey I have to go, my managers on the other line. He probably wants to ask me about making a comeback or something.”

“Alright, see you later.” Hyungjoon ended the call and went hunting for a clean shirt in his mess of a closet.

That wasn’t the bad part. Actually, that was the good part, but it just got worse from there. He had a small apartment in Japan and only a few people knew the location. His brother was one, the members were the other. He didn’t think much of letting them all know, until he got a call from Kibum asking to borrow it.

“You still have a spare key, right?”

“Yeah,” Kibum nodded. His voice was muffled over the line. “But I was kind of hoping you’d be coming to Japan, we could hang out, I could practice my Japanese on you, come up with work things...I haven’t seen you in a week.”

Hyungjoon hadn’t seen Jungmin in five weeks, but that didn’t have anything to do with anything. “Sorry, I’m pretty swamped here.” He bustled around in his slippers, clearing off his keyboard of old papers and files, and an old donut, which he promptly threw out. “I miss you too but you’re debuting there soon, solo and all. Practice on the locals, isn’t your Japanese better than mine, anyway?”

“Right.” Kibum sighed into the phone. Heavy, like he didn’t really know what to say because he had so much he wanted to say. “Well thanks, see you.” The click of the phone weighed heavy in his ear. He felt a pang in his chest - guilt. Family was ridiculously good at making someone feel guilty. He came across an old pair of boxers and threw them towards his bedroom door. They hit the wall and fell in a heap.

On second thought, Monday wasn’t that bad of a day. But it started on Monday and ended on Sunday, what could he really say?

Tuesday began a blast of music from his phone - way too early to be getting any sort of calls and way too late for it to be a manager. “Hello?” He moaned into it, staggering into the bathroom. Yesterdays cleaning fit had ended with piles on the coffee table in the living room - piles he’d get to later.

“Hey.” It was Hyunjoong. Surprises never ceased. “So I’m told you heard the news!” The exclamation was far too excited for Hyungjoon to take this early in the morning. He just barely resisted groaning about it. He splashed cold water on his face to wake up a little bit.

“I did, what’s up?” He put the phone on speaker so that he could apply shaving cream to his cheeks.

“I was thinking of having a pre-bachelor party tonight, you know, to celebrate. You game?”

Hyungjoon laughed, washing his razor in the sink before he pressed the cold blade against his skin. “This sounds more like a Jaejoong idea, though.”

“I like parties too, come on. I want you to meet Yeonji, anyway.”

Hyungjoon went quiet until he finished the next line on his skin. “Sure, why not. Where and what time?”

“Great, I’ll text you with the details later!” Another exclamation - Hyunjoong was ridiculously happy this morning. He turned off the phone and made sure to keep his schedule clear in the afternoon.

Evening found him being waved into the VIP section of a club and welcomed by mostly all familiar faces. Yeonji was a tall woman with fewer curves than Hyunjoong usually went for but sharp eyes and a round face and a smile that took even his breathe away when she beamed at him. She wasn’t the prettiest lady but she wasn’t ugly - not at all. In her heels and her red dress, she looked like the kind of girl anyone would want.

“He’s finally getting married, Youngsaeng said, sighing into his drink at the bar. “It only took him long enough. Maybe she’ll get him to stop going insane.”

Hyungjoon laughed, ordering a round of drinks for everyone. It was time to get appropriately smashed before Jungmin arrived. It was easier to deal with a guy that does everything he can to get on his nerves if he was inebriated first.

Jungmin was one of those guys that barged into your life and stayed there, and no matter how much Hyungjoon liked him and considered him a brother in arms, Jungmin was the wild card that you played at the dire moments to get the game back in your hands. Sometimes it backfired, sometimes it saved the day. Jungmin spoke in absolutes and declarative sentence never took them back when he was wrong.

“Hi, what’ve you got that’s strong enough to knock me off my shoes.” He waggled his eyebrows at the bartender right after he’d given Hyunjoong a hug and bowed to Yeonji and waved at Kyujong and Youngsaeng from across the bar. He slid into the seat next to Hyungjoon.

“Hey,” Jungmin’s eyes sparkled. Partially from the lights around the bar, and partially from mischief. Hyungjoon felt his skin crawl. It’d begun. He downed his drink.

“Hey, how’s China?”

“Taiwan,” he corrected with a smoothness that told him he was going to start with it anyway. Like he was prepared for him to make the mistake before he’d even made it. Hyungjoon already felt the irritation. “Is great, wonderful. Warm.”

The grin on his face curled at the edges, like it came right out of a Dr. Seuss book. Hyungjoon found swallowing hard. Irritation boiled in his veins - already. He didn’t really hate Jungmin. They’d just never gotten along from day one. Jungmin was too about himself.

From the way he lounged in his chair and adjusted the cuff of his flashy blazer, that hadn’t changed. Hyungjoon turned to the bartender. “I think I’m going to need another brandy.” He really wanted to ask for three. Jungmin started talking as soon as he had his drink. He didn’t stop until Hyungjoon slipped forward and pulled him up for a dance.

A dance with the devil, but there was a beat throbbing through him by now. The haze of the room was partially caused by the drink and partially caused by the declarative’s still pouring from Jungmin’s mouth. The dance floor was blue as the sad beat of his life, and to fix it, he turned and shouldered his way into Jungmin’s personal space.

Through the haze, he could see Jaejoong dancing with Yoochun and Hyunjoong. Seunghyun was loitering with Youngsaeng at the bar. Kyujong and Yeonji were dancing together and made even the heavy beat and the lyrics that poured from the speakers in expletives seem like the nicest of ballroom dances. Kyujong was like that. Jungmin wasn’t and Hyungjoon kind of liked that about him. He was the opposite of anything perfect and that’s all he wanted.

“I can’t breathe,” he leaned forward at one point - and it wasn’t until after he said it that he realized it was true. He reached for Jungmin’s hand and found them clasped around his, the grip strong and manly - ridiculous, because manly wasn’t the type of description he’d ever use for a man like Jungmin.

“Don’t worry.” Another declarative sentence. “You’ll be fine.” Another absolute. Jungmin pulled him past the others, down the stairs and through the narrow hallway with old band posters peeling off like bad wallpaper. The back doors led to an alleyway, and that’s as far as he got before he threw up against the side of the dumpster, gripping the brick wall and dry heaving on an empty stomach and alcohol.

“All that brandy,” Jungmin whistled. He stood an arms length back, awkwardly patting his back with one hand and keeping his white suit (from London) and his shoes (from Paris) as far away from the dry heaving as he could.

“It was good,” he whined. He wiped his hand on the back of his hand (made in Korea). He leaned back against the wall, let his head smack against the brick, an anchor in his oceanic world. “Everything’s blue.” He laughed. “The light’s not, that’s making things yellow. But otherwise, it’s all blue.”

Jungmin brushed invisible dirt off his suit jacket. There was nothing there. Jungmin’s skin glowed in the lamplight and the shadows cast a cool blue light on his back. Jungmin swallowed the world in it, the blue burning flames that engulfed everything and nothing. The biggest problem with Jungmin was that he thought he had so much charisma.

“Huh,” Hyungjoon tipped forward until he fell against Jungmin, gripped his cyan silk tie, linked their mouths together. In just one second, all of the missing little pieces of his life came together and fell apart at once, when Jungmin pushed him against the wall again.

“You’re drunk,” Jungmin said, eyes smoldering.

“Very,” Hyungjoon giggled. His hands scraped the brick wall behind him for a solid grip. Jungmin turned on him and walked off, taking blue shadows with him. Hyungjoon sat down hard on the steps and posed like the thinker because if he didn’t, he’d fall over.

On Wednesday he felt too ill to move, his head had exploded the night before. On Thursday he regained control of his body and managed to wobble into the kitchen to eat. Shortly after that came a call from Kyujong with the date of Hyunjoong’s real bachelor party, on Saturday.

“Don’t let me drink, ever again.” Kyujong just laughed - like the devil in sheep’s clothing.

Friday, he’d taken into account exactly what he’d done on Tuesday - really, Tuesday’s must be the new Monday’s because he’d never had a worse day. While gift shopping on Friday, which was supposed to be the best day of the week, he came to terms with the feelings he’d repressed for what could round up to a decade.

“Wow,” he laughed at himself in the changing room mirror. His reflection laughed back with lines of contempt and eyes that blazed with self-righteous irritation. “I couldn’t find anyone else to like?” He laughed, pushed the thoughts away, bought Hyunjoong and Yeonji matching penguin shirts, and called it a day - he was no good at this sort of thing, and they all knew it. He was magnae enough to play up a cute gift like penguins.

Saturday, the day of Hyunjoong’s bachelor party, Hyungjoon accidentally backed into Jungmin’s rental car. They hadn’t talked since that night, the night he’d promised to forget by claiming sickness. That being said, the week had gone by excruciatingly slow. Hands shaking, he pulled his car away from the rental and parked on the other side of the parking lot, instead. No one would ever notice, he thought. The dent in the bumper of Jungmin’s car didn’t look that bad.

He laughed to himself, a little hysterically, and was still shaking by the time he walked inside. He was immediately accosted by an incredibly cheerful Jaejoong, who pulled him in and gave him a shot and warbled “God save the Queen” in his ear.

“Ignore him, ignore him,” Seunghyun said, pulling him away. “He’s already on his eighth.”

“You’re late!” Hyunjoong said, and pushed another shot into his hands. He took them both, one after the other. He’d resolved to break his promise of never drinking alcohol again after he lost control of his vehicle.

“Bad traffic,” he lied after he finished gagging on the vodka. The bass pounded in his ears - he found a seat by Kyujong at the bar and ordered himself a brandy.

“I thought you were never drinking again?” Hyungjoon laughed at Kyujong’s light tone. The lack of disapproval, the lack of definitives and absolutes and all those other things that he absolutely couldn’t stand anymore.

“I change my mind. I can only brave tonight if I’m absolutely trashed.” His attempts to chug his drink died like a fantastic dream because at that moment, Jungmin came in from the back door. Hyungjoon’s glass slipped from his fingers and the bottom hit the counter, splashing brandy over his hand.

Jungmin’s gaze - dark, anxious, contemptuous - scanned the room, and their eyes met. His a dark coal black, Hyungjoon’s a frightened, deer-like brown. Which was fitting, because all he wanted to do was flee.

But Jungmin slipped into the stool next to his, one elbow up on the counter, waving a finger in a suave motion that was so cool it was sickening. Tonight his suit was a debonair midnight blue, so flashy that it almost sparkled - or maybe it did.

He didn’t have time to lean in and look, because Jungmin chose that moment to place his hand on his inner thigh. Warm, devilish, like that smirk that was slinking it’s way across Jungmin’s lips. “Bartender, one more for my boyfriend, here.”

Kyujong choked on his drink. Hyungjoon’s jaw went slack. No one else heard it because they were busy having the time of their lives, although he suspected Youngsaeng had. But Youngsaeng might have known all along.

Jungmin turned to him, his hand - his irritatingly mischievous hand - slipped even further up his thigh. Hyungjoon stopped him with his own hand, smashing down on Jungmin’s. He was only slightly satisfied by the wince on Jungmin’s face. It quickly faded, when Jungmin grabbed for something and squeezed far too hard, under the extended shelf. Hyungjoon’s cheeks went redder than the reddest of apples. He felt himself get swallowed up by the devil in the seat next to his.

“Make that two,” Hyungjoon struggled to keep his voice real. “On his tab.” He jerked his head in Jungmin’s direction. The bartender nodded. Jungmin squeezed real tight. The music ran from heavy on the bass to heavy on the swing.

f.t island; band of brothers; jonghun/hongki

augmenti — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 22:46:00 GMT

Band of Brothers
jonghun/hongki; pg; 2,575 words.
F.T Island isn’t the best dance group, but they definitely try.
note: originally posted here for firequakes

F.T Island was by no means the most popular boy group in Korea. Their dances were usually half assed, the only one with any sort of outstanding voice was Hongki, although Jaejin was good. The only scandal they’d ever had was when Wonbin left, and netizens thought that his “Musical Differences” really meant “He disliked Hongki.” The rumors died out when Seunghyun appeared and smiled for the camera, and Hongki and Wonbin still talked.

The practice room was smoldering even in the middle of winter, making Jonghun’s hair stick to the back of his neck. He layed on the floor, trying to remember how to breathe without feeling like there was a fire in his chest, and Seunghyun wasted no time in falling on him.

“Ugh, I hate this dance,” Hongki sighed, dropping down on the ground and reaching for a water bottle and peeling off the cap. “I hate this song, too.” He paused his barrage of complaints to take a long drink. Jonghun watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and licked his lips. He needed water, too, but it was too far away.

“Hyung, you don’t even have to dance that much,” Minhwan said, wiping the back of his neck with a towel. “You have all the adlibs, so you just stand there.”

“Because I’m the best,” Hongki preened. Jaejin scoffed.

“The worst dancer ever though,” he placed his hands on his hips. “Can we get this down, though? I’m starving.”

“I’m the leader,” Jonghun whined. “I call a ten minute break.”

“You’re just mad because you just realized that you have two left feet.” Hongki laughed, and dumped the rest of his waterbottle over his head. The manager returned then, saw them on the floor, and kicked them back into action.

“Come on boys, get with it. You comeback in two days.”

They heaved themselves to their feet to start the routine again. The back beat started, and they fell into action. It was a routine of memorized leg pumps, sweeping arm motions, knee jerks, and hip thrusts. It was nothing the industry hadn’t seen before, and that was why it was going to work out so well.

Except when Hongki slid by him on floor, slid by him and turned. Sweat made his black tank-top stick to his lower back. His skin glistened in the lights. Time froze, for just one moment, as Hongki looked at his own reflection in the mirror and belted out his note. It was just one moment, but it was long enough for Minhwan to whirl around into the next movement and smack him in the head. He stumbled sideways, fell into Jaejin, dropped onto one knee, and took a deep breath.

“Come on, Jonghun, every time.” The group heaved a collective sigh. “It’s not even that hard.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is,” he sighed and dragged himself to his feet. “Lets to it again.”

He forced himself to look away, to look at his footwork, and that’s the only way he’d ever been able to dance. The only time he couldn’t, was whenever he broke concentration, and he only broke concentration when he looked at Hongki.

It was a problem. During interviews, Hongki did the talking. During variety shows, Hongki and Seunghyun did the funny things. Minhwan was the cute magnae, Jaejin was the cool, collective center, and Jonghun was the leader. The awful, leader with the autotuned lines because he couldn’t sing.

What he could do, what he wanted to do, was play guitar. He had an old beat up acoustic that still held a tune, and sometimes he brought it out and played it on shows. On dating shows, guitar was his biggest asset. He thought himself a charmer, he thought himself sexy, but girls thought he was too awkward. Maybe he was, maybe that was the problem.

His real problem, presented itself to him in the morning, when Hongki wandered into his dorm room without a shirt and gave Jonghun a very clear view of his body, the fine muscles that weren’t too large but weren’t exactly tiny, either. Hongki’s muscles moved fluidly up his back, working under his skin as he picked up a shirt and slipped it on. He realized he was staring and glanced at the alarm clock on the desk, flipped the covers off and sat up.

“I hate mornings,” Hongki whined, dragging a sweater over his head.

“They’re not too bad,” Jonghun said, swinging his legs over the side and standing up. His legs burned, a familiar ache from so much dancing.

“Whatever you say,” Hongki snorted, swiping Jonghun’s deodorant off the dresser and using it.

-

“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re not supposed to be dance idols?” Jaejin asked, watching himself in the mirror as he stretched. “Like we should be doing something else?”

Jonghun reached his fingers towards his toes. His muscles burned and spasmed until they gave and loosened. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Jaejin shrugged. Jonghun could tell from the way he jerked his head back while he worked a knot out of his shoulder, that he knew exactly. “We should be making our own music, not doing what everyone else wants.”

Jonghun laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “I know what you mean, but this is our contract.” He twisted his body around and rocked back on his hip to keep balance. “As long as we do what they say, we can be idols. Rockbands don’t do well in Korea, it’s too much of a financial risk.”

Jaejin got to his feet, shaking out his arms. “I know, but we could go to Japan, or something. Start our own band, make our own music, be real musicians, you know?”

Jonghun followed him to his feet. “We could also be forgotten, lose our fanbase, get stranded in a foreign country.” He stretched his arms skyward. “As much as I’d want to, it’ll never happen.” He glanced at the door as the other three members of the group came in. Minhwan carrying the radio and mics, Hongki a bag of snacks, and Seunghyun a case of water. “Come on, let’s practice.”

