Graceless
One
pg - 13 to nc - 17 // sehun/chanyeol // ~6k w
photo credit hipslip
music bloodstream (quartet session) by stateless
i've used this song before, i know. but it's just that fucking good.
And I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat
"shake it out" florence and the machine
It's not that Sehoon is a bad friend, but after ten or so hours of being around the same people, he tends to get sick of Luhan's voice. Anymore about China and how it's so far away and I miss my family but I don't want to disappoint them Sehoon is about ready to throw himself under the next train that arrives. As far as he can tell, Luhan is still enumerating the ways in which his home town is perfect and why Sehoon should come visit. Sehoon allows himself to contemplate how many hours he has before he can reunite with his bed.
It will take them a minute to board the last train, including the walk from this bench and Luhan's hand gestures which won't necessarily slow them down but Sehoon's not taking any chances. The train ride itself will take forty-five minutes until Beonchang, where Sehoon is to step off the train first. The walk to the bus terminal from the train station is five to seven minutes, three if Sehoon jogs but God knows that he doesn't hate himself enough for such torture. Two and half hours of modeling, two and a half hours of singing, two hours of acting and three hours of dance training with less than ten minute breaks already riding on his back, even his shadow is nearing defeat.
It should be around a quarter to ten in the evening when he makes it to the bus so the traffic should be forgiving. He'll exit the bus at the multiplex terminal and from there take the Gumiho bus transit lined up by the back. The bus will require at least ten minutes to fill with passengers, Sehoon can take forty winks if he finds a seat, but he doubts the mere possibility of it since he knows that even then he'll be counting down seconds and vehicles speeding past. A woman steps on the bus this time of night and sells garlic roasted nuts. Sehoon pockets his hand and fiddles with the coins at the base, counting to 500W just to make sure he has enough.
If he spends 500W on the bus he'll be short 300W for the pedicab, and despite his craving being satiated by the roasted nuts he'll have to wait five more minutes before washing his feet because they've been working the whole day and washing them immediately will lead to early onset arthritis. Arthritis… all for a bag of 500W garlic roasted peanuts. The choice should be simple, however, now that he thought of the roasted nuts, he goes back to when he last had them, probably two or three days ago, the aromatic scent, the flavorful burst of garlic contrasted with the soft savor of the nuts. This is his life now; rundown constricted to a math-problem-esque dictation and an allowance that contradicts everything that the word allowance should convey because it doesn't allot much… allowance at all.
Sehoon's mouth waters.
Then Luhan's waving hand registers on him, sending him hours early, back to the bench at the train station. Sehoon releases his hand from his pocket and rubs the tip of his nose, his knees bouncing up and down to keep some sort of heat present to oppose the cold. He spins his head to face Luhan, one brow arched.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
Luhan rolls his eyes habitually. He knows how Sehoon can get sometimes and Sehoon is grateful for that. He should appreciate Luhan more. Maybe tomorrow morning after a good night's sleep. "I said," Luhan pokes at Sehoon's cheek. Sehoon smiles and works his tongue to meet with Luhan's fingers when the older male proceeds to force his face in the opposite direction.
Sehoon turns, puzzled.
"You see that guy?" Luhan detaches his finger and wipes the part that Sehoon was able to reach with his tongue.
Sehoon crunches his teeth together. "What guy?"
"The one right beside us, gray beanie."
Sehoon notices the boy huddled in a gigantic scarf, beanie postured low on his head, hair poking from underneath, hands draped in gloves, a bomber jacket hugging him tightly. He sits on the bench a little less elegantly, backpack thwarting his body from direct contact with the frame, his every breath evaporating out of his nostrils is translucent puffs. His knees sit far apart, pushing forward and showcasing how he's way too tall for regular sized benches. His head lolls forward then he jolts awake, eyes bursting to full potential, only to droop back down in the same direction as his head, unhurriedly returning to hang by his giraffe neck.
From his profile his nose seems flat, just a miss of a slope, lips jutting out, colorless. His hand inertly slides down to the bench from his lap, palm facing up. He's fighting against sleep, but he's far from being a connoisseur, which explains why he's being put to shame.
The corner of Sehoon's mouth lifts ever so slightly, eyes narrowing at the boy, a little too candid, a little too pure.
"That's Chanyeol, right?"
"Chan-who?" Sehoon's still sidetracked, examines how the boy permits his head to snap back, clipping his scarf like he would a neck pillow, his jaw relaxing and leaving his mouth to make entry for flies. Sehoon could shoot balls of paper in there from this distance.
"Chanyeol." Luhan hooks an arm over Sehoon's shoulder, scoots closer. "He's the new trainee from earlier. The one who smiles like this--" Luhan slices half his face with a smile, applies a permanent wink and suddenly Sehoon is reminded of the kid. But Luhan's interpretation is greatly exaggerated. Still funny, though.
"That's not him…" Sehoon provides, returning to observe the boy.
"Yeah, it is."
"How can you tell?"
"Because of his face." Luhan deadpans.
"I don't think that's him, hyung."
"You wanna bet on it?"
"I've barely got enough money for garlic roasted peanuts."
Luhan ignores him. "That's Park Chanyeol. I'm certain."
"Fine," Sehoon's mouth drapes to a yawn, face contorting as he lowers his buttocks on the bench and rests his head on Luhan's arm. "Train's late again."
"I'm calling him over."
"What?" Sehoon takes his hand out and smacks Luhan's when he sees it about to wave. "No, you won't, shut up."
"You shut up."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm calling a fellow trainee over." Then Luhan clears his throat, "Park Chanyeol!"
Sehoon shuts his eyes, exhaling harshly. His toes curl in his shoes when he hears Luhan call out for a second time.
"Hey, Park Chanyeol!" The slight shimmy that Luhan's arm gives lets Sehoon know that he's probably waving at the boy. "Come here, man!"
And come he does, Obedient Park Chanyeol. Sehoon debates the advantages of keeping himself still and pretending to be asleep against just welcoming Chanyeol with open arms. Despite himself, Sehoon pries both eyes open when he feels Luhan tug his arm from underneath his nape. Luhan stands up and bows politely and the way Chanyeol bows back, Sehoon is surprised that he even manages to stand up again.
"This is Oh Sehoon." Luhan nudges Sehoon's knee with his own, darting the younger with a look of command.
Sehoon smirks, groans like he's seventy when he brings himself to his feet and bows just the same.
Chanyeol looks pleasantly uncomfortable, out of his element. He bounces on his heels when seconds of silence passes. Sehoon nibbles his bottom lip, nodding his head to the tune of dull music playing in the background of the station. He swerves his head to the end of the tunnel, right above Chanyeol's shoulder.