-

Jonghun felt whole when he played the guitar or when he played the piano. He was nicknamed music-man because he was always, always surrounded by it. He grew up playing piano, got into the company because he had learned how to play guitar and could sing and play at the same time. He composed his own songs and wrote his own lyrics, but they stayed hidden in a box in the closet or stored in a folder on his laptop.

He wasn’t ready for a comeback. Their music video had been filmed in the usual neon lights and fashion-line outfits, thirty-four hours of no sleep and singing in silence to microphones, doing dance steps over and over in a freezing warehouse. The photography was all in black in white and suits.

“What’s our concept?” Seunghyun asked, playing with the bird glued to his shoulder. His hair had been dyed two-tone.

Jonghun laughed. Their song was about heartbreak. In their music video, they’d been in an abandoned warehouse. In the preview for the video, pages of music had blown across a dusty grand piano. They’d danced in suits. “The death of music, maybe.”

“That’s not really funny,” Seunghyun frowned. The photographer snapped a picture.

Jonghun shifted the collar at his throat, fingers digging into the lapels. “No,” He tilted his head. The camera snapped with a definitive click.

At the end, they remembered to thank everyone, each one bowing the full 90 degrees. Head down, become small. He touched Hongki’s back and made him bow a little lower when he hadn’t bowed far enough.

-

The comeback week went well, but Jonghun collapsed into bed unable to muster more than a fake smile when they almost reached the top five in the charts, when they almost reached sixth place. “I can’t believe we’re only getting sixth place, after all of that work.” He fell into his own bed, opposite of Jonghun’s.

“We came back at the same time a bunch of more popular groups and artists are coming out.” Jonghun set his alarm for 4 in the morning. “What did you really expect, Hongki?”

Hongki scowled and dug through his clothes for something clean. Jonghun had just looked away when Hongki threw a shirt at him. He glanced back, and Hongki was giving him a look. An oddly keen look that only usually appeared when he was about to make an uncanny observation - about to yank the barrel from under his feet. “Are you happy?”

“Of course I am,” he said. “I’m just sore, too much dance practice.”

“Get over it, whatever it is, we have a long few weeks.” Jonghun swallowed hard, ignored the hollow in his chest.

“Right,” he laughed, rolled over. “Turn the light out as you leave.” Hongki shook his head, curled hair shaking around his head. The light disappeared, closely followed by the click of the door.

-

The next morning, the alarm went off and he got up automatically, went through the motions of the day. Dressed, brushed his hair, his teeth, washed his face, and didn’t realize he was dazed until he found himself sitting in the chair to Music Bank with a script in his hand and Hongki wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“What?” He blinked, frowned at his reflection in the mirror. At Hongki, who looked rather perfect in the white suit. There was a red tie around his neck, his nails were black with odd red designs, and they tug on the ends of Jonghun’s hair.

“Why are you so out of it today?” Hongki frowned. “Do you wanna go eat after the show?” Jonghun shrugged his shoulders, he didn’t have an answer for the first question.

“Sure,” he nodded. “I can go for some food.”

His shoulders felt warm where Hongki was draped across them, but soon enough the stylist shooed him out of the way to work on his hair. Jonghun watched him walk away, back to Jaejin and Minhwan, and swallowed hard before he turned back to his script. His life was out of his control, spinning thousands of miles per hour and only gaining momentum.

-

“We should go bowling sometime.” Hongki started, dishing out servings onto each of their plates as Jonghun filled their shot glasses.

“You just want me to go so you can win.”

“I just want to hang out,” Hongki snorted. “Stop being so lazy all the time.” He rolled his eyes. Jonghun shifted the rice around his plate with his chopsticks.

“Right. We can’t hang out at home or anything, nope.”

“You never go out or anything.” Hongki leaned on his hand, jabbing in Jonghun’s direction with the chopsticks. “We’ve been friends for years, Jonghunnie, you’ve been all weird.”

Jonghun sat back in his chair. “I have? You think so?” Hongki kicked him under the table. “Woww, if you notice, maybe.” Hongki kicked him again.

“Talk to me,” Hongki said. Jonghun downed his shot instead. There were certain things, egging at the end of his mind, and he couldn’t talk about them, lease of all with Hongki. The shot burned its way down his throat. He closed his eyes against it before he waved it all away. It was better to get drunk than to talk.

Hongki seemed to agree, and he filled his glass again. Jonghun downed that too, and again, and again.

“You know,” Jonghun leaned against the table fifteen minutes later. He squinted up “You know, Hongki, I love you.”

-

That was the last thing he remembered the next morning, when he woke up to his alarm and a killer hangover. He felt sticky, but when he rolled over, he rolled right onto another body. His eyes - which he’d been desperately keeping closed - snapped open. The body moaned, shifted over and looked remarkably like Hongki.

“Your bed’s over there,” Jonghun frowned, brow creasing with confusion as he attempted to comprehend things beyond his headache.

“Ugh, too early,” Hongki moaned, burying his face back into his pillow. His arm wrapped around Jonghun’s waist and pulled him back down. Jonghun could still smell smoke from the bar.

“What happened last night?” Jonghun groaned, trapped against the sheets by Hongki’s arm, which was far too strong for him to fight as early as it was. The twin bed provided no spaced between them, and Hongki’s body was warm, and comfortable. It was too easy to lay here and do nothing. All he wanted to do, was this. His heart thundered in his throat.

“Oh, you just drank a lot,” Hongki said, eyes glittering in the faint morning light as he turned his head towards him.

“What did I say?” He asked, voice hushed.

“Oh, just a lot about guitars, and how you wanted to play them, and how much you like music, and how you used to like Jessica, from Girls’ Generation.” Jonghun felt like he was waiting at the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed off. “And how much you love me, too.”

“Oh, and?”

“And, you’re stupid, really, really stupid.” Hongki leaned forward and molded their lips together. His fingers traced the edge of his jaw, softer than Jonghun ever imagined Hongki being capable of. The kiss was needy, impatient, rough. As far as all of the kisses he’d ever had went, though, as far as the rest of his life had been going, this was heaven.

“Oh,” he whispered, when Hongki pulled back. “Wow, I didn’t think that’d ever happen.”

“Dumb ass,” Hongki snorted, and punched him in the shoulder. “Come on, we have to go to work.”

-

“I was thinking,” Hongki said at breakfast. “When we’re done with our contracts in five years, we should make a band.”

“We are in a band, though.” Seunghyun laughed, but he was quickly distracted when jam fell off his toast into his lap. “Aw dammit.”

“I mean one with instruments. Like an indie band.”

“Oh, that would be cool,” Minhwan looked up. “I can play drums.”

“I can play guitar,” Jaejin volunteered.

“No way, that’s the only one I can play,” Seunghyun frowned. “Even though I’m not that good.”

“You should be bass anyway,” Minhwan nudged Jaejin. “You’d be good at it - you’re the center of the band anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll do vocals then, and Jonghun can do keyboard and lead guitar.”

“Me?” Jonghun asked, heart in his throat. “Why me?”

“It’s what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it?” Hongki grinned and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “And we can make all our own music if we’re an indie band.”

Jonghun blinked. He felt like he wanted to soar. “We just have to wait five years?” Part of him wanted to screw the contract they were all under. Part of him wanted to break it and move on. Part of him was tired of singing and dancing. Tired of no sleep, tired of making music with no soul.

“We can save up and then do it,” Jaejin grinned, leaning forward on his hands. Seunghyun flashed them all smiles. “We’ll be the coolest band ever.”

“We already are.” Hongki pointed out, grinning. Jonghun pinched him in the side, feeling warm. Feeling less robotic and more human for the first time since their debut.

f.t island; la tiempo; hongki/jonghun(/seunghyun)

augmenti — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 22:36:53 GMT

La Tiempo
Hongki can’t decide if he likes the waltz or the tango more.
hongki/jonghun(/seunghyun); r; 2,018 words.

note: for graceful_mind for this years ftisland_ss. originally posted here.

This story begins on a snowy afternoon in January, when Hongki comes home, shaking snow out of his jacket, and finds Jonghun on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, acoustic guitar on his lap. His head is pillowed by the back of the couch and his eyes look closed as he fingers the notes of a song.

Hongki watches his fingers dance over the strings, watches the joints of his hands move beneath his skin. The light of the lamp catch on his fingers and play shadows across the wood of his guitar and the floor, the wall. Hongki’s breath catches in his throat. He toes off his shoes, throws his sweater on the back of the chair, and drops next to him on the couch.

“You should do that in the practice room,” he says, staring at his hands.

“Probably,” Jonghun gives a short little laugh, but keeps fingering the chords. Hongki reaches out a hand and lays it flat against the fretboard. The notes come out sharp and flat. Jonghun’s fingers still, frozen in time. Hongki glances down and memorizes the expression on Jonghun’s face, the slight pucker of his lips, the clarity in his eyes. The slight set to his jaw.

Hongki breathes in the scent of his cologne and breathes it back out, and gets up to take a shower. He steals Jonghun’s body wash, because he’s out, and only Seunghyun notices, with a surprised glance in his direction as they pass each other in the hallway. Hongki pays him no mind and escapes to his bedroom, Seunghyun goes to the couch.

Hongki lays with his feelings all night, until practice the next morning, where he belts them out with music. Jonghun’s song. Jonghun’s feelings. Heartbreak and hope, mingled together. Longing and loneliness. Darkness and light. Need and want. Hongki’s head spins, his voice shakes, wavers, falters. He leaves the practice room for a drink, and Jonghun doesn’t follow.

He bites his lip to keep it from spinning and plays with the yen coins in his pocket. Jonghun’s favorite drink is the peach one. His finger falters over it, goes down a row, hits the milk tea instead. It’s cold and soothing to his throat, and by the time he re-enters the room, his voice is strong enough. It doesn’t falter, or waver, or shake. It’s strong and powerful, and he can sing again.

In the morning, he walks into the bathroom while Jonghun is sleepily brushing his teeth, up and down, forward and backwards, left and right. Hongki’s heart skips a beat at the sight, drops out of the bottom of his stomach, and he realizes, with sickening realization, that he’s really, actually, in love with Jonghun.

“What are you looking at?” Jonghun asks, after spitting in the sink and rinsing. Hongki plays it cool and steps into the bathroom, leaning on the sink and running his thumb along the line of Jonghun’s jaw, feeling the rough stubble there.

“You really need to shave,” Hongki grimaces, and opens the medicine cabinet for his toothbrush.

At practice, Jonghun’s guitar volume was up so loud that Hongki thought his ears were going to burst. “Ugh, turn it down!” He shouted, stomping over to the amp and cranking it down until his ears stopped ringing. He settled it in the range of happy medium, and could actually hear the drum beat.

In the recording studio, it was Jonghun’s lyrics. “They’re awkward,” Hongki snapped, throwing the music sheets down in front of him and huffing, hands on his hips. Jonghun opened them to the part that he was having trouble with, glasses slipping down his nose and running a hand through his hair, brow creased in perplexity.

“Where?”

“Here, love isn’t like this,” he jabs his finger on the line. “It’s not ‘fluffy or easy or nice.’”

“Maybe not yours,” Seunghyun mutters under his breath. Hongki reaches across and punches him in the shoulder. Jaejin laughs. Jonghun scratches at the underside of his chin. Hongki’s suddenly acutely aware of the bags under his eyes and the warm cotton balls wadding up in his chest. He snatches the lyrics from his hands.

“It’s fine, whatever.” He heads back to the recording booth, ignores Jonghun’s dubious stare, and sings the lighthearted song as light as he can.

That night, he goes bowling with Kyujong and Junhyung and doesn’t come back in until late, stumbling because bowling is much more interesting when intoxicated. He leans against the wall, fingers slipping along the smooth paint until his shins hit the coffee table and he tumbles, face first, into the couch.

The couch moans in reply, grabs him around the shoulders and keeps him there. It fumbles for the chord to the lamp and snaps it on. The couch looks and smells a lot like Jonghun.

“Oh, hey,” Hongki grins up at him. Jonghun blinks at him, sleepily.

“We have to leave early tomorrow, you know.” Jonghun speaks in code. What he really means is, don’t cause trouble in the morning because you have a hangover.

“I know,” Hongki says, sitting up in his lap and holds himself there with an arm against the back of the couch, next to Jonghun’s head. Their faces end up so close that Hongki finds it easy to lean in and kiss him. It’s warm, and wet, and Jonghun’s frozen beneath him, like stone, or granite. “Wow,” he pulls back, quirking an eyebrow. “Is that really how you kiss?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re not.” Hongki rolls his eyes, flops backwards until he’s resting against the armrest of the couch but still halfway in Jonghun’s lap. His legs flail on the other side of the couch and one foot slips off the edge. “Now that we’ve gotten the obvious out of the way,” he kisses him again, and this time, Jonghun makes a small noise in the back of his throat when Hongki grips the back of his neck and snares his fingers in his hair. This time, Jonghun slips his tongue inside of Hongki’s mouth and makes a moan slip from his lips. This time, when they pull away, Jonghun shoves him off his lap and runs away.

Hongki laughs to himself until he forces tears and he can’t breathe. He buries himself in the sweater Jonghun left on the back of the couch and falls asleep, curled up.

When he wakes up, he pretends he doesn’t remember. He pretends not to see Jonghun’s hurt look. When he buys Jonghun’s coffee at the practice studio, he accidentally gets the wrong kind.

Every story, or every good story, needs a dance scene. Sometimes, it’s a waltz, and sometimes it’s a tango. Sometimes it’s more modern, but sometimes it’s classic. Once in a while, there’ll be swing. Sometimes, it’ll be a ho down (the ring-your-partner-dosey-do kind). Hongki can’t figure out what kind of a dance their story is.

It’s a tango, the nights when Hongki comes in late. The nights when Jonghun pushes him up against the wall, kisses him slow, and sensual. The nights it’s not the alcohol that makes Hongki dizzy. These are the nights when Jonghun’s forward. When he’s a hard line between the dreams and reality. When he holds his hips in an iron grip and gets him off.

These are the nights Hongki only remembers when his hips are sore the next morning. But they’re too hot, they burn like vodka burns his throat. He forgets every time and so he’s always willing to try again.

Sometimes, Hongki isn’t drunk. Sometimes, Jonghun isn’t running away. They meet in the middle of the dance floor, get into position, one hand high in the air and fingers laced together. The other holding the small of his back. They meet in the middle and Jonghun leads. That’s the funny part - the strange part. Jonghun leads.

He’s the one, quiet presence, not running away, who’ll hand Hongki the sheet music, lean over him to explain his notes. The one with the cologne that drives Hongki mad. The one who helps Hongki with his ear-buds when they fall out. He’s the one that handles all the technical things during their shows. The one that tweaks their instruments. The leader.

Hongki breaks step when he catches himself falling into line. He steps back, slips his hand out of Jonghun’s grip, and runs away. He’s never liked dancing, anyway.

There are no repercussions. Things continue like they always have. Hongki sings, he jokes with the other members. He bullies Seunghyun, he drinks with Junhyung. He hangs out with Jungmo. Whatever Jonghun does, he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to see the lonely tweets that are erased on twitter so conveniently by the time he looks at it again. He doesn’t see the cryptic lyrics or hear the haunting melodies. He tiptoes around Jonghun when he falls asleep on the couch. He moves on, Jonghun doesn’t.

Or that’s what he thinks, because this dance, this dosey-do they do - Hongki comes back around after spinning with a few other people for a few months. After flirting with girls and drinking with guys and sometimes visa versa, he falls back into the dorm, into Jonghun’s arms.

He just doesn’t expect Jonghun to bow out of the dance. Jonghun’s always liked dancing. Hongki’s the one that hates the dance. Not Jonghun.

“Where are you going?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at Jonghun and Seunghyun in the doorway.

“Out,” Jonghun shrugs his coat onto his shoulders and grabs his car keys. Seunghyun beams at him before he shuts the door on him. Hongki doesn’t miss the way his fingers slip into Jonghun’s back pocket to keep him there.

And this is more or less how it ends. The story. The dance, the vignette of this part of their lives. Hongki plays with a lighter and throws it out the window. He wakes up, he finds someone, he moves on, when they dance together, he steps on their toes or they pull too hard. No one is perfect because no one is Jonghun.

Nothing changes, but everything changes. He buys everyone drinks from the vending machine but Seunghyun’s already bought Jonghun one. He goes bowling, but Jonghun’s too busy to come along. He goes drinking, Jonghun isn’t there when he comes home. Jonghun’s giggling in the room with Seunghyun, because he’s one of those guys that giggles - like a girl. Hongki scoffs against the door, makes himself ramyun and falls asleep against the counter before it’s done.

There’s a blackhole in his chest and it’s dragging everything inside of him with it, his heart, his lungs, his stomach. He waits for it to consume him completely, but then Jonghun hands him another song, made by him but not about him.

He over sings it in the recording booth ten times before Jonghun comes in and offers him advice, tapping against the paper, jotting notes. “This isn’t working,” Hongki sighs, tugging at his hair in frustration.

Jonghun’s hand lightly touches his back. “You’ll get it, Hongki, you always do.” He smiles at him. Hongki finally gets it the next try, nuances perfect. Seunghyun gives him a high five on the other side of the doors. Minhwan pats him on the back. Jaejin laughs, cocky.

“I got it the first try,” Hongki tugs on his bleached hair and smacks Jonghun on the back.

“It’s a good song,” he nods at him. “Really, really perfect.”

“Thanks,” Jonghun ducks his head, modest. Hongki feels a loosening in his chest. It’s unexplainable, but the black hole disappears. He doesn’t feel the tug of regret when Jonghun’s lips quirk into a smile, when he taps him on the shoulder. “Come on, lets go eat.”

“If you pay,” Hongki starts, but then he changes his mind. “I’ll buy,” he loops his arm around Jonghun’s shoulders and snags Seunghyun along too. Minhwan and Jaejin follow, laughing, loud. Hongki feels warm, and he’s not sure what it is, but this is more or less, how it ends, on a warm day at the end of March.

kacts; round four.

augmenti — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 00:15:50 GMT

kacts is a kink fill where you make a post in your own journal and fill in your list of kinks and kind people will write you fic and you write other people fic if you are so inspired. sign ups for round four are here, as well as more information.

☀my list☀
❶ School themes; boarding schools, prep school, teacher/student pairings, schoolboy hijinks or sexual discovery, military academies, tutoring and teaching in general.

❷ Gender themes; gender confusion, sex changes (only if done right and with research), gender-fucks, hermaphrodites, cross-dressing or other forms of gender-bending, drag queens and transvestites, androgyny, forced feminization, butch/femme, tomboys)

❸ Superpowers; power awakening, power responsibility, learning how to cope, mutations, being a hero/villain, etc.

❹ Dystopias; apocalyptic or post-apocalyptic worlds, alien invasions, pandemics, computers take over, settings in Hell, or earth becomes Hell.

❺ Alternate Dimensions; worm-holes, someone stuck in a different dimension, trying pass as the you of an alternate dimension without getting caught, etc.

☀fandoms☀

f.t island;_{hongki/jonghun, seunghyun/minhwan, minhwan/wonbin, hongki/seunghyun, seunghyun/jonghun, wonbin/hongki, jaejin/seunghyun/minhwan, ot5/6, gen.}
snsd;_{taeyeon/seohyun, hyoyeon/ yuri, jessica/tiffany, hyoyeon/jessica, tiffany/sunny, yuri/yoona, ot9, any pairing in the world, ever.}
f(x);_{krystal/luna, sulli/luna, amber/krystal, amber/luna, sulli/krystal, victoria/amber, ot5.}
2pm;_{chansung/nichkhun, chansung/wooyoung, chansung/junho, wooyoung/nichkhun, junsu/junho, taecyeon/jay, taecyeon/wooyoung, ot6/7.}
shinee;_{onew/taemin, taemin/key, minho/key, jonghyun/onew, jonghyun/minho.}
ss501;_{hyunjoong/kyujong, hyungjoon/jungmin, kyujong/jungmin, jungmin/kyujong/hyunjoong, youngsaeng/kyujong.}
t-ara;_{(soyeon/eunjung, hyomin/soyeon, boram/hyomin, qri/hwayoung}
u-kiss;_{soohyun/kiseop, kibum/kevin, alexander/kevin, eli/any.}
dgna;_{suhoon/hyunmin, jisang(xing)/suhoon, gwangchul(xing)/injoon, suhoon/jihwan.}
misc./others; superjunior (kibum/donghae, heechul/hankyung, zhou mi/kyuhyun, anything), after school (raina/nana, uee/bekah, jooyeon/uee), secret (hyosung/zinger, any) miss a (ot4, suzy/fei, jia/fei, min/suzy), beast (doojoon/dongwoon, dongwoon-fic, doojoon/yoseob), cnblue (jonghyun/yonghwa), dbsk (yunho/jaejoong)

soloists/crossovers; g.na/ anyone in cube, iu/jiyeon, iu/jiyeon/luna, suzy/jiyeon, hyukjae/hyoyeon, donghae/jessica, yoona/taecyeon, chansung/jinwoon, seohyun/yonghwa, nichkhun/victoria, doojoon/one day, soyeon/snsd, g.na/hyosung, yubin/uee, yubin/younha, younha/anyone, jaejin/key, ‘91-line (jaejin/key/mir/jinwoon/dongwoon +tagalong seunghyun), f4 (top, hyunjoong, jaejoong, yoochun).

WIP journal.

augmenti — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 19:23:26 GMT

Hi everyone, I made a works in progress journal, over at leeky. It's mostly so I'd have somewhere to dump old things. Anything tagged abandoned is just there because some of them were neat and I liked what was there but had no drive to finish them. Others are tagged hopeful, in the hopes that one day I'll get around to finishing them, lol.

shinee; the leaders' guide.

augmenti — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 22:01:42 GMT

The Leaders’ Guide
SHINee goes to Japan and Jinki gets a little help.
gen; g; 3,086 words.
notes written for kpop_ficmix as a remix of first time, by kat_elric. also, special thank you to acousticscenery for going over this with a fine-toothed comb. ♥

After they were nestled into the small Tokyo dorm and set free to their own devices, Jinki pulled out Yunho’s guidebook of things to do in Japan. Certain phrases that are essential for everyday use and intonation markers are all scribbled in between the lines and in footnotes. There were guides for what to do and what not to do in certain places, how to bow, how to avoid conflict, but the best part was the footnotes he’d written in as what Jinki liked to call “leader notes.”

Yunho’s advice, “when meeting someone important, be careful not to be direct,” was difficult to handle when the director handed them each sake - even Taemin, who looked at the ceramic cup like it was poison. But the translator had left the room and they all thought it might be a good learning exercise, so they had all eagerly jumped forwards to blabber in the language they barely knew.

“Dozo,” said the man, pushing glasses of sake into their hands. They glanced at each other, hesitantly, excitement from the previous moment quickly forgotten. Jinki’s throat felt thick with nervousness as he knocked the alcohol back. It went down smooth, like soju. He didn’t even choke it back up.

Another one was pushed into his hands with the same smile and the same instructions and he smiled politely, widely as he could, and downed that one too. After about eight more shots and fifteen more minutes had passed, he fell into a chair, significantly more red in the face. He felt the pages of Yunho’s guidebook crumple in his back pocket.

“Oops,” he shifted, leaning against the arm of the chair and watched as Taemin leaned too hard into Jonghyun, who fell against Minho, who was somehow upright, acting as the pillar as they fell against him.

“How are you not dying?” Jinki asked, squinting up at him.

“Ricky-hyung helped me,” he said, with a beaming smile so bright that Jinki couldn’t even doubt it. Taemin drooled on his shirt as he climbed into his lap and reached across the table for more to drink. He pulled it away from Taemin’s reach, his instincts telling him that he’d already had more than enough. To get it away from him more efficiently, he downed it himself.

“Hyung!” Taemin whined. “That was mine.” He glared at him until Jonghyun provided a distraction by falling on his face.

Jinki fumbled with the book, flipping open the cover to look at the list of don’ts. “Oh,” he frowned at the capitalized DO NOT LET JAEJOONG DRINK. “Oops,” he frowned, looking up as Kibum burst into a spontaneous bout of every girl dance he knew. He mentally told himself to add “do not let SHINee drink” to the list of things not to do and went to find the manager for back up.

-

Even with his splitting headache of a hangover and eight hours of work later, Taemin dragged him out to go exploring - which really meant getting lost. Jinki was starting to wish Yunho’s guidebook was a book of maps, when Taemin stopped dead. Jinki, who had been trying to make out the best way to say “help us, we’re lost,” walked right into him.

“Oops, sorry,” he said, and glanced up once before looking back down. He did a double take at the pachinko parlour in front of them.

“Hyung,” Taemin turned to stare at him. “Hyung, can we go?”

Jinki’s objection was still on the tip of his tongue as Taemin dragged him bodily inside.

He’d need to look into shoe lifts or something to grow taller than him, again. Taemin grew too fast. Inside they were met with a shady looking man and enough casino smoke to make his eyes water. As Taemin quickly exchanged yen for tokens and jumped on a machine to play, Jinki flipped through the pages of the guidebook until he found Yunho’s quickly scribbled, “don’t let Yoochun inside.”

Jinki looked up and found Taemin playing on a machine that matched up boob sizes for wins. Even worse was the creepy worker who was pressing up against him from behind. He swallowed the thrill of fear for his youngest member and snatched him away.

“We’re leaving,” he said in his sternest voice, the one reserved for telling dogs not to pee on the carpet. He dragged Taemin outside with a strength he didn’t even know he had.

“But hyung, I was going to win a panda,” Taemin sucked on his bottom lip and gives Jinki a look that made him regret every decision he ever made. He shook it off.

“Come on, lets get cake.”

“Cake,” Taemin exclaimed loudly, in a horrible Japanese-Korean accent that was far too loud on the quiet streets of the foreign country. Jinki winced and pulled him into a shop to overload him on sugar. Kibum could kill him later because he needed sweets now.

-

“I sing better than them,” Jonghyun said loudly, cross-legged on the couch and sucking on the end of his chopsticks. He had cup ramen in front of him, courtesy of a convenience store run earlier. His eyes were glued to the television and KAT-TUN on music station. “We all sing better than them.”

“I like them,” Kibum said, eyes on Kamenashi’s hips wiggling back and forth on Japanese television.

“They aren’t even in tune,” Jonghyun critiqued. “How can you like them?”

“They have good music. Their dancing is hot.”

“You like their hips,” Jonghyun snorted. “You don’t even know all of their names.”

“Of course I do,” Kibum snapped. “Kame, Koki, Nakamaru, Junno, Ueda, Jin-”

“Jin doesn’t even count.” Jonghyun frowned.

“He does too.”

Jinki was flipping through the book aimlessly for advice before the two friends killed each other, when he came upon the note, “do not let Jin and Jaejoong party together ever again.” He frowned at it.

Underneath it, Jaejoong’s handwriting scribbled, “do not let Yoochun beat-box on Japanese television ever again.”

Yoochun’s writing followed. “Beat-boxing is cool.” Jinki always thought Yoochun-hyung was cool. He had good ideas, and his English was popular.

“Minho, you should take up beat-boxing,” Jinki told him. “Think of our ratings!”

“Hyung,” Minho said patiently, working his mouth around a piece of melon bread. “I know you’ve been stressed lately, but I don’t need to start beat-boxing, I’m already the coolest.”

Jinki flipped through the pages of the book in the middle of the night in an empty kitchenette that had no food in the fridge, his fingers drummed restlessly against the counter. Clothes hung out to dry on the balcony outside, still dry from the morning but they’d had no time to bring them in. Jinki flipped to the last page of the guidebook and the message scribbled there and let it fall closed. The cute little deer stared up at him with an apple in its mouth. He tossed it on the table by the couch and walked outside onto the balcony, swallowing hard.

He supposed that Yunho never had to be homesick when his members were with him, and he wondered why his weren’t enough to take it away from him. DBSK’s legacy slapped him in the face every day but they broke up. But no one was allowed to talk about it, they were supposed to ignore how close they’d all been. They’d all moved on, but Jinki was afraid that SHINee wouldn’t be able to live up to the legacy. Maybe it was the homesickness, or maybe it was the guidebook in his fingers. But in Jinki’s mind, nothing compared. Yunho was the best leader, the most natural of leaders. If Yunho hadn’t been able to hold DBSK together, how could Jinki hold SHINee together?

Jinki brought the laundry in at midnight and dropped one of Taemin’s socks over the edge by accident because he was too impatient.

“Oops,” he squinted down through the darkness as it fell the twenty-something stories to the ground. Thankfully, they were Taemin’s least favorite pair, but Jinki couldn’t blame the dryer for eating it here.

Miso was on the menu in the morning, and Kibum liked to flaunt that he’d gotten pretty good at making it. Jinki stirred it soundlessly and smiled and pretended he wanted to eat it instead of kimchi stew. He drank it all and ignored the aftertaste left by the seaweed.

They were on their way to Music Station and Jinki was brushing up on his cue cards, when Minho leaned over the back of the seat and pulled his hands down so he’d have no choice but to look up. “Are you okay, hyung?”

“Of course I am,” he smiled, glad that his eyes disappeared when he smiled so he wouldn’t have to force them to look like it meant something. Minho’s eyes were too dark and too intense when they stared at him. Jinki broke the gaze, smiling fading slowly.

“Alright,” he gave in, turning back towards the front and flipping through the songs on his Ipod. Jinki swallowed back the world of problems in his throat and refused to open his mouth again until they got to Music Station, and then it was all in the wrong language - it felt wrong on his lips, felt wrong in his throat. He wanted Korea, and home.

A few days later, Taemin woke him up by spilling milk tea on him when he tripped over Minho’s soccer ball. Jinki made a sound like a drowning parrot and fell off the couch with a heavy thump. He’d been dreaming that the Han river had turned into syrup and how Taemin had fallen into it and came out tasting like waffles.

“Sticky,” he whined, and wiped it off with the back of his hand.

“Sorry hyung,” Taemin grinned sheepishly, and stepped over him to settle on Jinki’s makeshift bed. He picked up the remote and flipped through the channels until he came to one about cremating dead animals.

“Cheerful,” Jinki commented.

“Is that a dead cat?” Kibum asked, stumbling out of the bedroom and joining them with his hair a mess around his head.

Jinki nodded, trying to read the Kanji that flashed by too fast, “rest in peace Fluffy.”

He’d forgotten about it until they were on the bullet train to Nara because management wanted them to have a few days to experience the culture of Japan. Taemin shifted uneasily beside him. “Why did the lady keep Fluffy’s ashes?”

“Because she loved her so much?” Jinki shrugged, he’d been trying not to think about it.

“...She should give her a grave, then.” Taemin nodded to himself. “I mean the urn was nice and all, but what if Fluffy wanted to be in the ground? What if the urn breaks?”

“Maybe she just didn’t want to lose her,” Jinki said, turning away from the real Taemin to watch his reflection in the window. Taemin opened his mouth to say something else, closed it, stared at Jinki, and then looked away. Jinki had just started to think he was safe, when Taemin turned to him again, tilted his head, and stared at his eyes in the reflection.

“Did we do something wrong, hyung?”

Jinki turned to look at the real him, shaking his head. “No, why would you say that?”

Taemin rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “You’ve been distant, and snappish, and not yourself.” He tilted his head. “I know you’re stressed and you’re the leader but you don’t have to take all of the pressure on yourself, okay? We’re a team because we’re supposed to handle these things together.” He pushed on his arm. To Jinki it felt like he was pushing reason into his skin. “A team means we work together, not separately.”

“Did you learn that on Dream Team?” Jinki grinned.

“No,” Taemin said quickly. “That’s not the point.” His ears colored bright red whenever he lied. Jinki felt a laugh start up in the middle of his chest and let it, leaning over to tug on his ear. “Hyung!” Taemin shrieked and jabbed him in the chest. Jinki retaliated by poking him in the ribs and all talk resolved into a tickle fight that only ended when the manager told them to stop because they were disturbing the peace.

At Nara, a deer ate Jonghyun’s glove, Minho found his likeness in a statue, Kibum got a mouthful of sakura blossoms and Taemin found a Kamen Rider mask. Jinki’s green tea ice cream became forfeit to a fawn and the manager broke his heart by telling him he couldn’t keep her when she followed him around the deer park. Kibum dubbed every deer Bambi and tried to feed all of them at once, but ended up in the water trying to run away from a stampede of them. Jonghyun roared at him safely from the bridge.

After being reminded how small they really were by ogling the Buddha at Todaiji, they ogled the souvenirs inside the temple.

“Who has a souvenir shop inside the temple?” Kibum hissed to Jonghyun as they peered over the crowds of tourists to look at the stalls.

“Why is Hello Kitty Buddha?” Jonghyun hissed back. Taemin bought them both some Hello Kitty key-chains and slipped them into their pockets when their backs were turned.