"Train is late again." Chanyeol comments, following Sehoon's stare.
"We didn't know that you took this route, too. We would have waited for you." Luhan contributes because that's what a good hyung would say. Chanyeol stretches his lips across his face as a response.
Another round of silence, sure, what choice do they have? Sehoon figures it suits the situation best anyway, since they technically did just meet and apparently Sehoon doesn't remember Chanyeol without that oddly formed grin on his face anyway.
Luhan makes it a point to sit next to Chanyeol when they finally realize that they're being idiots just standing there and not claiming the seat behind them. Sehoon scoots down the bench, monitors the butt of the train station sign hanging above his head while contributing half of his attention to Luhan and Chanyeol's much needed small talk.
When Sehoon yawns, not bothering to hide it behind the back of his hand, his sinuses lodge a rush of fluids, the canals of his eyes watering and only then does he bother to clean his face up.
The train comes eventually and they silently file in with the rest of the passengers. They stand somewhere by the middle, the seats around them more or less occupied unless you're into being in a sardines in a can kind of scenario.
Sehoon grips at the overhead handles, leaves most of his weight to depend on the mechanism as he practices sleeping on his feet.
When Chanyeol asks where Luhan is from, Sehoon suppresses a groan slash chuckle bubbling at the base of his throat. He shifts his weight instead and listens to Luhan explain how he's a foreigner just as he did with Sehoon, only with more dramatic phrasings and less pauses since he's practiced the story enough times by now.
Chanyeol is a nice kid. He looks at Luhan in the eyes when he listens, clings to every word Luhan says. He speaks well, has reactions that could easily bode well for him in variety shows, and he has this warmth about him that resembles the better part of innocence.
Then out of nowhere Chanyeol laughs.
It must have been something Luhan said because Luhan's returning the comic sentiments behind his free hand.
Who laughs like that? It's only a few pitches above an 808 drum beat, frequency ostensibly deriving from the tips of his toes, so low but immediate. Shouldn't low laughs follow the rhythm of molasses? Sticky sweet and gliding with the speed of two snails fucking? Instead, Chanyeol's laugh comes like stars flying, it's barely there, yet still noticeable.
Sehoon nips the inside of his mouth, catching bits of flesh between his incisors just to have them snap back against the inner walls, and ponders his own laugh. His mind captures a semblance of it and he decides that it's nothing like Chanyeol's. His gaze lands on Luhan's shoes, not too far from Chanyeol's, Chuck Taylor high cuts, all stylish and shit.
Sehoon has the sudden urge to ask what they were talking about that made Chanyeol laugh, but he doesn't really want to be that guy in the conversation.
It's not difficult to let go. He pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, touching upon the bitten streaks as he stares out the window.
∞
Twenty-five minutes too early, Luhan says goodnight. Sehoon grabs him by the arm because what the fuck, hyung? Chanyeol's eyes are still alien-sized and staring at him and how does he propose to solve this? "What are you doing?" Is all Sehoon manages to ask.
With knitted brows, Luhan reflects the glare on Sehoon's face with less indignation, his one hand palming the outer vicinity of his pocket probably to make sure that his mp3 player is tucked inside. "Going home, is that cool with you?" He tucks his chin back.
"You get off after my stop." Sehoon's voice creeps low like he's passing a secret. Chanyeol, only vaguely perplexed, occupies himself with the hazy glow of the tunnel. Or maybe he really is preoccupied and doesn't care much for other people's business, Sehoon can't tell yet.
"My roommate is out until Monday so I'm staying at my friend's flat for a few days." The train nears the tunnel, preparing to halt. Sehoon wished his own flat held more space. Maybe then his mom won't mind if he brings Luhan home and then they could fall on the same stop and he won't have to deal with Chanyeol.
When Sehoon doesn't loosen his grip on Luhan's arm, he looks over his shoulder at Chanyeol, gives him a look that Sehoon doesn't fully understand, then tugs his arm away, smirking. "What is wrong with you?"
He's known Luhan for a good few months. Surely they've reached the point of their friendship where they could pass messages telepathically. It's his last hope and he's desperate so he squints at Luhan, looking like he just ate a whole lemon.
"The fuck." Luhan laughs and it's only because things are touching the brim of awkward, Sehoon notices. Chanyeol hangs back, smiling then turning away like he knows he isn't needed.
The train finally stills and the announcer states the station, the warnings, then the doors part and Luhan's pushing through the crowd without looking back, earphones being tucked into his ears.
Slowly, Sehoon, retreats to his previous spot, catching an arbitrary handle. He purses his lips, grabs his cell phone and pretends to text. He decides to text his sister for real just because he doesn't have anyone else to text this time of night and he is somehow certain that with Chanyeol's eyes you can't hide behind layers of bullshit. Then he eyes the time and he's got nineteen more minutes to kill. When he finally decides to just suck it up and realize that he doesn't find people difficult at all, he looks up.
Chanyeol has his cellphone out, too. He's texting something with one hand, head bent low in concentration. Sehoon looks left and right, stretches his neck then sighs. Chanyeol looks up, placing his cellphone in his back pocket as he offers Sehoon a polite smile.
Sehoon frowns. "You should put that in your front pocket."
Chanyeol pauses, his arm still stretched back where he's forcing his phone in his pocket.
"Can't be too safe." Sehoon shrugs.
"Ah, yeah. Thanks." Chanyeol stuffs it in his jacket pocket instead.
Sehoon wants to throw more advice at Chanyeol, like be a bit more smart please and keep your cellphone in your bag or something to that effect. It never comes. He lands on a smile with his eyes almost closed. Chanyeol gives one back, just a bit more tight lipped.
"Where are you getting off?" Sehoon swings on his toes just to keep himself awake.
"Beongchan."
Shit. "Oh. Me, too." Sehoon supplies with just the right amount of formality. But Chanyeol's right eye twitches briefly. There should be many reasons for why Chanyeol's eye decided to twitch at that one moment, so why is Sehoon suddenly so positive that it had something to do with him?
"Yes. I wait at the terminal behind the multiplex."
Sehoon's tongue peaks from beneath the upper row of his teeth. "I see. I ride the Gumiho transit."
"I take Haneul."
Sehoon doesn't outwardly sigh in relief at that.
Sehoon isn't always this socially pressed with people. He likes people just fine. He's just past civil and always has been when it's late and he has to take two busses and walk and he can't even afford fucking garlic roasted nuts so, yes, he feels that some of this aloofness is well deserved. Not so much on Chanyeol's part since he's being really accommodating, but more on Sehoon's. It's just unfortunate for Chanyeol to be here.