In the train station Jinki walked into a life-sized deer-man-Buddha and lost half of his lifespan in the shriek that erupted out of him. “He’s not that scary, Jinki.” He pictured Kibum rolling his eyes as he rapped his knuckles on the stall door for the umpteenth time.

“His head was huge,” Jinki moaned between his hands, refusing to look up, or down, or over, or anywhere, because all he could see was that baby face staring at him with antlers going to kidnap him. “He’s going to kill us all.” He mentally prepared his will.

“Hyung, we’ve missed the train,” Minho’s voice floated from the other side of the door.

“Great,” Kibum muttered, and Jinki might have imagined the twinge of fear in his voice when he continued, “now we’re stuck here with it.”

Jinki let out a whimper and slunk a little further down the wall.

-

Jinki never thought he’d be happy to return to Tokyo, but he fell down on his bed with weak knees and a happy sigh, and breathed in the scents and smells of their dorm. And Jonghyun’s dirty sock, which had wormed its way into his bed. He fished it out and threw it at its owner, who gave a muffled yelp from his own bed.

Taemin plopped down on top of him. “Hyung, I’m Kamen Rider.”

Jinki twisted his head around until he couldn’t twist it any further and squinted at him. Taemin grinned at him from behind his mask. “You’re not allowed to watch tv anymore,” he said, and plopped his head back down into his pillow.

“What.” Taemin frowned. “Hyung, you’re kidding.” He punched his back until Jinki rolled over and rolled him off the bed too.

“I’m not kidding, you’re never going to see another tv as long as we’re here, we aren’t going to watch anymore anime at 2 in the morning and you are not going to cosplay as Kamen Rider in Harajuku, oh my god.”

“But hyung,” Taemin pouted. “It’s my dream. Haven’t you ever had a dream?” Jinki quirked an eyebrow at him, and Taemin’s pout was quickly replaced with a smirk. “Sento-kun is going to curse you.” Jinki felt all the blood drain out of his face and fear clenched in his gut.

“You aren’t even cute,” Jinki wailed, hiding his face underneath his pillow. “Do whatever you want, I resign, I quit, I can’t handle you, you are no magnae!” He whined until Taemin sat on him again, laughing as he did so.

-

Jinki had just finished hiding melon bread in his carry on luggage when he found Yunho’s travel guide under the table. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, and flipped through it again, stopping at a map with writing all over it. Yunho’s notes “feed Changmin here,” at a ramen shop in Harajuku, a star by a shop in Shinjuku with the note “when lost, Jaejoong to be found here.” A few notes about where to find the best gyms and a few more for the cheapest CD shops. He’d also circled the best supermarket.

Jinki flipped through a few more pages and stopped at a page on Nara. There, written in a red marker, were the words, “keep Jinki away from Sento-kun” followed by a smiley face. He frowned and shuffled through the book looking for more. “Do not let Jinki inside here,” Taemin had written, circling the pachinko parlor. On a list of castles, Jonghyun wrote “do not let Jinki wander here - will get lost.” Jinki frowned. It had been one time, and they’d gotten out eventually.

Inside the front cover was the list of do’s and don’ts he’d started when they’d first arrived. Under “do not let Kibum drink” there was “do not let Taemin watch Kamen Rider,” and “do not let Jonghyun eat more than three cups of ramen a day”, and “do not let Jinki put away the laundry.”

Jinki shuffled to the end of the book and smiled at Yunho’s advice but was distracted by the words scribbled in red with Jonghyun’s messy handwriting. “We’ll be okay.” The words were huge and encompassed everything else on the page, glaringly obvious and red, and bold.

It made him laugh out loud, and he shoved the book deep into his duffel-bag and went to join the others in the bedroom, blinking away tears from his eyes. In the bedroom, Jonghyun and Kibum were arguing over clothes, but they stopped when Jinki appeared.

“You guys,” he tripped over Taemin’s duffel-bag and fell against Minho, who help him up with an arm around the waist. “You guys are the best.” He wrapped his arm around Minho’s waist and pulled Taemin to him, squishing his face against his side. He motioned for Jonghyun and Kibum to join them.

“I don’t do hugs,” Kibum said, warily eyeing them, but Jonghyun pulled him in anyway. Jinki closed his eyes against Minho’s shoulder and breathed in slowly, feeling Kibum’s hand hesitantly on the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he said, when he finally let them free.

“For what,” Minho asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Just, for being awesome, okay?” Jinki smiled, and Minho smiled back warily.

ss501; drabbles; hyunjoong/kyujong, jungmin/kyujong.

augmenti — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 02:10:04 GMT

trying to remember that writing is a thing and that i can kind of do it a little bit.

ss501; to dust
jungmin/kyujong, g; 300 words; dust by robert brooke.

In their death, they danced between the river fronds and skipped over mountains, twisting and turning in a way they never could in life, fingers catching and pulling each other close. Jungmin’s laugh tinkled as clear and loud as the tremor of bells at Christmastime and held on with slow fingers that took their time as they thread them together and kissed him down to the core of atoms. Their electrons tingled with a hum that translated to a warmth like the sun-burnt earth in Egypt. They dashed through the desert, whisked this way and that by sandstorms, spreading the circumference of the globe and back again.

The wind in Kyujong’s hair made sunlight burst in Jungmin’s chest, and he held him close and they rolled together in a meadow full of wildflowers, the expanse of the stars high above them and the earth rotating beneath them. They could feel it, every shifting of every plate and the birth and death of every star - and when they kissed once, there, limbs tangled together and holding each other like only the dead could, he gave in with a quiet laugh that silenced everything in the entire universe.

Let’s move on, Kyujong said, fingers laced with Jungmin’s, warm and caressing, eyes reflecting the light of the stars. Jungmin wasn’t ready to move on, wanted to cross the world five-hundred-and-one more times, but Kyujong squeezed his hand and lifted his fingers to brush them with his lips, and Jungmin nodded.

We have a lot more to see, anyway, Kyujong said, and they squeezed their hands until they turned to dust, sparkling in a sunrise that happened on the other side of the world, rising against the ice caps and bursting the world in a myriad of colors that reflected none of the greatness that Jungmin felt in his heart.

ss501; acceptance
hyunjoong/kyujong, g; 400 words; acceptance by langston hughes.

The door is smooth under Hyunjoong’s fingertips as he drums them against the surface and waits for his heart to dislodge itself from his throat so he can gain the strength to open the door. It takes five seconds less than infinity, and finally he touches the cold metal of the door and walks inside the room he shared with Kyujong.

Kyujong’s sleeping, but he shifts when he opens the light. Hyunjoong just has to stand there, in the middle of the room and look down at him to wake him up. Kyujong has an internal beeper that tells him to wake up and it’s directly linked to Hyunjoong’s heart. It’s just one of the things that makes it so easy to, well.

“Hi,” he says, when Kyujong opens a bleary brown eye and blinks at him, face swollen and kind of pale from lack of sleep. “Hi, I should have told you this a million years ago.” The bed shifts under his weight as he creeps over to him and cups his face with one hand. Kyujong’s cheek is warm and smooth and he traces sleeplines with a fingernail.

Kyujong doesn’t ask what he’s doing. Instead he just lays there, like he’s still half asleep and might actually be, and lets him lean in and mold their lips together. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, and he’s careful to keep it slow to keep it in time with Kyujong’s sleep befuddled mind. His lips are soft, his mouth tastes like toothpaste and the mouthwash he uses at night and maybe even something sweeter. Kyujong works his mouth against his and might have been saying something, but Hyunjoong can’t hear past the whirl of darkness and the fading edges of his vision.

He spins upwards, his vision stretches and squishes at once, and he suddenly knows what it’s like to be in a fourth dimension, and then he wakes up in his bed, his own bed, small and not fit for two and squishes against a wall with the humidifier humming in the corner.

“Huh,” he murmurs, stretching his arm out towards the empty side of the bed and hits the wall where he thought Kyujong was. Where Kyujong could have been.

“Huh.” His alarm goes off and he wriggles his phone out from under his pillow to turn it off, gets out of bed and touches his feet to a cold floor, and starts another day.

t-blaq; deep in your eyes; mir/jiyeon.

augmenti — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 07:39:32 GMT

deep in your eyes.
mblaq/t-ara; mir/jiyeon. nc-17. 1,114 words.
it's just one of those meetings.
•for firequakes, bc i love her forever ok♥

©firequakes

It always starts with hello.

The bass beat of the club music throbs through him, pounding against his back as he escapes the dance floor and throws himself into one of the spare stools next to a girl in a short skirt and a chic leather jacket and heavy eyeliner he just can’t stop looking at. He turns away with effort and smiles at the bartender. “Manhattan,” he gasps out, much less suave than he’d wanted, but he’s still reeling from the dance floor. He peels off his jacket to give himself more breathing room.

The bartender hands over his drink and he hands over his money and that’s when she makes her move. The one next to him, with all the eyeshadow, and the miniskirt, and the legs that she’s turned to face him and crossed. He’s too high to see a flash of panties but he’s sure he could if he stooped down a little. If he weren’t afraid of her razor-sharp glare.

“Hi,” she says, pulling her hair over her shoulder with colored nails. “I like your sunglasses.”

“Thanks,” he wants to say, instead he vomits out, “real men wear sunglasses.”

“Wow,” she giggles as she pulls him forward. She gives him a look, almost shy, almost sultry, almost, almost, but he puts his hands on her waist and that’s it. He crushes their lips together, biting on her bottom lip until she bites on his top one. He’s glad for the foresight of coming to the bar alone because her tongue is already in his mouth by the time he pushes the back door open. She whirls him against the wall and pulls away. The smile she flashes him is hypnotizing, and then she twists her hips against him and he’s can feel himself go hard.

She lifts her arms around his neck and loops her legs around his waist and he crushes her against the wall, kissing her throat, her collarbone, his hands sliding up her smooth thighs and under her skirt, pushing it up. He loops his fingers under her panties and she bites his lip hard in response and slides her legs down his almost naturally until she touches the ground and pulls back just enough to make him want to cry.

“I’m Jiyeon,” she says.

“Chulyong,” he thinks he replies, and wonders why his name has to sound so non-sexy compared to a name like Jiyeon, which could be the sexiest name in the universe as far as he’s concerned. She doesn’t seem to think the same, however, because she slips her hand down his pants and squeezes him through his boxers.

He swallows so hard that he’s afraid he swallowed his tongue, and wouldn’t that be a fun thing to explain to Byunghee later? He forgets his roommates name a second later, when she slips her fingers inside his boxers and grips his dick with one hand and jerks just enough to make him almost scream.

She laughs, and he thinks the world just burst into sparkles, or rainbows, or, shit, he doesn’t even know. Jiyeon’s lips are soft against his neck, her hand is warm in his pants, her entire body weaves against him and all he can do is grip her hips and kiss back because if he doesn’t, if his tongue weren’t in her mouth, he would have screamed half the world awake by now. He’s going to come, and he’s never even done this before, has no idea what to do, and then she takes his glasses off with a finger looped around the bridge and grips them in one hand. The world brightens in a flash, and all he can see is her, her eyes, deep, brown, black, darker than the night time with sunglasses on. He chokes - isn’t that flattering, and his hips buck a little against her and he needs to stop -

“Stop,” he pants, and just when he teeters on the edge, she pulls back, her lips red raw, her skin flushed, her eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” She asks, “Oppa?” Her voice shouldn’t be sexy, but it is, to his ears. It’s smooth and calm, and how can anyone be calm like this, right now, when he’s a mess and he grabs her shoulders and drops his head back and bites his lip hard enough to break his skin when he comes.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, drooping bonelessly against her. She holds him, pats him on the back of the head, threads her fingers through his short hair.

“Oppa, are you okay?” She whispers, and he groans against her, breathing in the musk in her jacket. He feels her smile against his ear, and she pushes him back against the brick wall of the alleyway and pulls his cellphone out of his back pocket. She puts her number in and puts his phone in his hand. He watches her with glazed eyes as she leaves a kiss against the corner of his mouth and steps back.

“Call me in the morning, okay? I’ll give you your sunglasses back.” She puts them on as he walks away, but not without a coy glance that takes everything in him not to follow after her. “Good night, Chulyongie oppa.” She waves, mysterious and coy and childish and cute and sexy and everything he’s ever dreamed, walking away from him - a melted puddle of nothing.

It's just one of those things. A meeting. They always start with hello, and they almost always, always end with good bye. He hates goodbyes. He prefers see ya, or take care, or I'll talk to you later. So he can't help but notice when she doesn't say any of those, and instead ends with "Good night." The start of something, he can't help but think, hope - even want.

He slides down the wall as he calls Byunghee, who answers on the final ring. “You’re drunk already?”

“No,” Chulyong laughs. He didn’t even drink.

“You’re staying at someone else’s tonight?”

“No,” Chulyong’s face breaks into a grin.

“You need to be picked up?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “I’m in no state to walk.”

“You can do it,” Byunghee says, and he can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

“I can’t,” he sighs, happily. “I’m in love.”

There’s the definite click of the dial tone as Byunghee hangs up on him. “Hello?” He frowns. “Hey!” He yells into it. “Indulge me, save me, my heart has been stolen, come on,” he whines at it until Byunghee finds him, and then brings him home. “Her name is Jiyeon, and she has the prettiest eyes, hyung, you have no idea.”

note: this is kind of crack crack crack crack. but then i have a weird sense of humor.

f.t island; stuffed hearts; hongki/jonghun(/seunghyun)

augmenti — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 02:56:23 GMT

stuffed hearts
f.t island; onesided seunghyun/jonghun, hongki/jonghun; pg-13; 2,607 words.
jonghun stuffed seunghyun's heart full of love from the start.

Seunghyun was made by Jonghun when he was six. He put the little stuffed heart inside of him and gave him a hug and brought him to life, and he’s been with him since that day. The other toys say that it’s only natural to fall in love with the first person that gives you a hug, so he doesn’t question when his heart beats a little too fast in his stuffed chest whenever Jonghun appears and tugs on his ears.

The middle of the night is Seunghyun’s favorite time. When Jonghun will drape an arm across his middle and pull him close. He’ll hug him to his chest, and his breath will tickle his soft fur. Seunghyun can feel his heartbeat against his ear, feels him breathing and wishes he could move, wishes he could hug him back.

He’s the one who Jonghun comes to when he’s older after breaking up with his first girlfriend and hugs close, burying his face in his soft fur and letting his tears disappear inside of it. He’s the one who holds audience to Jonghun’s first experience with a guitar. He watches with him when he discovers porn for the first time.

When Jonghun finds out he likes boys, he’s the one who he confesses to first, murmuring it into his ears and asking “do you still love me?” Seunghyun does, forever, because Jonghun’s the one who created his heart, the one who he’ll always smile at, the one who won’t abandon him.

When Seunghyun’s neck gets a hole and starts to lose stuffing, Jonghun carefully sews a plaid bow over it to hide the spot, and Seunghyun’s feels warm because it’s the second gift he’s ever received, after his heart. Jonghun’s fingers are soft and careful as they sew the bow into his skin, tenderly moving the needle through his skin and out. Seunghyun’s never felt as handsome as he does when Jonghun’s finished and beams down at him and gives him a hug.

When Jonghun brings home a boy for the first time - locking the door behind him and fumbling with the belt buckle, Seunghyun wishes he could cry, because he doesn’t want to watch but he can’t stop. Jonghun kisses the boy harder than he ever kissed Seunghyun. It’s needier, hurried, like he’s trying to rush because he doesn’t know how much time they’re going to have.

Seunghyun feels sorry for the boy, because he knows, somewhere in his heart, that he’s going to have forever with Jonghun.

Then Jonghun finishes high school and moves into college and the walls change from soft blue to white and the toys disappear and are replaced with books and a televisions and games, but Seunghyun stays, tucked into the corner of Jonghun’s bed.

Seunghyun stays there, has always been there, but then Hongki arrives into his life with a flurry of motion and chaos. He flops down on Jonghun’s bed and Seunghyun can’t hold his balance because the world shakes, and he falls to his face on the mattress. Hongki picks him up, hands rough as he gives him a once over, tugs on his bow and his ears and squishes his nose hard into his face and laughs, dangling him by the foot.

“What’s this?” He says, and tosses Seunghyun at Jonghun, who catches him and holds him in both hands with a small frown on his face. Seunghyun wishes he could cry, because he’s so frightened.

“Seunghyunie,” he frowns, and sets him on a shelf. “He’s my bear.”

“You still sleep with stuffed animals?” Hongki’s laugh is harsh as he pulls him down on top of him by the collar of his shirt. “Childish.”