"What year were you born in?"
Sehoon snaps his head up so quick, he gets dizzy. "Nineteen ninety-four."
Chanyeol's bottom lip overtakes his upper lip, nodding. "I'm nineteen ninety-two. Do you mind speaking informally?"
"Not at all."
"Good."
They speak more after that, nothing ultimately substantial. They converse about the basics, SM castings and all, and find out that they were casted in the same year. Chanyeol has participated in contests, something about modeling. Sehoon was an ulzzang.
"I think I saw you around before." Chanyeol submits meditatively. "But I can't be too sure."
"Yeah, I look like a lot of people."
Sehoon only halfheartedly laughs after he's finished listening to Chanyeol do so.
A seat is vacated behind Chanyeol. Sehoon stares at it like it's a gazelle and he's a lion or whatever else that preys on gazelles. All this routine smiling on an empty stomach and sleep deprivation, it can take a toll on you. And the more Sehoon wipes his face of misguided tears the more his head weighs, too much for his neck, for his entire body.
For a second he makes eye contact with Chanyeol and readies himself for the offer. That simple, "Do you wanna--?" while holding his hand out in the direction of the seat. And Sehoon prepares himself by mentally sticking to his mind that he should always say no the first time. But his anticipated offer never comes as Chanyeol directs it at the middle-aged woman standing behind Sehoon.
The woman thanks Chanyeol and Chanyeol smiles back like his life depends on it. When he turns back around, Sehoon's pretending to text again.
∞
They step off the train and it's another version of small talk. "The floors are slippery," Chanyeol comments so Sehoon says, "Not with the right shoes," and feels like a genius in disguise. He doubts himself in this exchange, though. He thinks he can do better, say better things, and make more existential comments not just about the floor. Take that poster by the right for example, an advertisement about Tuna that's meant to help consumers lose weight. Sehoon can make an observation out loud, something clever and pretend like he never meant for anyone to hear it, but Chanyeol would be there and he'd laugh again because he'd appreciate it.
Instead Sehoon swipes a droplet of sweat from his forehead, senses the wideness and feels the urge to stare at Chanyeol's just to see if his is bigger. Chanyeol's shoes squeak the entire way to the bus stop. He was wearing the right shoes, Sehoon thinks.
∞
Another question of etiquette arises when they enter the bus. Most of the seats are occupied yet there's one at the front that is left for just one more. As a contrast, there's a seat at the back that has room for two. Chanyeol is right behind Sehoon and Sehoon's trying to be calm about this dilemma.
He doesn't like the back of the bus, doesn't like the air-conditioning or the lighting or the motion of the bus when it halts. He makes a decision without a second's notice, walking forward and trying to consider how it would seem if he took the seat in front. It's just that Sehoon doesn't know how it will go with Chanyeol. He doesn't know if they are ever going to see each other again. The fact that they have been placed into the same training group now could be something to base his decision on.
Sehoon walks to the seat at the back. At least he gets the window seat.
The bus ride is much quieter and they're both more blatant about being exhausted. Chanyeol yawns with Sehoon this time.
Sehoon wants to rifle through his bag and reach for his mp3 player but then again that would be a gesture that shows Chanyeol that he's closing himself off. He waits until Chanyeol does something similar but all Chanyeol does is take his phone out and text then he's back to staring at the seat frame in front of him.
Out of the woodwork Chanyeol speaks through yet another yawn, "Luhan's a bit of a talker, huh?"
And it's not even a joke. Or remotely funny. But Sehoon finds himself smacking his thighs and running out of air from laughing like he's never heard anything funnier. Maybe in the back of his mind he was thinking the same thing.
When he calms down, Chanyeol is smiling even through his bafflement and Sehoon wants to laugh some more but suppresses it so he chokes on his breath then coughs.
"I know he's your friend, I don't mean to sound offensive." Chanyeol amends.
"No, I get what you mean." Sehoon supplies, rubbing his eyes. "He's just lonely. I would be, too."
"Yeah." Chanyeol agrees. "I think that's admirable of him. Being able to stay in a different place, away from his family. I think it's important, too."
Sehoon scratches his left knee and waits for Chanyeol to continue.
"To live in a place away from where you grew up. For some part of your life or. I think it helps."
"Helps what?"
"Mm?"
"Helps how, I mean?" Sehoon scratches his forearm and then it dawns on him that he's probably going to get some sleep on the Gumiho transit later because he's itching in the usual places he would when sleep is just about ready to curl in his mind.
"Culture awareness?" Chanyeol replies unsure. "Or just independence." Chanyeol's voice drags and it makes for some odd contrasts, wispy clouds that weigh tons or something.
Sehoon rests his head on the frame, arching his brows to keep his eyes open. He crosses his arms. "I don't think I could do that."
"You and your family close?"
"My mom likes to think so. And it's not natural for us to be apart for a long time." Sehoon's eyes are slowly drooping closed.
"My parents didn't think this was a good idea at first." Sehoon suddenly feels obligated to keep his eyes open. He thinks that this is important, to be at the receiving end of something that doesn't come naturally. Sehoon believes that Chanyeol isn't the most readable person. Everything about him says otherwise just because he seems so open, so ready for the taking or something. Maybe it is just because he has some of the most humungous eyes Sehoon has ever seen or maybe it's because he smiles like he's still biting his tongue.
Chanyeol eventually offers questions and then answers them and Sehoon's just there, nodding, eyelids bearing an entire country but he stays awake, stays aware.
∞
They arrive at the multiplex minutes earlier than Sehoon anticipated. Chanyeol tells him a story about the bathrooms and this girl that is just his friend. Sehoon knows that Chayeol's probably lying, that she was probably something more, probably still is, but he doesn't see anything interesting coming from that spectrum of the conversation should he choose to steer it that way.
Chanyeol calls him by his first name before they separate at the transit terminal. Sehoon thinks nothing of it, "Yeah?"
Chanyeol asks for his cellphone number and Sehoon wants to ask why but he doesn't. He punches his number on Chanyeol's phone, back aching to find a seat on the bus, half his wits already there. He checks his number again, nods, then hands the phone back. Chanyeol calls him again just to make sure he spelled his name right before saving it on his phone. Sehoon could have easily corrected it tomorrow or whenever he decides to go through Chanyeol's phone which is never. He helps Chanyeol with it anyway, and it only takes him two more minutes to climb the bus, find a seat somewhere around the middle, and finally embrace the quiet.