“Shut up,” Jonghun murmurs, climbing onto the bed and straddling him with his legs. “I made him when I was six.”

“Is that why his nose is lopsided?” Seunghyun frowns, he’s always liked his nose.

“He’s cute, okay. Can we stop talking about the stupid bear?” Jonghun asks, and presses kisses against the side of his neck, his collarbone, and trails his hands down Hongki’s body. Seunghyun wishes he could cry, or walk, or move, or do something - anything. Jonghun’s his only friend. He uses him as a punching bag when he’s sad, or mad, or frustrated, he hugs him when he’s sad, he hides his tears inside his heart when he’s crying, but Jonghun’s never called him stupid - in all the years he’s been alive.

-

Two weeks later, Jonghun comes into his room hurriedly, with raised voices following him. His eyes are wide, his hands are shaking, his father comes in and shakes him by the collar of his shirt. His mother smacks him on the cheek, crying.

“Get out,” his father tells him, and then they leave him alone in his room with just Seunghyun for company. Jonghun packs a bag and fills it with clothes and necessities and throws all the money he has in his wallet. He sits on the bed and fumbles through his contacts on his phone. Seunghyun’s confused, scared, lost, and doesn’t want Jonghun to leave. At least not without him.

“Hongki? Hey.” Jonghun rubs at the back of his neck before reaching out and subconsciously pulling Seunghyun close. “I told them.” Seunghyun feels his chest rise and fall, faster and faster, until tears start to drop onto the top of his head. “They didn’t take it well...would it...would it be okay if I crashed with you until I can find an apartment?” He rubs at the top of Seunghyun’s head and frowns down at him. “Thanks,” he says with a sigh.

He hangs up and drops his head down onto Seunghyun’s. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmurs, holding him hard. They stay like this until Hongki arrives and the raised voices start again. Hongki enters, looking frazzled, and pissed, and grabs Jonghun’s guitar case and swings it over his shoulder, and picks up one of his bags. Jonghun stands, taking Seunghyun with him and pulling his backpack over his shoulders.

“Thanks, Hongki,” he says, and takes Seunghyun along with him, stuck between his hip and his warm, warm hand.

“You’re so treating me tonight,” Hongki smiles through all the chaos of the world around them. “Leave your bear here, you’re not six anymore.”

“I can’t,” Jonghun says. “He’s my therapist.”

“I think you mean child,” Hongki says, but rolls his eyes anyway. The words ring in Seunghyun’s heart, and he doesn’t know whether he should be glad or not, because the hand holding him is warm but Jonghun’s other hand is in Hongki’s, and he’s sure that it’s much warmer.

Seunghyun had only been outside of Jonghun’s room when he was first bought and then on sleepovers and family trips. Every other time he’s been stuffed in his bag, but this time, settled in Jonghun’s lap, he can see the bright sunlight and the blue sky. The sun scares him and yet, he feels warm in it, comfortable, like he feels when Jonghun hugs him. Birds flew above them, and Seunghyun envies their freedom. Jonghun plays with his arms the whole time they’re in the car, idly waving them up and down and clapping them together, and Seunghyun’s happy to be played with, even if it’s just a few minutes.

When they get to Hongki’s flat, Jonghun places him on his backpack on the floor and helps Hongki make a makeshift bed out of some blankets on his couch. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” Jonghun says, joining their fingers together and pulling Hongki closer. Hongki makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat but presses his lips against the corner of Jonghun’s mouth with a laugh. Seunghyun wishes he could do that, too, but he can’t. He’s just a toy, he’s not supposed to love.

“No problem, just don’t tell my landlord.” Hongki smiles, and Jonghun slides his hands down to his hips, under his shirt, down his pants. Seunghyun wishes he didn’t have to watch it, but his eyes stare, unblinking. He can feel his tiny, stuffed heart breaking when Jonghun whispers to Hongki, naked and shaking and sweating, that he loves him.

Seunghyun finds himself grow weary, as time goes on. Sometimes Jonghun will sleep with him on the couch, roll on him in the middle of the night, where he’d end up between the cushions until Jonghun finds him a few weeks later and returns him to his rightful place. Seunghyun can feel Jonghun growing up, more and more every day. He’s still there, offering his silent support as he fights with Hongki over little things, as they make up loudly and toss him on the floor. When Jonghun calls his parents and ends up bickering with them, Seunghyun’s there to silently offer his support. When he cries, he tells himself, he’s still needed, and then he feels bad for wanting Jonghun to cry at all.

Seunghyun loves him. He loves him more than Hongki loves him, because Jonghun is the one who made him. But when Hongki presses Jonghun down against the cushions, right next to Seunghyun’s face, and makes him watch as they kiss, sometimes hard and furious, but sometimes slow and agonizing, Seunghyun remembers everything he can’t do. He’s a toy, he’s only stuffed. Jonghun is his father because Jonghun is the one who made him.

“Your bear is creepy,” Hongki whispers once, laying on top of Jonghun as he stares up at Hongki, unwilling to watch but unable to turn around. Jonghun laughs and kisses his mouth.

“He’s my kid,” is all he says. “I put his heart inside myself.”

“Should he be watching us, then?” Hongki asks, grinning down at Jonghun, who looks at Seunghyun quizzically. Seunghyun wishes he could scream, turn me around, move me, throw me away, but he can’t. He stares at Jonghun with his big eyes and puts all of his feelings into his wish. Jonghun raises a hand and pats him on the top of the head before turning back to Hongki.

“Seventeen-years-old is plenty old enough to learn about these sorts of things.”

Seunghyun wishes the smile Jonghun shot at him didn’t hurt his heart, because Jonghun’s never hurt him, never. He’s always been a good owner, always so nice. But the more time goes on, the more he’s being forgotten, the lonelier he is. He wants him, oh yes, how he wants him to hold him one more time, but the only time Jonghun moves him in the months and years that slowly tick by, the less he’s held.

They move out of Hongki’s apartment a years later and find a studio apartment together. It’s cramped and small, and Jonghun puts him on the night stand and for the next three years they live there, fighting and bickering and making up.

Then they move again, to a bigger house with two bedrooms. The guitars and music folders disappear into a closet and are replaced with business suits and ties. They sleep in one bedroom, but the other they spend forever in, painting and moving things into, strange things that he’s never seen before. Seunghyun stays on a shelf, forgotten and gathering dust. His brown fur starts to fade. The plaid bow fades from bright red to faded maroon. He wants to be loved again, craves it, but his heart grows lonelier as Jonghun grows older.

They start to talk to each other, excited. There’s a party, in which many presents are exchanged. Too many people come and everyone seems to talk over each other. Hongki’s the loudest, pushing against Jonghun and holding his hand, talking animatedly. They’re both so happy, happier than Seunghyun’s ever seen him, and he wishes, just once more, that Jonghun would love him that much, just once more, like when he was a kid.

-

Then, one day, they come home earlier from work. Jonghun’s holding a small bundle in his arms and Hongki’s carrying a bag slung over his shoulder. He drops it in the doorway and they both peer down at the small bundle, which gives a very small noise, and raises a very small fist.

“Welcome home, Minyoung,” Jonghun says, touching a finger to the baby’s cheek. Minyoung gurgles at him and grabs his finger in her fist.

“I can’t believe it,” Hongki says, “I can’t believe it.” Then Minyoung starts to scream, and Hongki flails backwards a little, fumbling in the bag and pulling out a bottle. Jonghun snatches it from him and presses it against her cheeks, and she stops crying almost immediately. He disappears into the other room, the one that Seunghyun hasn’t ever seen.

-

Every night, Minyoung wakes up screaming and one of them (usually Jonghun) end up going into the room. Jonghun walks her around the bedroom, and then he leaves her room to get a bottle with her in his arms, he bounces her on his hip and sometimes he cuddles with her on the couch while she drinks. Seunghyun wishes he were Minyoung, wishes Jonghun would hold him like he holds her, but Seunghyun remains forgotten on the top shelf of the bookshelf, gathering dust.

Until one evening, when Hongki’s playing with Minyoung on the carpet and ends up running into the bookshelf. Seunghyun wobbles on the top and falls the long way to the floor. He falls with a poof of dust. Hongki blinks at him, and then picks him up. His hands are rough as they dust him off and pull on his bow to make sure it’s still stuck to his neck.

“Pa,” Minyoung burbles at him, crawling over to Hongki and wrapping her arms around Seunghyun’s ear. She hugs him close, and Seunghyun feels his heart warm up a little. Her hands are tiny and warm when they pull on his ear. Seunghyun looks up at Hongki, helplessly, hopelessly, expecting him to pull him away from her but hoping he doesn’t. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time.

He smiles, and sits back as Minyoung rolls around on the floor with him.

Jonghun comes home a few hours later and Minyoung’s already in bed. He starts when he sees Seunghyun on the floor with the rest of his daughters toys. “How did he get here?” He asks, picking him up. His hands still feel warm, but his face isn’t a child’s face anymore. He’s regarding Seunghyun with a slightly puzzled look.

“He fell off the bookshelf and Minyoung grabbed him. She seems to like him.”

Jonghun hums in response, and looked back down. He strokes his threadbare ears with his thumbs softly. Seunghyun wants to cry with delight, or would have if he could. He hasn’t been held in years, let alone by Jonghun. He’d believe he was if it were possible for him to dream.

“I have an idea, Seunghyunnie,” Jonghun says and slips into Minyoung’s room, which is dark except for the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. He walks over to the crib and carefully lowers Seunghyun down into it, tucking him in next to his daughter. “There,” he says, pulling back. Her arm wraps instinctively around Seunghyun’s neck, pulling her close. “Keep her safe.” He says, scratching his fuzzy head and turning around.

In the middle of the night, when Minyoung starts to fuss, she wraps her arms around him in surprise, fingers wandering around his face, sitting up and looking at him with a puzzled expression. Her dark hair falls over her face and she squishes his cheeks.

“Bobo,” she giggles, and lowers her face to his nose and kisses him.

_{bonus :3}

dgna; disappearing act; hyunmin/suhoon.

augmenti — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 02:19:37 GMT

Disappearing Act.
대국남아; Hyunmin/Suhoon; pg-13; 5,300 words.
One morning, Suhoon wakes up and discovers that he’s disappearing.

Suhoon wakes up one morning to his feet feeling strangely numb, as though they’d fallen asleep and he can’t get them to wake up again. He pokes at them from underneath his blankets and when he doesn’t feel that familiar prickle of blood flow, wiggles his toes. When that doesn’t work, he pulls back his covers to inspect them.

Only to discover that his feet have disappeared. He reaches down and pokes the place where they’re supposed to be. He can still feel his skin underneath, and he can tap his fingers against the bone, and when he tickles the underside of his foot, it makes him give a very unmanly giggle. He wiggles his toes again, because he can feel them, but they’re gone, missing, lost.

He hops down from his bed and almost expects to flop on the ground, but his feet - his invisible feet - catch him. He can still feel the floorboards under his toes, though the floor is cold, so he almost wishes he couldn’t.

Not sure how he’s going to walk out of the bedroom and say “hi guys, guess what? My feet just turned invisible, how are you?” he pulls on a pair of socks over his feet. He’s relieved when they find the form of them, and wiggles his toes just to be safe. It makes him feel a little better just to see something there and figures that his feet will have to come back eventually. They’ll have to.

He doesn’t think that it could possibly spread until after dance practice, when he’s changing and he finds, with a shrill of fear, that his legs have disappeared halfway up his shins. “What the hell?” He wonders out loud, but doesn’t have a chance to think on it anymore because the others come into the locker room just then.

The first thing he does after the moment of panic, where his gut clenches and he feels like someone drenched his skin with cold water, is to put on a long sleeved sweater that goes down to his knees. He pulls a blue and black checkered scarf around his neck and a beanie on his head.

“Hey guys, have you ever heard of people disappearing?” He asks, when they’re back in the dorm later that night and he finds that he’s disappeared all the way up his thigh. At this rate, he’s going to wake up completely gone. The thought frightens him more and more and his earlier wish to keep it secret and wait is obviously not working very well.

“What, you mean like going away?” Hyunmin laughs. “Yeah, it’s called vacation.”

The look on Suhoon’s face chokes the laugh in his throat. He clears it, nervously. “What kind of disappearing?”

“Like this,” Suhoon says, and pulls off his sock.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Hyunmin laughs again. “Good one,” he reaches over and pulls up Suhoon’s pant leg. He frowns when he sees no hidden foot, and pulls it up higher and higher, continuing to reveal nothing. He puts his hand in the place Suhoon’s leg should be and yelps when it comes into contact.

“Oh my god, your leg is gone,” Injoon screams as Jihwan and Hyunchul gape. Hyunmin jerks his hand back as though stung.

“When did it start?” Hyunchul asks, leaning forward, intrigued.

“This morning,” Suhoon says. “Do you think I should go to the hospital?”

“For what, chronic disappearance?” Hyunmin snorts. “No way, this has to go away. You wouldn’t be good at being invisible. You’re too loud.” Suhoon punches him in the shoulder in retaliation. Hyunmin wraps his arm around Suhoon’s waist and pulls him close, and the proximity is the only notice Suhoon gets to know that he’s worried about him.

The moment ends a minute later, when Hyunmin pulls away and throws himself across the couch.

Suhoon scratches the back of his head with a heavy sigh and sits down on the couch, shoving Hyunmin’s feet out of the way. It doesn’t take long for Jihwan to drape himself all over him, pillowing his head in his lap and watching his face. Suhoon pretends not to notice, until Jihwan strokes his face with a finger.

“Yah,” he says softly, looking down at him. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want you to disappear, hyung.” His face twists into a frown.

Suhoon scoffs at him, staring at the tv. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

He ruffles Jihwan’s hair before he pushes him off his lap and stands up, stretching. His shirt rides up over his pants and he catches Injoon’s widened eyes from across the room. When he looks down, he finds he’s disappeared up to his abdomen.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he frowns, pulling down his shirt. Injoon looks away back to his computer, trying to pretend he wasn’t looking in the first place.

-

He spends a good ten minutes in the shower just watching the way water falls down his invisible form. Drops of water stop in midair and drip downwards against the curve of his skin. It’s the strangest thing in the world, as though someone wrapped half of his body in an invisible cloak.

At one point he looks away to start getting shampoo when he realizes that the invisibility is creeping upwards on his skin. The bottle slips through his hands and lands on the floor with a thud. He presses his fingers to his skin where it’s disappearing, but it continues to creep up right past them. He watches with a morbid sense of fascination as his belly button disappears.

It keeps going up, and up, and he presses his hands against his ribcage and pushes until it hurts, until his nails make marks that disappear as his skin disappears. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how hard it is for him to breathe and turns the water off. Instantly his skin prickles from the cold air when he opens the shower door and he dries off and dresses quickly as he can. He misses his foot twice when he tries to pull his pants on, and when he tries his socks they snag his toes.

When he walks out of the bathroom, he hears the voices from the living room stop abruptly, so he goes to bed instead, sliding his body between his the cold sheets and sighing into his pillow. He closes his eyes and wonders if he’ll even be there in the morning, or if he’s going to be gone.

-

He feels someone wriggle into his bed in the middle of the night. Their toes are freezing when they dig into the crook of his knee and he tenses, rolling over to glare at them, but when he sees Jihwan’s face, the reprimand falters on his lips.

“Hyung,” Jihwan whispers, and clutches at his tshirt. “I don’t want you to disappear,” the plea sounds even more desperate than it did before.

Suhoon presses his forehead against his and pulls at his arm. He feels Jihwan’s fingers slide against the low collar of his shirt and pull downwards. Jihwan’s eyes widen in an expression of horror that makes Suhoon look down, and he almost regrets it when he finds that he’s disappeared up to his collarbone.

“Hyung,” Jihwan’s voice is hushed and so horrified that Suhoon pulls him into a hug before he knows what he’s even doing.

“Don’t worry, I’ll always be here,” he says, and touches their foreheads together. “Like this, you see?” Jihwan’s eyes go crossed as they look into his at the close proximity, and ends up smiling.

“You’re so mushy,” he complains, and drops his head down to his shoulder. He can feel his heartbeat against his skin. It makes his skin crawl with fear, because the truth is, he’s frightened, too.

An hour later, he crawls out of bed, unable to sleep, and pads out into the living room. He passes the table full of Japanese notes and the couch, which still has Hyunmin’s guitar on it and opens the door to the balcony. He sits on the cold floor with his back to the glass and watches planes flying above the skyscrapers.