If the woman ever came on the bus to sell garlic roasted peanuts, Sehoon would never know. He falls asleep even before the bus gets on the highway.
∞
Sehoon is hopping into a sock at six thirty in the morning, shoulder relating with the wall on his way to the kitchen.
He greets his mom good morning and sticks his tongue out at his younger sister seated at the table. He aims for the fridge, unclasping a bottle of water from inside and drinking half of it.
"Just take it with you," His mom instructs and he retaliates with how they were not allowed to take food from the outside into the building, even water. "Then sit down, I'm making banana spring rolls."
Banana, fried sugar and jackfruit steam disperses in the air, but it doesn't help soothe the look on Sehoon's face when he glances at his watch. "I'm going to be late."
"Then wait for a second, I'll let you take these with you." His mother flips the spring rolls on the raw side and Sehoon thinks that will take two more minutes and that feels nothing short of an eternity when you're in a hurry and you already have thirty seconds to put on your shoes.
So he dashes past his sister, tests his lightning fast speed by taking three of the rolls on her plate, his other hand taking a plastic bag from the drawers, and he's out of the kitchen. If he doesn't debut, he at least has a promising future in being a pick pocket. Life isn't so unfair.
If Sehoon were to wake up earlier, he'd have to sleep earlier for his regular six hours but seeing as he comes home a little after eleven and only gets to bed before midnight, he is left with no choice than to race against the clock.
If it's some kind of disorder to be so time conscious then Sehoon should be locked up somewhere. He's been counting down seconds since a year ago. Before this he was actually pretty lenient in school. He didn't give himself tight schedules or quotas and he got scolded for that more times than one.
It was only when the trainers of the company told him that his aspirations would mean nothing if he allows himself to be lazy did he really find the willpower to keep himself on track, all the time. And it has been working for him ever since. He has even managed to jog to the beat of the seconds ticking, one step, two step, three step.
He decides that the train would be best for when he eats the banana spring rolls, more inertia with the tracks and all, but as soon as he steps into the cramped space, his mouth is dry. He should have taken that bottle of water with him and drank everything before entering the building.
He eats one of the spring rolls anyway, mouth even drier after the first two bites.
He checks his cellphone after a distinguishable vibrate from his pocket, some of the oil from his snack printing on the screen because of his thumb. He swipes the screen while the message loads. From the blurry, oil strewn mess he makes out an unregistered number and the first two words of the message.
"Good morning." Sehoon mumbles out loud, the banana spring roll caught in his mouth as he uses both hands to hold his phone. "This is Chanyeol hyung." Sehoon sneers. "Luhan has no credits and is asking me to text you where you are. We are at practice room D, floor 4 today. Take care on your commute."
Sehoon presses buttons on his phone to save Chanyeol's number. When he's asked to type the name down he realizes that he doesn't know how to the spell the yeol part of his name.
He goes back to the message and reads Chanyeol's name, saves his number then replies with where he is and that he'll be there in less than an hour.
Chanyeol must sleep for only five and half hours, considering that he's at the building a lot earlier.
∞
"I hate being a trainee." Baekhyun downs the last of his overpriced bottled water, crunching the plastic in his hands before chucking it at the horizon. It probably hits a street lamp or a cab below.
They got a tip about the rooftop being vacant this time of the afternoon. Usually a pass card is swiped by the exit to deactivate the lock but the machine was busted years ago and no one ever bothered to fix it. No one ever dared come up after the suicide anyway, even the fire exits were tainted.
Sehoon doesn't know whether he should thank the suicide cases, or be worried about literally following their paths. He probably shouldn't thank them.
"Maybe I should have just joined a fraternity." Baekhyun stretches his limbs back and faces Sehoon. "Should I have joined a fraternity?"
"So you can debut as a douche?" He pretends to aim a fist at Beakhyun's stomach. Baekhyun sends his hands down to shield the region, dodging away.
"It'll probably take less. Maybe all I have to do is give my first born then I'm in the brotherhood."
"You're not quitting."
"I'm not gonna quit, I'm not stupid. I just," With both his hands, Baekhyun holds one higher than the other, then alternates between the two as if suggesting both options to be tangible. "what if."
No, there is nothing assuring about being a trainee. Just because they were under one of the most prestigious talent agencies in the country does not make them a shoe in for success, to be on the walls of every teenage girl, to be on every music show, to be the star of many fan fictions on various sites, to be the apple of billions of pairs of eyes, to be destined for greatness.
Being chosen is different from being special.
"Don't you think it's sad, though?" Baekhyun proceeds, "To be this passionate and then once we debut no one's gonna see any of it?"
"See any of what?"
"This," He makes a vague gesture back and forth. "The gap between before and after. This part where were never asleep but never really awake."
Sehoon holds his own bottle of water steady in his hands, promptly contemplating the difficulties of keeping it before the halfway mark when it's sunset. Another sip won't hurt, he decides finally, parched. "We see it."
Baekhyun is too lost in his thoughts to recognize Sehoon's reply. Sehoon doesn't feel like repeating himself. "I found a place to stay, by the way."
A week ago, Baekhyun came to Sehoon with the dilemma of his family having to move back to the province, leaving him with very little opportunity to remain in their flat. He asked Sehoon if he could stay at his place for the time being, just before he found a place that was much cheaper. Sehoon, of course, couldn't give him an answer right away. Even if it was his own mother that said no, he still feels sorry for the way things turned out.
Sehoon thinks that his empathy is a sin sometimes. Empathy, naturally, is a quality praised, although for Sehoon, his empathy provided two sides. It worked both ways for him, the keen sense to put yourself in someone else's shoes. So, of course, you would want to make things easier for the person that you are empathizing with, but it could always go both ways. Depending on the person who was in front of you, your empathy could make you want to be there for them, or see if your prediction, should you side with your insensitivity, is accurate. Curious quality, that empathy.
"Chanyeol has a flat all to himself. And a couch. He takes the same route as you apparently."
"You're rooming with Chanyeol?"
"He offered." Baekhyun plays with his fingers, scruffs off nonexistent dirt.
"That was nice of him."
"What's your read on that guy?"
Sehoon takes another sip of his water, dissatisfied in his lack of discipline. "I've only hung out with him once."
"Too early to tell?"
"Way too early."
"He doesn't seem like the type to murder me in my sleep though, right?"
"I don't think he has the steady hands for that." That worked well. It was both a compliment and a shot to Chanyeol's lack of grace.
"Good. I saw a picture of his flat just today. He's gonna show it to me later. You should come."
First of all, the commute to his house already takes him almost two hours. To add a detour would just keep him further from his bed and his sleeping hours would be cut down and he won't even have time to snatch anything off his sister's plate in the morning. Pathetically, Sehoon replies, "No."
"I know it throws off your whole schedule, but jeez. I can't just go there and not be awkward around him. We need middle ground."
"I'm not middle ground, what the hell." Sehoon smirks, tossing his bottle from one hand to the other. "Besides, I just met the guy. Another person won't make things less awkward between you two."
"Yes, of course it will. It's the rules of social… everything." Baekhyun punches Sehoon's shoulder lightly and Sehoon doesn't understand why he thinks that that would be a good addition to a favor. "Better probability for conversation starters."
"Probability, ooooh." Sehoons unhelpfully concludes. He earns himself a smack to the shoulder.
"Come on, I'd do the same for you."
"Really, hyung."
"Really."
"I'll buy you those roasted peanuts you like so much."
Sehoon is only flesh and blood. How could he ever refuse?
∞
Baekhyun's cousin owns an arsenal of guns for airsoft. He's tried it once, a pellet shot between his armor and he had a button sized bruise to prove it, healed months ago. Chanyeol's dad had the same hobby, but after half a year gave it up because he was losing money and time, gotten so addicted to the game he lost track of reality. Chanyeol never tried it. He was too scared of feeling what his father felt, falling into the same trap.
Beakhyun understands. His father was a captain of a ship-- "Yeah, pirates exist, are you kidding?"-- tore a ligament behind his shin during a storm. He was stuck on what he lost so he drank a flood of alcohol because he thought the wave would wash away the taste of the sea. His parents divorced eventually, Baekhyun went with his mother. His father is still alive, self loathing here and there. He calls sometimes but his mother is never ready to talk to him again. Baekhyun has dreams about being his father one day and driving the people that he loves the most at wits end. He's never told anyone that before.
Chanyeol thinks that hardships are what make a man whole. Chanyeol admits how he's being bullied at school. He doesn't fight back, he tries to be the bigger person even when his things are being thrown in the fountain or his lunch is being compromised, he keeps his calm and waits until it's all over.
Baekhyun thinks he should fight.
Chanyeol says karma always comes back around.
And Sehoon is standing with his hip connected to the sink, a hand deep in his pocket, watching the two boys seated on the couch a foot away and he wonders what the fuck am I even doing here still?
He's been holding an empty glass for thirty-seven minutes now, the contents already one with his insides and he thinks that it's getting late. He rotates his ankles, places the glass down and tries a yawn that's loud enough to reach the pair on the couch. They don't even spare him a glance. Sehoon scoffs.
He crosses the flat and excuses himself, says how it's late, says how he has to go.
Of course Baehkyun tries to get him to stay, Chanyeol just nodding along with him. They tell him to sleep over but Sehoon gets it, okay. He doesn't need his feelings to be spared. They didn't need him anymore, the middle ground.
He declines the offer to sleep over mainly because there's one couch and Baekhyun can be really pushy sometimes so that couch will be his and the ground that Sehoon is standing on doesn't seem so comfortable.
Before he leaves, Baekhyun talks to him by the door and thanks him. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep over? It's pretty late."
"I'd rather not get in the way." Sehoon swallows a yawn, shoulders the blow of Baekhyun's teasing shove.
"Your call."
∞
On the weekdays, because Sehoon has school, he only arrives at SM before eleven pm, which means that he should be thankful that the company reduces his practice hours to four and distributes them alternately throughout the five days. Sleep bears a resemblance to a wispy breath taken then exhaled-- it's another day ready to be conquered.
Some nights, Sehoon can't sleep. He lies on his back, drills his stare on the ceiling and counts dust particles shadowed by his window. If he keeps still until he counts to forty-four, he can pretend that he's paralyzed, that it ends here.
And he asks himself if it's okay, to be useless but get all the sleep he wants.
He wiggles his toes. He's okay.
∞
If Sehoon stretches inches more a dislocation shouldn't be out of reach. For some reason, he finds groaning is a qualified pain reliever.
Minutes away from dance practice, Sehoon is in the corridor with a few more early trainees. He's positioned on the floor, legs extended in front of him, parted to make way for his torso as he bends forward with his arms over his head. The base of his back cracks pending air and Sehoon hasn't even reached toe altitude yet.
Somewhere in the distance he thinks he hears Baekhyun running down the corridor, calling his name. He doesn't move and waits until Baekhyun is near enough because he's not going to have a conversation when he's in the middle of remedying his posture and Baekhyun is jogging up to him breathless.
Warm hands cup his shoulder blades, "Hyung--" his sentence cut short when he's being eased further down, face inching near the floor, the column of his spine elongating.
A weight sets somewhere along the hub of his spine and he recognizes it as Baekhyun sitting on top of him just to help the stretch further.
Sehoon finally makes it with his nose scarcely touching the floor. He closes his eyes, counts to eight then nudges Baekhyun off him. He rolls his spine back progressively and it's like he's been born again. A pair of legs distorts his line of vision. He blinks up at the figure and recognizes Baekhyun, hands planted on his waist, smiling down at him.
Sehoon's brows knit because he distinctly remembers the weight sliding in the opposite direction which would mean that it would take Baekhyun more than a half second to get to where he is standing now, a human impossibility. Unless, Baekhyun's more than meets the eye or some supernatural shit. Sehoon squints.
Then it dawns on him that there's another person standing behind him, feet moving to get to his side and when he skirts his gaze over long legs and basketball shorts, a white tee and a knotted grin that only Chanyeol can posses, Sehoon is tempted to jerk back similar to many victims in the face of looming death in suspense films.
He clears his throat, palms the ground and balances himself up from there.
Chanyeol offers a friendly grip on Sehoon's nape and squeezes. "Better?"
Whatever revitalization Sehoon achieved from his former stretch is now being encrusted back to its previous tether, the knobs of his spine seemingly bumping back together and trapping air back. Useless, Sehoon thinks. He nods anyway, plasters a smile on his face and counts down the seconds until Chanyeol unlatches the slightly dry precision of his palm from his sweat moistened nape.
end of part i
*masterficlist | tumblr | twitter | comment here to be added
-- quick disclaimer: i'd just like to make
it clear that even though this is a canon
fic does not make any of the events real.
the extra people are fictional and so
are the claims of a romance between the
main characters. js.
pg - 13 to nc - 17 // sehun/chanyeol // ~6k w
photo credit hipslip
music bloodstream (quartet session) by stateless
i've used this song before, i know. but it's just that fucking good.