He’s just starting to fall asleep when there’s a quiet tap at the door. He turns around, and suddenly, Hyunmin’s face is there. He moves away from the glass and he joins him on the floor, sitting back against the door with a sigh. Suhoon looks back towards the sky.

“It’s so strange,” Hyunmin says, splaying one leg out against the floor and raising his hand to Suhoon’s neck. The warmth makes him swallow hard. He manages a smile.

“You’re telling me?” He says, and glances over at him.

Hyunmin’s eyes are frighteningly dark except for the reflection of the city lights. He’s suddenly way too close, but he can’t pull back away until after Hyunmin’s lips are on him. His hand is still curled into the crook of his neck and his thumb brushes his jawline in a gentle caress. Way too gentle for Hyunmin. He’s not sure when his eyes slip closed, but he finds himself opening them after Hyunmin breaks the kiss for air.

“We’ll figure this out,” Hyunmin says, and Suhoon laughs.

“You kissed me to tell me that?” He pulls back and reaches out to tug on his earlobe when he stops dead when he realizes that his arm has disappeared except for half of the palm. He brings it closer to examine it. “I’m going to be gone by dawn,” he mumbles, and looks at the still-dark sky.

Hyunmin pulls him closer - too close - but he finds he doesn’t mind it just this once. He doesn’t know when he’ll be hugged again, after all.

“Everyone’s worried,” Hyunmin whispers against the ear that’s going to disappear before too long. His finger traces the line around his neck where he’s disappeared, or so Suhoon assumes.

“I know, Jihwan’s in my bed. So much for disappearing quietly,” Suhoon chuckles, leaning his head against his long-time friend. Hyunmin whacks him in the shoulder - too hard. He winces. “Ow,” he whines, turning to look at him again. Hyunmin breaks his complaint off with another kiss.

He leans into this one, his heart beating like a bass. He twists his fingers into Hyunmin’s shirt and nibbles at his bottom lip, tasting salt and a bit of toothpaste. His tongue slips into his mouth and he tilts his chin upwards. Hyunmin’s nose brushes against the side of his and he breaks off the kiss, touching their foreheads together. His arms wrap around Suhoon and squeeze him so hard, like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

Suhoon clings back, because for all he knows, this might be the last time anyone can ever hug him again.

“This sucks,” Hyunmin growls in his ear, and Suhoon laughs, touching his lips to the side of his neck.

“You’re telling me,” he murmurs. “Stay with me until the sun comes up?”

Hyunmin presses his hands against the sides of his face and gently caresses his cheeks with his thumbs. His gaze when he stares into his eyes is intense, but Suhoon can’t bring himself to look away. “Of course.”

-

Suhoon disappears as the sun comes up. At first it’s almost sort of fun, he can take off his clothes and walk around scaring the members. At first they tell management that he had to go home for urgent business, but a week passes and they start to get suspicious when Hyunchul starts to set a place for him at mealtimes.

At night he slinks into Hyunmin’s bed and presses himself against his back and wraps his arms around his waist. He feels Hyunmin tense up at first before he relaxes.

“You’re like a ghost,” Hyunmin whispers, rolling over to stare at the nothingness that greets him. He reaches out a hand and slowly pushes the air forward until Suhoon touches it with his cheek. “I miss you.” He says, and Suhoon sighs against his hand.

“Don’t be such a baby, I’m right here,” he gripes, biting his thumb, hard. He’s gotten used to being invisible as well as he possibly can. “Just close your eyes.” Hyunmin snorts at him, but closes his eyes anyway. Suhoon shifts against him and presses the gentlest kisses he can against his closed eyelids and nose before touching them to his lips.

“Wow,” Hyunmin says, hands fumbling for Suhoon’s sides and holding him by his lovehandles. “This works. I can see you in my mind, or something.”

“That’s dirty,” Suhoon frowns, whacking him in the chest a little too hard, straddling him. I don’t want to know what you’re fantasizing.” Hyunmin laughs and flips them so he’s on top and straddles Suhoon’s legs instead. In the darkness, when Hyunmin’s eyes are clamped closed, he almost feels normal. He wraps his arms around his neck as Hyunmin presses a desperate kiss to his lips, slipping his tongue in his mouth. He kisses back, just as needy, and feels heat through his veins.

Hyunmin’s hands are rough against his skin as they make love, and Suhoon’s mind is still a little fuzzy. Hyunmin’s arm is wrapped around his waist, the other hand cupping his cheek. Suhoon traces his collarbone with his finger, hazily.

“Don’t open your eyes until morning,” he murmurs. Hyunmin visibly flinches.

“I won’t,” he swallows, hard, and Suhoon watches him closely, all night long until the morning alarms start to go off.

When Hyunchul’s goes off first, Suhoon kisses Hyunmin on the forehead and disentangles himself from his limbs. He showers as quickly as he can and while he dresses, he can hear Hyunchul rustling around in the kitchen. He dries himself off and walks out into the kitchen naked.

He drifts behind him as Hyunchul goes back and forth in the kitchen, making breakfast, and watches him plug in the rice cooker before going away. Pressing his lips together so he doesn’t laugh, he pulls it out of the wall.

Hyunchul plugs it in absently five more times, each time having it unplugged, before he catches on to what’s going on. “Hyung, stop it,” he complains, splashing water at him. “We’re going to be late and you’re going to ruin the rice.”

Suhoon sticks his tongue out at him, which of course Hyunchul can’t see, and walks off to put on clothes because it’s cold to wander around without them. He also can’t get used to the idea of being naked and around others, no matter how close he is to them.

During breakfast, everyone seems down until Hyunchul gets the bright idea to try to cover him with make up. They cake it on so heavily that it works a little, with heavy clothes and hats and gloves over his hands and socks on his feet. He dons sunglasses to hide his lack of eyes. Hyunchul finds a type of lipstick that looks exactly the same color as his lips, but it just looks silly without his lips behind it, so he wears a mask over his face instead.

“There,” Hyunchul says, sitting back. “It’s like you’re still here.”

“This is stupid,” Suhoon crosses his arms over his chest, but Injoon pulls him into a hug so tight, squealing in his ear, that he almost doesn’t mind. He shoves halfheartedly at him but then Jihwan joins in and he stops trying. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s kind of nice having someone to hug him after being alone so long.

“It’s like you’re here,” Injoon smiles in his ear. Suhoon rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around their waists. He sees Hyunmin smile in the mirror and smiles back, although he can’t see it because of the stupid mask.

“I’ve always been here,” he murmurs, but no one listens. For the rest of the day Hyunchul preens about being the one to come up with it, but by the time dance practice comes around, all Suhoon wants to do is rip off the mask, throw the scarf on the ground, tear off the sweater and use it to wipe off the make up, because it’s itchy and it’s hot and it’s uncomfortable and all he wants to do is die.

“I’m so glad we’re not 2pm,” he groans after dying on the floor. “Can you imagine choreography like that? I’d die from overheating.” Jihwan laughs at him and pulls at his glove.

“Come on, hyung, it’s easy, you can do this.”

“I’m going to die,” he deadpans. “It’s going to be all your fault.”

“If you do, we’ll just undress you, no one will ever find the body.” Hyunmin laughs in his ear.

Suhoon glares daggers at him the entire rest of the day until they get home.

“I’m showering first,” he says, and eagerly strips off the many layers and watches the heavy dosage of make up disappear down the drain. When he comes out with only pajama pants on, he’s toweling his hair dry.

“Done,” he shouts, and the others look round at the voice that comes from nowhere. “Me next, me next,” Hyunchul shrieks, and runs into the bathroom before anyone else can say anything. Suhoon takes a seat on the couch and pulls his legs up. He sees Injoon staring at his pants and looks with a frown.

There’s nothing there, and when he looks back up, Injoon is looking at his computer again. Hyunmin plops down on the couch and kicks his feet out and smacks Suhoon in the chin.

“Ow,” he snaps, “watch it,” he shoves Hyunmin’s feet off the couch.

“Sorry,” Hyunmin says, sheepish. He stares at a place down before his clavicle. “I didn’t see you there,” he snickers. Suhoon straddles him around the chest and attempts to kill him with a pillow.

“It hurt so much and you did it on purpose,” he shrieks, smacking him in the chest until Hyunmin grabs at his wrists. He takes a few tries to actually grab them but once he does he holds on a little too tightly.

“So what,” Hyunmin says. “It’s not like anyone will see the bruise.” Suhoon bites him on the lip to get him to shut up. Hyunmin pulls back after a startled yelp. “What the fuck, Suhoon,” he frowns. Suhoon gets up in a huff and turns on one of the laptops instead, bad mood seething through his teeth.

He’s goes through message-boards and they do nothing to make him feel any better. Fans wondering why he hasn’t been around, wondering if somethings going on, and he notes that their efforts today have been in vain. He sits back against the chair and bites at his nail before he can stop himself, and when he notices he pulls his hands away and sits on them, as though it matters.

They’re all worried, he can see it in their faces when they look round at his voice. As the days wear on, one after the other, the coolness factor wears off. Hyunchul snaps at him when he turns off the grill one day, and forgets to set him a place at the table another. One day he doesn’t get out of bed in the morning, and none of them notice.

When he gives Hyunmin a kiss one night, after being forgotten all day, Hyunmin says crossly, “I’m studying.” Beside him, Jihwan looks up and goes right back to scribbling in his notebook. Injoon doesn’t even look up when he tickles the back of his neck.

Later, Jihwan accidentally stumbles over his leg while he’s dancing in the living room and Hyunchul snaps at him. “Hyung, don’t trip people.” He helps Jihwan up.

“I didn’t mean to,” he frowns, tucking his feet in.

“No one else can see you,” Injoon reminds him. “You’re like a ghost, hyung, so you have to be careful, right?”

“Right,” he frowns, and tucks his feet underneath him. He’s sulking on the balcony, watching the stars again, when Jihwan joins him.

“Sorry for tripping over you, hyung.” He says, sitting down next to him. Suhoon moves his hand so he doesn’t sit on it.

“I’m the one who forgot,” Suhoon says, swallowing. He has his chin propped up on his knees and is ignoring the ache in his back. He looks at Jihwan, who’s watching a satellite pass behind a skyscraper. “I’m being forgotten,” he mumbles.

“Never, hyung.” Jihwan says, and stretches his hand out until it touches his arm. He feels around it for a while until he finds his shoulder, and uses it as a point of reference to lean his cheek on. “I won’t, I promise.”

Suhoon laughs, “Maybe not now, but maybe later, you will. Out of sight, out of mind, right?”

Jihwan frowns at him and butts him in the shoulder with his head. “Not funny, hyung.”

“I thought so,” he shrugs, and obviously doesn’t mean it.

“I hope this wears off soon,” Jihwan says. “I know it has to.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Suhoon asks. “The managers already want to know where I am. I can’t be a singer and be invisible all at the same time.”

“It’ll work out hyung, you’ll see.” Jihwan pats him on the shoulder. “We’re a family, okay?”

-

But Suhoon doesn’t see, the more time goes on. In the morning, he watches Hyunmin open his eyes and realize that the body he’s holding really isn’t there. It puts him in a bad mood the rest of the day, and although he’d tried to hide it at first, time reveals everything, especially when you’re invisible.

The managers go crazy trying to figure out where he’s gone, and rather than tell them what really happened, no one can bring themselves to say it. The company covers it up by making another subunit. Suhoon watches them perform on the couch, and at the end, they shout to him, but he can’t feel the feelings behind it. The fans make up conspiracy theories and none of them make him smile.

One day, he tells himself he wont stick around anymore. He’ll stop watching Hyunmin’s eyes every morning, he’ll stop kissing him at night. He’ll stop teasing Hyunchul and he’ll stop calling Jisang and Gwangchul when he feels lonely. He’ll stop it all, pack a bag, and leave.

“What if you don’t come back?” Hyunmin asks one night, eyes clamped closed and Suhoon’s breath tickling his cheeks. “I’m tired of this,” he frowns.

“Me too,” Suhoon sighs. His stomach growls. He wonders if he’s gained a lot of weight, and wonders how many weeks he’ll have to spend dieting afterwards. He’s eaten less and less the longer it’s gone on, because he doesn’t want to come back and be too fat, because he’s not active aside from the singing he suddenly finds time for.

“I know you’re here, but I feel like you’re not.” He frowns. “It’s been months.” Hyunmin threads his fingers through his hair and pulls at them until his hair drifts off his fingers. “Your hair is getting split ends,” he smirks. “It’s long.”

“Shut up,” Suhoon frowns, fingers drifting over Hyunmin’s chest and down his abdomen, tracing softly over the curve of the muscles and bone that make up his person. “I can’t exactly get it cut, can I?”

Hyunmin’s fingers trace the curve of Suhoon’s cheek. “You’re thin,” he murmurs. “Too thin.”

Suhoon smiles. “I’m disappearing again,” he laughs, but the comment makes him feel a little better.

Hyunmin pinches his cheek. “There’s barely anything to pinch,” he frowns. “Eat more, or you really will.” He hugs him. “I don’t want you to die. What if you hurt yourself and we can’t find you? Or if you cut yourself and bleed, I won’t be able to fix it. What if you really do die?”

Suhoon sighs, pressing his head against his shoulder. “I won’t die,” he mumbles.

“What?”

Suhoon lifts his head. “I won’t. I promise.” He kisses him soundly, tilting his chin to deepen it. He wonders if Hyunmin can taste his sincerity or if he can taste anything at all. Do invisible lips have taste? He doesn’t want to ask, he’s afraid to know the answer. He feels Hyunmin finally works his lips against his. But this time, when they pull apart, he opens his eyes.

Suhoon freezes, and so does Hyunmin. The expression in Hyunmin’s face makes Suhoon want to cry. Hyunmin pulls away and rolls over to the other side of the small bed and Suhoon feels cold as though he’d been standing in the street in the middle of winter, naked.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he buries his face in his pillow and curls in on himself. When his knees accidentally brush with Hyunmin’s back, Hyunmin shifts to move away until he’s pressed up against the wall.

He’s surprised that it took this long for Hyunmin to open his eyes in the middle of the night and realize that it’s not magic, that he doesn’t come back to visibility at night. He wishes, oh, how he wishes, but it’s not so. Suhoon frowns, clenching a fist he can’t see in front of his nose and nibbling at his thumbnail. He accidentally bites his thumb at first, but he doesn’t care. He falls asleep watching Hyunmin’s chest rise and fall and wonders if he’s fallen asleep yet or not.

-

He refuses to open his eyes the next morning, even after the alarms all go off. Hyunmin gets up last, rolling over and gruffly slapping at it without opening his eyes. The noise dies with one last wail from 2pm’s Junsu. Suhoon tenses when he feels him shift up in the bed, and he wonders if he’s opened his eyes yet or not.

“Oh my god,” Hyunmin whispers. Suhoon slaps an arm in his direction when Hyunmin’s hand touches his shoulder. “Suhoon,” his voice is frantic and he considers taking a peek, but he’s still mad about last night. “Suhoon!” He wraps his hand around his arm and pulls him up.

He groans, letting his head roll around his shoulders before he lifts his head up. “What?” He glares through his hair.

His breath dies in his throat. Hyunmin’s staring at him. Not through him, not in his general direction, but at him. Right into his eyes and staring at his soul, bared open for him. Suhoon looks down, at his body, at his rumpled Pajama’s that aren’t empty but actually have something. He stares.

“I’m visible,” he whispers, and Hyunmin gives a loud bark of a laugh that makes everyone peek over at them. There’s a loud screech and a loud thump that follows as the others realize who they’re looking at.

“You’re back!” Hyunmin’s hug is so tight that Suhoon can feel his back breaking from the force. Just when he thinks he hears something crack, three more pairs of arms collide with them, pressing against his back, hair everywhere, laughter all over. It hasn’t even sunk in yet that he’s back, he’s visible, he’s not gone, after all.

“Hyung!” Everyone is shouting, Injoon is crying, Jihwan is trying not to cry, and Hyunchul is definitely laughing at them.

“We have our leader back!” Injoon sobs, his tears getting the back of his shirt wet. For some reason Suhoon can’t bring himself to care.

“I can’t believe it,” Hyunmin murmurs in his ear, pulling back just enough to clasp his hands around his cheeks and stare into his eyes for a long moment. There’s a light back in his eyes that Suhoon hadn’t realized disappeared. The wrinkles that had been slowly building on all of their faces are disappearing before his eyes, and when Hyunmin kisses him, pushing him back into Injoon and Jihwan as he does, he can feel his entire heart behind it, beating against the palm he has resting on his chest. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tastes salt in the kiss, and when he pulls back, the world is blurry.

“I’m back,” he says, even though he never left. He holds them all close, because they’re his family, and he doesn’t have to leave them, after all.

-

He’s feeling extra cheritable that evening, after he shocks the managers by reappearing and eats more than he’s eaten in months because Hyunmin was right, he is a little too bony. Hyunchul seems to agree because he doesn’t stop pushing food on his plate until he’s ready to die and never move again. He’s never been much of an eater before, but he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be hungry again.

He buys them all soju and pizza in the evening, and after language practice he even dances with Jihwan in the living room, although he falls off-beat and can’t really keep up because he gets a stitch in his side. He slaps Injoon on the butt and flops on Hyunmin on the couch and rests his head in his lap.

Hyunmin hums at him, his husky voice sounding like a hazy sort of smoke. Suhoon smiles and hums back. The comparison between their voices is ridiculous, but Hyunmin’s always been one of the best singers he’s ever heard.

Hyunmin tugs on his long ponytail of dark hair. It’d gotten ridiculously long while he’d been invisible. His bangs fell into his eyes and impaired his vision, tickled his skin and itched his neck, but even though it was annoying, he didn’t mind it because he could actually see it, finally.

He waves his freshly painted fingernails in Hyunmin’s face. “Like them?” Hyunmin squints at the little skullbunny figures on them. “I got them in Japan when we were there before.” He smiles, fondly. “I wanted to wait until I could see them again before I put them on.”

“Good idea, no one would want to miss those.” His voice drips with sarcasm. Suhoon punches him in the chest.

“Shut up, I have the best taste.” He sits up and straightens his shirt. “I’m going to shower,” he says.

In the bathroom, he takes a minute to stare at his reflection. He sheds his clothes slowly. His skin was paler than it’d ever been - he guesses that whatever dimension his body had run off to, the sun couldn't reach it, either. He counts his teeth and pressed his hands together. He flexes his arms and even the thin muscles are impressive to him. He counts the moles on his back and makes sure the birthmark behind his knee is still there. His eyes gleam at him from the light over the bathroom sink. His tongue is pink when he sticks it out at himself. He makes faces at himself for a good ten minutes and finally sits back and smiles at his reflection. He’d forgotten what his face looked like. He’d forgotten what his smile looked like, even. He turns away from the mirror and starts the tap. When he runs his fingers under the hot water, his skin comes away red. When he runs the cold, it gets goosebumps. He smiles and climbs in.

By the time he was done, everyone else is already in bed. He slips under the covers behind Hyunmin and kisses a line up the back of his neck to the soft spot behind the jawline, and up his ear. Hyunmin rolls over and presses their foreheads together, pulling him forward. “Welcome back,” he murmurs, opening his eyes.

“Thanks,” he whispers, tucking his head under his chin and letting his eyes slip closed.

f.t island; spotlight; wonbin-centric.

augmenti — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 04:14:39 GMT

The Spotlight.
wonbin-centric; pg; 1,597 words.
All Wonbin wanted was the spotlight, and that's what he gets.

Oh Wonbin quits F.T Island because he wants to be in the spotlight.

He quits because doesn’t want to be the left arm of a band anymore. He doesn’t want to be the rougher edge of Hongki’s voice. He doesn’t want to accompany Jaejin on the adlibs. He doesn’t want to be the background guitar. He wants the spotlight, so he quits. He leaves them all behind and takes things step by step until he’s ready for debut. His debut.

After each workout, he checks his weight and compares it to the top stars. At first he’s too big, way too big. So he stops eating for a while. The next time he weighs himself and he’s too slim. He starts eating again and ends up weighing too much. He exercises as though it’s his one mission in life and finally, finally, hits the perfect weight. He becomes a man, he loses the baby fat in his cheeks.

He sings until his throat is raw and sounds awful and then he sings some more until he doesn’t have a voice, until he spits blood in the bathroom sink. He starts taking runs in the morning in the park and hides inside watching old shows of himself to learn from his mistakes. They were so young, he was so young. He made so many errors, and errors wouldn’t work. When he washes his hands he does it methodically over the sink, carefully scrubbing under his nails until there’s no dirt, and applying lotion to his face.

He wonders if it’ll be enough to make him into an idol. He wonders if he should get plastic surgery. He shakes his head and turns away. Oh Wonbin wouldn’t want that. He swallows, hard, and there’s a lump in his throat. He practices his lines and practices dancing and doesn’t stop until he can’t move unless he’s dragged off of stage and all the while he wonders to himself ‘will he make it? will he make it?’

He’s in the bathroom again, washing his hands, when he hears two executives talking. “In showbiz, no matter what country you’re in, it’s always about who you know.” He hears the snap of a clipboard. “It’s how it always is, isn’t it?”

Three hours later, he calls Hongki out for a round of drinks to catch up. It’s a slap in the face when Hongki arrives with a haggard face, bags under his eyes, almost looking like he’s going to fall apart until he sees him and lights up. It reminds him of how hard it was, in the group, of how much harder it will be when he’s in the spotlight, alone. Suddenly there is magic back in his life, and although Oh Wonbin wants to run into his arms, but instead he just stands up and bows and says ‘sunbaenim’ until Hongki smacks him.

“We’re friends,” Hongki insists, and buys a round of drinks. His smile is haggard but real. Wonbin pretends the stab behind his ribcage isn’t jealousy of how easy it must be for Hongki to be himself.

“Of course,” Wonbin says, his perfectly practiced smile doesn’t make his eyes disappear anymore. He’s lost all of his baby fat by now.

They leave late, and Wonbin has to walk Hongki home. “I’m your friend,” he insists, and almost believes it. “I want to.”

Hongki nuzzles his face into the crook of his shoulder and Oh Wonbin wants to cry with how much he’s missed the touch, the familiarity of being in a band with all of his friends. But then he remembers the shadow behind the spotlight, and his smile is once again the practiced one when he hands Hongki over to a sleepy Minhwan.

“You’ve changed,” Minhwan says, quietly. “Hyung, are you okay?” His hand is warm on his elbow. Oh Wonbin pulls away. He wants to break, tell him that no, he isn’t, he’s never been, that he’s being swallowed up by this stardom, but he doesn’t. He smiles at him instead, so sincerely that it seems real.

“I’ve just grown up, Minhwannie,” he reaches out and for a moment he almost ruffles his hair, but then he puts his hand on his shoulder instead. “You’ve changed too.” He smiles. “Call me in the morning, okay?”

Minhwan frowns at him suspiciously. He should have known that Minhwan would see through any facade. He’ll have to work harder at his sincerity. It makes him waver for a moment because he’s lonely, oh, so lonely. But then he turns away and the door closes behind him and he has to tighten his hands into fists. He walks away shaking, and when he’s home he goes to the bathroom, washing his hands until his fingernails bleed.

-

“How do you keep from going crazy in the spotlight?” He asks Hongki, once again trying to grow ties that never disappeared except for in his own heart. Hongki’s not in his heart anymore, but Wonbin can feel the cold of the glass against his lips and knows that he’s fine. Perfectly fine. Because it’s not like Oh Wonbin is in there, either.

Hongki squints at him, trying to decipher the code behind the message. “You’ve been in the spotlight. You know what it’s like.”

“I haven’t been in the spotlight alone,” he stresses, sitting back.

“Ahhh,” Hongki shrugs his shoulders. “Just be yourself, someone will catch you if you fall.”

Wonbin frowns. “Hyung, I’m going solo.”

Hongki shrugs again, all but laying on the table. “Then make sure you fit in, with the trends, I guess.”

-

The trend, he learns, is expansion. Is language skill. It’s singing with autotune and yet singing without. It’s singing and bearing skin and girls. So he learns languages. He’s already made headway with Japanese, so he learns more Chinese. He learns more Japanese, he learns some English.

But more than the trends, hard work has always gotten him where he is. Hard work turns him into the well oiled machine that he needs to be to become an idol. He sends Minhwan a text in Chinese on accident and doesn’t realize he did it until after. Minhwan translates it with Google translate, and Wonbin laughs at his botched reply.

The difference between you and I, he sends, in Mandarin, is that I am alone.

He doesn’t read Minhwan’s reply, because no matter what it is, he did this to himself.

-

He goes to the same university as Jonghun. He walks into class and is only momentarily surprised. The heel of his shoe hits the ground a little too heavy as he nearly staggers in surprise, but he quickly rights himself, covering it up. Jonghun didn’t even realize, he was paying more attention to his text.

Jonghun hasn’t changed. He’s matured, oh yes. He’s gotten more handsome, oh yes. But has he really changed? No. He doesn’t think so. He’s always tried so hard to come off as mysterious and uncouth but he isn’t. He slips up every time.

Wonbin slides into the seat next to him and gives him a wan smile. “Long time no see, Jonghunnie,” he breaks into a grin when Jonghun seems surprised to see him, and all of Jonghun’s composure breaks down. He all but tackles him in a hug. His heart slips into his sleeve. Wonbin can feel it beating there, against his back.

“Wonbinnie!” Jonghun exclaims, overjoyed. “I hear you’ve been going out drinking without inviting me!” Wonbin laughs. That’s because, he wants to say, you aren’t in the spotlight the way Hongki is. You avoid it.

“Sorry, I’ll invite you from now on, okay?” He watches the way Jonghun smiles and beams and chatters on and on until the teacher comes in, and when they part ways, Wonbin’s sure he thinks they’re parting as friends. He’s sure he doesn’t realize that Wonbin views him as someone who will always just be one piece to a bigger whole.

-

Wonbin stares at his reflection in the backstage mirror. He’s just been given the ten minute warning before he has to go up and wait for the stage before him to finish, before he takes his place as Wonbin, the singer. But right now he has a moment to just stare at the reflection, to take it all in. He stares at his reflection, the slender cheekbones. He closes his eyes, readies himself internally. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. Before there were five, and now there’s only him. This is what he wanted, this is what he went solo for. He has to do this.

Whatever it was, whatever it was that threatened to break him and crack him into pieces is gone. He’s perfect. He’s ready. Hongki was wrong, because Hongki’s never been solo. Wonbin doesn’t need anyone else. He only needs himself, he doesn’t need a band. He doesn’t need friends. He doesn’t need Oh Wonbin.

“Time to go up, Wonbin,” his manager beckons to him, and he sighs nervously, standing. He clenches and unclenches his fist and lifts one of his hands to inspect the clean, perfect nails. He glances up one more time, takes in the finite details that could crush him if he isn’t careful. The loneliness, the past, the pride, the feeling, and he casts them aside. He follows his manager upstairs once again, and this time his footsteps aren’t joined by four other guys. They’re only his own - and there is nothing else.

_{note: edited from the original, posted here.}

misc kpop; drabbles

augmenti — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 01:47:39 GMT

Sunflowers.
f.t island; Seunghyun-centric; g; 270 words.

Seunghyun loves sunflowers in the summer.

He loves to wander through fields of them taller than his head until he’s lost, until the only thing he sees in the entire world is the heads of sunflowers, all reaching for the mothership, the Sun. He’ll tilt his face up and close his eyes. He’ll spread his arms wide and forget about everything, just for a minute. He’ll breathe in slowly through his nose, taking in the clear air with the slight hint of flowers and greenery and tilled earth, breathe in the musk of a storm on the horizon.

The sun will caress his face and kiss his nose. It’ll run its hands down his shoulders and arms until it touches his open palms, filter between his fingers, and then it’ll disappear like the wind, and he’ll open his eyes and wonder how he could imagine it.

The color yellow is one of his favorites, because it’s bright, and vibrant, and so happy. There’s something about standing on a stage and glancing up through his hair. The sea of yellow will greet him, bright flags that move up and down to the beat as he does, as sunflowers do when directed by the sunlight and the win.

He feels like sunlight, directing flowers to look only at him. The thought is frightening. He doesn’t want to fly too close to the sun and get burned, but he can’t help but stretch his fingers towards it anyway, he doesn’t care if he gets burned, so long as he can touch their soft petals, hold their fingers, keep them close to his heart.

Love-struck.
u-kiss; kevin/kibum; g; 303 words.

The feeling arrived so naturally that Kevin couldn’t say when it first appeared. The first time he noticed it, he had stumbled up the steps the same time Kibum was coming down them, and he caught him before he could take a nosedive. Kibum’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, his arm bone smacking his collarbone. Kevin’s foot snagged against the step but he stopped going forward, caught mid-fall in a web of Kibum’s arms.

He looked up and their noses bumped. Kibum’s came out in a surprised whoosh that smelled like cafeteria food. Their eyes met, and there was a beat of silence before Kevin pulled back with a start, righting himself with a foot on an upper stair. His heart slammed against his ribcage, against Kibum’s arm, before he withdrew them.

“Um, thanks,” Kevin smiled, embarrassed. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks. “I owe you one.”

Kibum smiled. “It’s all good,” they pulled away, going their separate ways, but when he got to the top of the stairs he had to stop and take deep breaths to stop shaking. His skin is still flushed when he gets to the dance studio, and when he gets there he has to sit down on the floor. His heart is still beating way too fast for it to be anything but love.

He swallows so hard that it hurts, clenches his hands into fists so tight that they shake, and relaxes them again. He looks up into his reflection and stares into his own eyes until he has to look away because all he can see is Kibum’s. Then he gives a little sigh, that releases something behind his rib cage, and stands up.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but he’s pretty sure his heart was just stolen by another man.

Tired of Waiting.
snsd; Seohyun/Jessica; g; 324 words.

There are three blocks between their apartment and the nearest convenience store. If you manage to cross the streets before the crosswalk changes to red, it takes seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds to get to it. If you hit them both when they change to red, it’ll take eight minutes and forty seconds. If you hit only one of them with a red light, it will take only seven minutes and two seconds.

Seohyun sits on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, and pretends not to notice that it’s gone way past the time by almost half an hour. She should have expected it, sending Jessica out into the world to wander alone. Because she knows that Jessica is going to be distracted by the candy shop on the corner, that she’s going to go stop by the dress shop. She might pick up a new pair of shoes, or maybe a scarf, because it’s nearly winter and the air is turning bitterly cold.

She knows that Jessica is going to pick up things they don’t need, things Seohyun won’t eat, but Jessica will. She taps her fingernail against her book and wonders if she should ask her to buy her a sweet potato. Too late, she reaches for her phone, as the front door opens and Jessica comes through, slipping off her shoes. Her arms are full of bags, which she’s more than happy to plop on the floor.

“Hi,” Jessica smiles, sliding her socked feet over the wood until she’s right behind Seohyun, who angles her head to look up at her.

“What took you, unnie?” She asks, lifting a hand to slip a wayward hair behind Jessica’s ear.

“I was sidetracked,” Jessica smiles, and leans down to give her a kiss. “But I got ice cream,” she whispers against her chin. Seohyun smiles against the curve of her lips, and raises a hand to cup the back of her neck.

Hot and Cold.
Miss A; Min/Suzy; g; 407 words.

Suzy has cold hands. They’re always cold, even when slicked with summer sweat, even after rubbing them together as fast as she can and holding them under a blow dryer. Her grandma says she has small veins. She hates them, how stiff her knuckles are when she folds them slowly, one after the other until her hands curl into fists. She flexes them open again, and hides them in her pockets. She doesn’t think anyone will ever want to hold hands with someone with cold hands, because they come off as mean. Unpleasant.

She wants to be anything but that, but first impressions tell all.

Her outfit was carefully ironed and pressed the night before to make sure there are no wrinkles. In the morning, she carefully straightens and prepares her hair against the elements. She even prepares for the morning rain, which pours down against her umbrella as she runs from her taxi into the office building. She fixes her make up and her hair and makes sure she has a smile that can please anyone before she steps back into that tiled floor and walks up to the receptionist and gives the most confident appearance she can, even though her heart throbs so loudly in her chest that she’s sure that everyone can hear it.

“Miss Lee will see you now, Ma’am,” the receptionist says and Suzy takes a deep breath before entering the clean office, bowing low before even daring to look up.

“Hello, you must be Miss Suzy Bae, right?” Lee Minyoung stands up when she enters and holds out her hand for Suzy to take. Suzy’s heart leaps a moment, because her hands are cold. Freezing, even.

It takes her a second to take it, but when she does, she does so with an apologetic smile. “Yes, nice to meet you.” Min’s hand is warm, oh so warm, and when she pulls hers away, the warmth stays in place, making her hand throb, ache with the warmth.

“You have cold hands,” Minyoung says, with a grin, as she sits back in the seat behind the desk and crosses her legs. “I mean my hands are always warm, so it’s nice, to have someone with cold hands for once.”