And I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat
"shake it out" florence and the machine
It's not that Sehoon is a bad friend, but after ten or so hours of being around the same people, he tends to get sick of Luhan's voice. Anymore about China and how it's so far away and I miss my family but I don't want to disappoint them Sehoon is about ready to throw himself under the next train that arrives. As far as he can tell, Luhan is still enumerating the ways in which his home town is perfect and why Sehoon should come visit. Sehoon allows himself to contemplate how many hours he has before he can reunite with his bed.
It will take them a minute to board the last train, including the walk from this bench and Luhan's hand gestures which won't necessarily slow them down but Sehoon's not taking any chances. The train ride itself will take forty-five minutes until Beonchang, where Sehoon is to step off the train first. The walk to the bus terminal from the train station is five to seven minutes, three if Sehoon jogs but God knows that he doesn't hate himself enough for such torture. Two and half hours of modeling, two and a half hours of singing, two hours of acting and three hours of dance training with less than ten minute breaks already riding on his back, even his shadow is nearing defeat.
It should be around a quarter to ten in the evening when he makes it to the bus so the traffic should be forgiving. He'll exit the bus at the multiplex terminal and from there take the Gumiho bus transit lined up by the back. The bus will require at least ten minutes to fill with passengers, Sehoon can take forty winks if he finds a seat, but he doubts the mere possibility of it since he knows that even then he'll be counting down seconds and vehicles speeding past. A woman steps on the bus this time of night and sells garlic roasted nuts. Sehoon pockets his hand and fiddles with the coins at the base, counting to 500W just to make sure he has enough.
If he spends 500W on the bus he'll be short 300W for the pedicab, and despite his craving being satiated by the roasted nuts he'll have to wait five more minutes before washing his feet because they've been working the whole day and washing them immediately will lead to early onset arthritis. Arthritis… all for a bag of 500W garlic roasted peanuts. The choice should be simple, however, now that he thought of the roasted nuts, he goes back to when he last had them, probably two or three days ago, the aromatic scent, the flavorful burst of garlic contrasted with the soft savor of the nuts. This is his life now; rundown constricted to a math-problem-esque dictation and an allowance that contradicts everything that the word allowance should convey because it doesn't allot much… allowance at all.
Sehoon's mouth waters.
Then Luhan's waving hand registers on him, sending him hours early, back to the bench at the train station. Sehoon releases his hand from his pocket and rubs the tip of his nose, his knees bouncing up and down to keep some sort of heat present to oppose the cold. He spins his head to face Luhan, one brow arched.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
Luhan rolls his eyes habitually. He knows how Sehoon can get sometimes and Sehoon is grateful for that. He should appreciate Luhan more. Maybe tomorrow morning after a good night's sleep. "I said," Luhan pokes at Sehoon's cheek. Sehoon smiles and works his tongue to meet with Luhan's fingers when the older male proceeds to force his face in the opposite direction.
Sehoon turns, puzzled.
"You see that guy?" Luhan detaches his finger and wipes the part that Sehoon was able to reach with his tongue.
Sehoon crunches his teeth together. "What guy?"
"The one right beside us, gray beanie."
Sehoon notices the boy huddled in a gigantic scarf, beanie postured low on his head, hair poking from underneath, hands draped in gloves, a bomber jacket hugging him tightly. He sits on the bench a little less elegantly, backpack thwarting his body from direct contact with the frame, his every breath evaporating out of his nostrils is translucent puffs. His knees sit far apart, pushing forward and showcasing how he's way too tall for regular sized benches. His head lolls forward then he jolts awake, eyes bursting to full potential, only to droop back down in the same direction as his head, unhurriedly returning to hang by his giraffe neck.
From his profile his nose seems flat, just a miss of a slope, lips jutting out, colorless. His hand inertly slides down to the bench from his lap, palm facing up. He's fighting against sleep, but he's far from being a connoisseur, which explains why he's being put to shame.
The corner of Sehoon's mouth lifts ever so slightly, eyes narrowing at the boy, a little too candid, a little too pure.
"That's Chanyeol, right?"
"Chan-who?" Sehoon's still sidetracked, examines how the boy permits his head to snap back, clipping his scarf like he would a neck pillow, his jaw relaxing and leaving his mouth to make entry for flies. Sehoon could shoot balls of paper in there from this distance.
"Chanyeol." Luhan hooks an arm over Sehoon's shoulder, scoots closer. "He's the new trainee from earlier. The one who smiles like this--" Luhan slices half his face with a smile, applies a permanent wink and suddenly Sehoon is reminded of the kid. But Luhan's interpretation is greatly exaggerated. Still funny, though.
"That's not him…" Sehoon provides, returning to observe the boy.
"Yeah, it is."
"How can you tell?"
"Because of his face." Luhan deadpans.
"I don't think that's him, hyung."
"You wanna bet on it?"
"I've barely got enough money for garlic roasted peanuts."
Luhan ignores him. "That's Park Chanyeol. I'm certain."
"Fine," Sehoon's mouth drapes to a yawn, face contorting as he lowers his buttocks on the bench and rests his head on Luhan's arm. "Train's late again."
"I'm calling him over."
"What?" Sehoon takes his hand out and smacks Luhan's when he sees it about to wave. "No, you won't, shut up."
"You shut up."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm calling a fellow trainee over." Then Luhan clears his throat, "Park Chanyeol!"
Sehoon shuts his eyes, exhaling harshly. His toes curl in his shoes when he hears Luhan call out for a second time.
"Hey, Park Chanyeol!" The slight shimmy that Luhan's arm gives lets Sehoon know that he's probably waving at the boy. "Come here, man!"
And come he does, Obedient Park Chanyeol. Sehoon debates the advantages of keeping himself still and pretending to be asleep against just welcoming Chanyeol with open arms. Despite himself, Sehoon pries both eyes open when he feels Luhan tug his arm from underneath his nape. Luhan stands up and bows politely and the way Chanyeol bows back, Sehoon is surprised that he even manages to stand up again.
"This is Oh Sehoon." Luhan nudges Sehoon's knee with his own, darting the younger with a look of command.
Sehoon smirks, groans like he's seventy when he brings himself to his feet and bows just the same.
Chanyeol looks pleasantly uncomfortable, out of his element. He bounces on his heels when seconds of silence passes. Sehoon nibbles his bottom lip, nodding his head to the tune of dull music playing in the background of the station. He swerves his head to the end of the tunnel, right above Chanyeol's shoulder.
"Train is late again." Chanyeol comments, following Sehoon's stare.
"We didn't know that you took this route, too. We would have waited for you." Luhan contributes because that's what a good hyung would say. Chanyeol stretches his lips across his face as a response.
Another round of silence, sure, what choice do they have? Sehoon figures it suits the situation best anyway, since they technically did just meet and apparently Sehoon doesn't remember Chanyeol without that oddly formed grin on his face anyway.
Luhan makes it a point to sit next to Chanyeol when they finally realize that they're being idiots just standing there and not claiming the seat behind them. Sehoon scoots down the bench, monitors the butt of the train station sign hanging above his head while contributing half of his attention to Luhan and Chanyeol's much needed small talk.
When Sehoon yawns, not bothering to hide it behind the back of his hand, his sinuses lodge a rush of fluids, the canals of his eyes watering and only then does he bother to clean his face up.
The train comes eventually and they silently file in with the rest of the passengers. They stand somewhere by the middle, the seats around them more or less occupied unless you're into being in a sardines in a can kind of scenario.
Sehoon grips at the overhead handles, leaves most of his weight to depend on the mechanism as he practices sleeping on his feet.
When Chanyeol asks where Luhan is from, Sehoon suppresses a groan slash chuckle bubbling at the base of his throat. He shifts his weight instead and listens to Luhan explain how he's a foreigner just as he did with Sehoon, only with more dramatic phrasings and less pauses since he's practiced the story enough times by now.
Chanyeol is a nice kid. He looks at Luhan in the eyes when he listens, clings to every word Luhan says. He speaks well, has reactions that could easily bode well for him in variety shows, and he has this warmth about him that resembles the better part of innocence.
Then out of nowhere Chanyeol laughs.
It must have been something Luhan said because Luhan's returning the comic sentiments behind his free hand.
Who laughs like that? It's only a few pitches above an 808 drum beat, frequency ostensibly deriving from the tips of his toes, so low but immediate. Shouldn't low laughs follow the rhythm of molasses? Sticky sweet and gliding with the speed of two snails fucking? Instead, Chanyeol's laugh comes like stars flying, it's barely there, yet still noticeable.
Sehoon nips the inside of his mouth, catching bits of flesh between his incisors just to have them snap back against the inner walls, and ponders his own laugh. His mind captures a semblance of it and he decides that it's nothing like Chanyeol's. His gaze lands on Luhan's shoes, not too far from Chanyeol's, Chuck Taylor high cuts, all stylish and shit.
Sehoon has the sudden urge to ask what they were talking about that made Chanyeol laugh, but he doesn't really want to be that guy in the conversation.
It's not difficult to let go. He pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, touching upon the bitten streaks as he stares out the window.
∞
Twenty-five minutes too early, Luhan says goodnight. Sehoon grabs him by the arm because what the fuck, hyung? Chanyeol's eyes are still alien-sized and staring at him and how does he propose to solve this? "What are you doing?" Is all Sehoon manages to ask.
With knitted brows, Luhan reflects the glare on Sehoon's face with less indignation, his one hand palming the outer vicinity of his pocket probably to make sure that his mp3 player is tucked inside. "Going home, is that cool with you?" He tucks his chin back.
"You get off after my stop." Sehoon's voice creeps low like he's passing a secret. Chanyeol, only vaguely perplexed, occupies himself with the hazy glow of the tunnel. Or maybe he really is preoccupied and doesn't care much for other people's business, Sehoon can't tell yet.
"My roommate is out until Monday so I'm staying at my friend's flat for a few days." The train nears the tunnel, preparing to halt. Sehoon wished his own flat held more space. Maybe then his mom won't mind if he brings Luhan home and then they could fall on the same stop and he won't have to deal with Chanyeol.
When Sehoon doesn't loosen his grip on Luhan's arm, he looks over his shoulder at Chanyeol, gives him a look that Sehoon doesn't fully understand, then tugs his arm away, smirking. "What is wrong with you?"
He's known Luhan for a good few months. Surely they've reached the point of their friendship where they could pass messages telepathically. It's his last hope and he's desperate so he squints at Luhan, looking like he just ate a whole lemon.
"The fuck." Luhan laughs and it's only because things are touching the brim of awkward, Sehoon notices. Chanyeol hangs back, smiling then turning away like he knows he isn't needed.
The train finally stills and the announcer states the station, the warnings, then the doors part and Luhan's pushing through the crowd without looking back, earphones being tucked into his ears.
Slowly, Sehoon, retreats to his previous spot, catching an arbitrary handle. He purses his lips, grabs his cell phone and pretends to text. He decides to text his sister for real just because he doesn't have anyone else to text this time of night and he is somehow certain that with Chanyeol's eyes you can't hide behind layers of bullshit. Then he eyes the time and he's got nineteen more minutes to kill. When he finally decides to just suck it up and realize that he doesn't find people difficult at all, he looks up.
Chanyeol has his cellphone out, too. He's texting something with one hand, head bent low in concentration. Sehoon looks left and right, stretches his neck then sighs. Chanyeol looks up, placing his cellphone in his back pocket as he offers Sehoon a polite smile.
Sehoon frowns. "You should put that in your front pocket."
Chanyeol pauses, his arm still stretched back where he's forcing his phone in his pocket.
"Can't be too safe." Sehoon shrugs.
"Ah, yeah. Thanks." Chanyeol stuffs it in his jacket pocket instead.
Sehoon wants to throw more advice at Chanyeol, like be a bit more smart please and keep your cellphone in your bag or something to that effect. It never comes. He lands on a smile with his eyes almost closed. Chanyeol gives one back, just a bit more tight lipped.
"Where are you getting off?" Sehoon swings on his toes just to keep himself awake.
"Beongchan."
Shit. "Oh. Me, too." Sehoon supplies with just the right amount of formality. But Chanyeol's right eye twitches briefly. There should be many reasons for why Chanyeol's eye decided to twitch at that one moment, so why is Sehoon suddenly so positive that it had something to do with him?
"Yes. I wait at the terminal behind the multiplex."
Sehoon's tongue peaks from beneath the upper row of his teeth. "I see. I ride the Gumiho transit."
"I take Haneul."
Sehoon doesn't outwardly sigh in relief at that.
Sehoon isn't always this socially pressed with people. He likes people just fine. He's just past civil and always has been when it's late and he has to take two busses and walk and he can't even afford fucking garlic roasted nuts so, yes, he feels that some of this aloofness is well deserved. Not so much on Chanyeol's part since he's being really accommodating, but more on Sehoon's. It's just unfortunate for Chanyeol to be here.
"What year were you born in?"
Sehoon snaps his head up so quick, he gets dizzy. "Nineteen ninety-four."