Suzy blinks, “Really? My hands are always so cold,” she exclaims, and then she breaks off with an apologetic smile. “I mean, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minyoung smiles, and it might just be the warmest smile Suzy has ever seen. “I like it.”

The interview goes so smoothly that Minyoung hires her on the spot, and Suzy walks outside and is almost surprised that the weather’s still pouring rain, and then she runs out in it, leaving the umbrella behind. Even after she’s returned home and has dried off, her hand is still warm from where Minyoung shook it the first time.

f.t island; missing person; jonghun/hongki.

augmenti — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 07:28:40 GMT

missing person.
jonghun/hongki; pg-13;
hongki walks out of destiny, and jonghun follows shortly after. character death warning.

Hongki dies a day after Jonghun realises just how soft his skin is under his fingers. After his heart flares with something he thought he forgot, after their lips melt together like magic. Hongki laughs, breathless, against the pillow, when he holds him tight and comes against his flushed skin, when he kisses him, when he forgets about everything else but the way his eyes seem to take in everything else.

Hongki dies, and Jonghun doesn’t quite know what to do. He plays guitar until his fingers get blisters. He drinks until he throws up every night, and then he wakes up and does it all over again. He listens to every album and every song they ever produced, all day, every day, and closes his eyes. He listens to Hongki sing and tries to imagine him right there, holding his hand, caressing his cheek.

He wonders why he even tried, when he opens his eyes. He wonders why he isn’t blind, why he even thought for a moment, that Hongki was still alive and well and there, whispering in his ear and holding him so closely that he could hear his heartbeat. He wonders why he sleeps. He wonders why he wakes up.

He smiles at the other members when he wakes up and then wonders why he does it. He gets dressed and wonders why he’s wearing the shirt that Hongki liked most. He wonders why he gets on a stage again, when Hongki’s voice isn’t accompanying Jaejin’s anymore. Why it’s only Seunghyun, no one else.

He looks in the mirror and wonders why he’s still there, alone, his heart slow in his chest. He wonders why he walks forward, why his skin has color, why he’s breathing. He wonders why he can feel when Seunghyun sits next to him and touches his hand.

“It’ll be okay, hyung,” Seunghyun says, squeezing with a smile that’s so sad, but so encouraging. Jonghun wants to return it.

“I know,” he says, and turns to his guitar. His guitar, which he plays and plays, but he can’t hear it anymore, he can only hear Hongki’s voice, a recording, in his ear. He can feel his whisper with the wind, waiting. When he plays the piano, Hongki’s on the bench next to him.

Jonghun wants to cry, wants to apologize, wants to bring him back. He needs him, loves him, can’t live without him, and it drives him mad. He throws all the CD’s out the window and throws the DVD’s in the trash. He smashes his guitar in his room a day later, and then he sits there holding it, caressing the wood which isn’t nearly as soft as Hongki’s skin.

He closes his eyes and he remembers Hongki’s laugh against his skin, remembers how warm his hand is, remembers his kiss against his mouth. He remember happiness, with Hongki, and now he has no heart. Because Hongki is gone and this is all that’s left, and no matter what the others do, no matter how many hugs, no matter how many smiles or pats or handholds or words, he can’t keep marching onwards.

He used to think he was strong, but he’s always known otherwise and so did Hongki.

The fall wind is strong as it rips through his clothes from atop the roof. The world below him is chaotic, the wind makes his fingers numb. He drops sheet music, drops Hongki’s picture. He closes his eyes and the world tilts, twists, fails.

It’s over before he remembers it, the fall, the twisting, horrible wrench in his stomach. The wind is like a breath against his cheeks, too soft, and then -

Everything disappears.

note: based roughly off of the 0330 mv by u-kiss.

ss501; backstage pass; hyunjoong/kyujong.

augmenti — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 01:58:28 GMT

backstage pass.
hyunjoong/kyujong; nc-17; 827 w
overlapping promotional activities lead to one thing. pwp.

The straps of Kyujong’s suspenders hang down off his shoulders, low on his waist, as Hyunjoong pulls at his beltloops, pulling him against him. Hot breath tickles his cheeks as Hyunjoong holds him there against the changing room wall, foreheads touching. His own fingers tangle in carefully styled hair. Kyujong wipes at Hyunjoong’s foundation with his thumb before he kisses him, soft at first, but it quickly turns desperate. He pulls back just enough to gasp for air and catch Hyunjoong’s gaze.

Hyunjoong is smiling. He can feel it curling under his mouth, feel the joy and desperation clinging to his fingers as he slowly unbuttons his pants. Kyujong’s fingers slip down to the collar of his stage jacket and he pulls. Hyunjoong only moves his hands long enough to drop it to the floor.

“I missed you,” he says, cupping his cheek and leaning down to his mouth, kissing at his throat. Kyujong swallows, and Hyunjoong’s tongue laps at the perspiration gathering at on his Adam's apple. Kyujong closes his eyes, feelings stirring in his gut and setting his skin on fire. He unbuttons his undershirt, lets it fall to the ground.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he dips his head to kiss Hyunjoong on the temple, then the cheek, and then lifts his chin to kiss his lips. Hyunjoong slips his hand down his pants and finds his cock, already half hard. He feels his smirk as he grasps it, flicks the head with his thumb. He swallows his gasp of pleasure that runs through to his teeth, and holds him up when his knees feel like they’re going to go weak. He smells cologne and hair products and the two scents shouldn’t mix well, but Hyunjoong’s cologne is soft as honey and he can taste it on his skin when he kisses his neck.

Hyunjoong twists his knee in between his legs and presses with his thigh, and he can feel the thigh muscles flex against his cock, and he gasps into his ear, low and husky and so unlike him, but he missed this more than he could have told anyone - because it’s a secret. It’s always been a secret. Needy kisses in the dark, touches behind the camera, smiles with hidden meanings and subtle phrasing that means so much more than what they appear.

A finger slips down the base of his cock and he tenses, his hips acting of their own accord and flexing against Hyunjoong. His arms flail backwards to grab on to anything but find nothing but air until Hyunjoong catches him with his mouth. He grabs his biceps and holds so hard that his nails leave marks. Hyunjoong’s hand palms at the soft spot between his balls and his dick and he sees stars. He digs his nails into his skin a little harder just to hear the catch of his breath.

Hyunjoong kisses his hair and whispers in his ear, “I love you,” and that’s as much as he can take, holding on to nothing and everything at once when he comes in his hand. His hips flex up and he buries his face in Hyunjoong’s shoulder and lets him hold him, lets him breathe heavily against his neck, and when he catches his breath, he drops to his knees bonelesly.

He pulls Hyunjoong’s pants down and takes his already hard cock in his mouth and it doesn’t take long. He swirls with his tongue like he’s done a thousand times and Hyunjoong holds him by the hair, and the shoulders, and anything else he can reach. Kyujong slips his tongue up his cock and tongues the head and the only warning he gets is a tightening of his fingers in his hair when he comes.

He swallows with difficulty, blinking back stars and all else and Hyunjoong sags to the ground next to him, eyes half-lidded and his smile more pleased than he’s seen it in a long time. Kyujong sits back against the opposite wall and their hands meet between. He squeezes his hand like the lifeline it is, and they listen to each other breathing.

“I really do,” Hyunjoong says after a while, quietly.

“Mmm?” Kyujong asks, looking up from where he was watching the rise and fall of Hyunjoong’s chest.

“Love you,” Hyunjoong leans forward and grabs one of the suspenders still around his waist. He pulls him forward into a slow kiss that makes something that he thought was gone stir in the base of his stomach. Hyunjoong’s smile is almost too bright when they pull away, and he strokes his cheek with the soft part of his thumb.

Kyujong lifts a hand to cover the one on his cheek, smiling softly. His chest explodes in a brilliant supernova of pinks and blues and purples, and he turns his head to kiss his hand. “I love you too.” He’s never meant anything more in his life.

note: i jumped ahead. they haven't even performed the same day yet, but i couldn't resist. running away to write things with plot now :(

2pm; various meme responses; chanho, chankhun.

augmenti — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 22:59:22 GMT

Lazy Afternoon.
2pm; chankhun; 544 w; reposted from here

“Hyung,” Chansung says one evening after work, while they’re getting some much needed quiet time. He twists around from his place on the floor next to Nichkhun’s knee to stare up at him. Nichkhun makes a noncommittal noise, not so much as glancing up from his magazine. Chansung nudges his foot, and he finally gives in and meets his gaze.

“Yes?”

“I like you,” Chansung says, turning around all the way and facing him, legs crossed, staring up at him from the floor to while Nichkhun’s seated on the couch. Nichkhun’s heart jumps from his chest to his throat, which is definitely not healthy.

“What?” He asks, clearing his throat.

“I like you,” Chansung repeats, raising himself up on his knees and grabbing for his hand. Nichkhun lets him take it because Chansung’s hands are always so warm. It looks like a confession, or a proposal, and the comparison makes his heart thud against his ribcage. “Like, I like you, hyung.” He enunciates carefully, as though he knows how hard it is for him to understand this concept, especially since he’s Chansung.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” he finds himself whispering, unable to hear the words leave his lips. “I mean, you flirt with all of the girls.”

“No I don’t,” Chansung frowns, hurt. “I just talk to them.” He takes a few seconds to compose himself, and then he seems to get his will back and tries again. “Anyway, I - I’m not gay.” He’s swallowing hard.

“But you just -” Nichkhun shuts up when Chansung takes his other hand and envelopes them with his own.

“I like you, because you’re you.” He rephrases. “I just like you, is that okay?”

“Um, yes?” He says, quirking his head to the side. “So you’re not gay?”

“No,” Chansung says, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Hyung, why don’t you get it?” He asks with the most literal version of a frowny face Nichkhun’s ever seen. “I don’t like Wooyoung, or Taecyeon, or Jinwoonie, or anyone else. Not even Seohyun, okay?”

“You can’t not like Seohyun,” Nichkhun frowns.

“That’s not the point,” Chansung says. “Okay, I like her but not like this,” he swallows, lifting Nichkhun’s hands up to his mouth and placing a quick peck against his knuckles. He drops the hands right after, as though scalded.

Nichkhun’s stomach twists with something he can’t really put his finger on, but it’s not unpleasant. Chansung’s never unpleasant.

“Do you like me more than mangoes?”

“Yes.” Chansung doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t even blink.

“Bananas?” Nichkhun’s eyebrows rise above his hairline, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Yes!” He pauses. “Okay maybe not, but I still love you.”

“Love me?”

Chansung freezes, his teeth closing hard on his tongue. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Oh, good.” Nichkhun smiles, and dips down to place a quick kiss on Chansung’s brow before withdrawing one hand and turning back to his magazine.

“Hyung?” Chansung’s eyes search his as earnestly as a puppy. “Are you...?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nichkhun mutters, pointing at a pair of pants that hug the model’s thighs all the way down his legs. “You’d look really good in these, Chansungie.”

Love over homophobia.
chansung/junho; 1200 w; Originally here

Homophobia. It’s a problem that has bothered Junho for a long time. There are countless quotes about it, how only homo-sapiens are homophobic, how only people choose to hate, how only people have wars. He’s not the wisest of people, he knows this for sure, but he’s also not a douche bag, not when it counts. He’s not homophobic.

“I’m not homophobic,” he says, looking directly at the camera in an interview.

“So are you gay?” The interviewer asks, forward.

Junho opens his mouth to respond, and mulls over his answer a second too long. He doesn’t like to deal with definitives. He’s witnessed situations that happen where the straightest person can fall in love with someone of the same gender. But does he qualify them as gay?

Nichkhun nudges him in the elbow.

“I’m not,” he says with an easy smile.

After the interview, the producer sighs at him and claps him on the back. “We’ll edit that last question out, okay?”

“Why?” Junho asks, raising an eyebrow above his hairline as he wipes foundation off his cheek.

“We want to avoid rumors, Junho-ssi,” the man says in a matter of fact tone, and then Chansung ropes his arm around Junho’s neck and pulls him along towards the changing room with him. Chansung’s arm is warm against his back, his hand his heavy on his shoulder. He leans against him ever so slightly as they walk along in silence.

“Do you think I’m homophobic?” He asks, sullen. He keeps getting asked the same questions, over and over again.

“Who, you?” Chansung laughs, mussing his hair with a warm hand. “Yeah right,” he snorts. “If you were I couldn’t do this,” he says and slobbers all over his cheek.

“Ewww, gross!” Junho jerks out of his hold and wipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. Chansung takes off down the hallway after the other members with a bark of a laugh. “Chansung-yah!” He shouts, tearing off after him and leaping on his back when he catches up.

It shouldn't bother him so much, that one interview, but it still does, weeks later. He’s watching Chansung filming for his part in a cf shooting with a can of coke in one hand. Chansung is being all sorts of suave and cool and the complete opposite of himself. Or he is until he sees Junho watching and grins at him with a smile that shoots sunshine into his heart. Junho dribbles coke down his front when he smiles back, much to the disdain of the stylist.

It’s this moment, while getting his clothes urgently patted down because they’re worth more than his entire life savings, that he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have told the camera that he isn’t gay, after all.

It’s not like doesn’t believe in boundaries. Gay people are gay and straight people are straight, and he can be friends with both and even if he doesn’t see exactly what they like, it usually doesn’t bother him. But then the grey lines start to blur, and he starts to think he’s probably in trouble when he gets himself off in the shower while thinking of Chansung. He tries to get off to someone else, like Yuri, or Hyosung, or even Lee Hyori, but it doesn’t work. His mind keeps wandering back to Chansung.

But he’s Lee Junho, and he’s not allowed to be gay. That’s what he told the cameras, so that’s what has to be, and it doesn’t matter if he’s dying inside, because he shouldn't be acting like this anyway. He wears his “love not homophobia” shirt and pretends he’s just like anyone else who wants to spread the love, when he really just has no idea what he wants anymore.

One night, he goes drinking with Chansung. It’s probably his biggest mistake in the world, because Chansung is a big huge puppy who can’t hold his drink at all, especially when they go out to bars, since the hard liquor is a classical favorite.

“Come on, you ape,” he says, pulling Chansung along by the crook of his elbow so that he can’t run off into the street.

“I love the stars,” Chansung says, throwing his arms up towards the sky and squinting at it.

“What stars?” Junho asks, cranky because he didn’t even get drunk and he’s already being forced to drag Chansung home. It’s really hard for Chansung to sit still when he’s sober, let alone now, and the effort is just irritating him more than it should.

“I love the city, I love the lights, I love you,” Chansung grins, throwing his arms around Junho and nearly pulling him down to the pavement from the force of his body. He swallows back the joyful hoop rolling in his stomach.

“That’s nice,” Junho grumbles, trying to ignore the blush on his cheeks or how hot Chansung’s breath is or how close his face is - how his huge nose is bumping his cheek. “Oh my god, Chansungie, how much did you drink?”

“Enough,” Chansung singsongs, and plants a kiss on Junho’s cheek with a happy laugh. “I love you!” He sings again, badly. Junho finds himself fighting a smile.

“I love you too,” he mumbles, wrapping an arm around Chansung’s waist to pull him along. “Come on,” he frowns when Chansung anchors himself to the street. “What now?” He asks, looking back.

“You love me?” Chansung’s eyes are huge when they stare at him. Chansung’s body is warm against his when he leans on him.

Junho swallows bile. “You know I do.”

“Then kiss me,” he says. He leans forward more, until all Junho can see is his face. “Do it,” his eyes are warm, his face has a rosy glow from the alcohol. Junho wants nothing more than to lean in and plant a kiss against that happy, anxious smile.

Junho flushes from head to toe, “I don’t want too.” He turns his head away.

“You do,” Chansung’s hands have found his waist. “You really do, I know it.”

Junho closes his eyes and turns his head back to face him.

“Chansung, I’m not...” And then, Chansung’s lips are soft and warm on his, shutting him up before he can stammer out more excuses. His hands spring to Chansung’s shoulders, but he doesn’t pull him away, he even closes his eyes as Chansung pushes his tongue into his mouth and sweeps the roof of his mouth. When he pulls back he even nips at his bottom lip a little.

“There,” Chansung smiles when he pulls away, there's something in his eyes, buried far below the surface of those dark brown eyes. “It’s nice, right?” He grabs Junho’s hand and pulls him along. “You don’t have to be gay, right?” Junho swallows hard, fighting back the lump in his throat.

“Right,” he whispers, and feels like he just might have broken his own heart.

_{note: chansung is too amazing for me to handle, sometimes.}