Chanyeol's bottom lip overtakes his upper lip, nodding. "I'm nineteen ninety-two. Do you mind speaking informally?"
"Not at all."
"Good."
They speak more after that, nothing ultimately substantial. They converse about the basics, SM castings and all, and find out that they were casted in the same year. Chanyeol has participated in contests, something about modeling. Sehoon was an ulzzang.
"I think I saw you around before." Chanyeol submits meditatively. "But I can't be too sure."
"Yeah, I look like a lot of people."
Sehoon only halfheartedly laughs after he's finished listening to Chanyeol do so.
A seat is vacated behind Chanyeol. Sehoon stares at it like it's a gazelle and he's a lion or whatever else that preys on gazelles. All this routine smiling on an empty stomach and sleep deprivation, it can take a toll on you. And the more Sehoon wipes his face of misguided tears the more his head weighs, too much for his neck, for his entire body.
For a second he makes eye contact with Chanyeol and readies himself for the offer. That simple, "Do you wanna--?" while holding his hand out in the direction of the seat. And Sehoon prepares himself by mentally sticking to his mind that he should always say no the first time. But his anticipated offer never comes as Chanyeol directs it at the middle-aged woman standing behind Sehoon.
The woman thanks Chanyeol and Chanyeol smiles back like his life depends on it. When he turns back around, Sehoon's pretending to text again.
∞
They step off the train and it's another version of small talk. "The floors are slippery," Chanyeol comments so Sehoon says, "Not with the right shoes," and feels like a genius in disguise. He doubts himself in this exchange, though. He thinks he can do better, say better things, and make more existential comments not just about the floor. Take that poster by the right for example, an advertisement about Tuna that's meant to help consumers lose weight. Sehoon can make an observation out loud, something clever and pretend like he never meant for anyone to hear it, but Chanyeol would be there and he'd laugh again because he'd appreciate it.
Instead Sehoon swipes a droplet of sweat from his forehead, senses the wideness and feels the urge to stare at Chanyeol's just to see if his is bigger. Chanyeol's shoes squeak the entire way to the bus stop. He was wearing the right shoes, Sehoon thinks.
∞
Another question of etiquette arises when they enter the bus. Most of the seats are occupied yet there's one at the front that is left for just one more. As a contrast, there's a seat at the back that has room for two. Chanyeol is right behind Sehoon and Sehoon's trying to be calm about this dilemma.
He doesn't like the back of the bus, doesn't like the air-conditioning or the lighting or the motion of the bus when it halts. He makes a decision without a second's notice, walking forward and trying to consider how it would seem if he took the seat in front. It's just that Sehoon doesn't know how it will go with Chanyeol. He doesn't know if they are ever going to see each other again. The fact that they have been placed into the same training group now could be something to base his decision on.
Sehoon walks to the seat at the back. At least he gets the window seat.
The bus ride is much quieter and they're both more blatant about being exhausted. Chanyeol yawns with Sehoon this time.
Sehoon wants to rifle through his bag and reach for his mp3 player but then again that would be a gesture that shows Chanyeol that he's closing himself off. He waits until Chanyeol does something similar but all Chanyeol does is take his phone out and text then he's back to staring at the seat frame in front of him.
Out of the woodwork Chanyeol speaks through yet another yawn, "Luhan's a bit of a talker, huh?"
And it's not even a joke. Or remotely funny. But Sehoon finds himself smacking his thighs and running out of air from laughing like he's never heard anything funnier. Maybe in the back of his mind he was thinking the same thing.
When he calms down, Chanyeol is smiling even through his bafflement and Sehoon wants to laugh some more but suppresses it so he chokes on his breath then coughs.
"I know he's your friend, I don't mean to sound offensive." Chanyeol amends.
"No, I get what you mean." Sehoon supplies, rubbing his eyes. "He's just lonely. I would be, too."
"Yeah." Chanyeol agrees. "I think that's admirable of him. Being able to stay in a different place, away from his family. I think it's important, too."
Sehoon scratches his left knee and waits for Chanyeol to continue.
"To live in a place away from where you grew up. For some part of your life or. I think it helps."
"Helps what?"
"Mm?"
"Helps how, I mean?" Sehoon scratches his forearm and then it dawns on him that he's probably going to get some sleep on the Gumiho transit later because he's itching in the usual places he would when sleep is just about ready to curl in his mind.
"Culture awareness?" Chanyeol replies unsure. "Or just independence." Chanyeol's voice drags and it makes for some odd contrasts, wispy clouds that weigh tons or something.
Sehoon rests his head on the frame, arching his brows to keep his eyes open. He crosses his arms. "I don't think I could do that."
"You and your family close?"
"My mom likes to think so. And it's not natural for us to be apart for a long time." Sehoon's eyes are slowly drooping closed.
"My parents didn't think this was a good idea at first." Sehoon suddenly feels obligated to keep his eyes open. He thinks that this is important, to be at the receiving end of something that doesn't come naturally. Sehoon believes that Chanyeol isn't the most readable person. Everything about him says otherwise just because he seems so open, so ready for the taking or something. Maybe it is just because he has some of the most humungous eyes Sehoon has ever seen or maybe it's because he smiles like he's still biting his tongue.
Chanyeol eventually offers questions and then answers them and Sehoon's just there, nodding, eyelids bearing an entire country but he stays awake, stays aware.
∞
They arrive at the multiplex minutes earlier than Sehoon anticipated. Chanyeol tells him a story about the bathrooms and this girl that is just his friend. Sehoon knows that Chayeol's probably lying, that she was probably something more, probably still is, but he doesn't see anything interesting coming from that spectrum of the conversation should he choose to steer it that way.
Chanyeol calls him by his first name before they separate at the transit terminal. Sehoon thinks nothing of it, "Yeah?"
Chanyeol asks for his cellphone number and Sehoon wants to ask why but he doesn't. He punches his number on Chanyeol's phone, back aching to find a seat on the bus, half his wits already there. He checks his number again, nods, then hands the phone back. Chanyeol calls him again just to make sure he spelled his name right before saving it on his phone. Sehoon could have easily corrected it tomorrow or whenever he decides to go through Chanyeol's phone which is never. He helps Chanyeol with it anyway, and it only takes him two more minutes to climb the bus, find a seat somewhere around the middle, and finally embrace the quiet.
If the woman ever came on the bus to sell garlic roasted peanuts, Sehoon would never know. He falls asleep even before the bus gets on the highway.
∞
Sehoon is hopping into a sock at six thirty in the morning, shoulder relating with the wall on his way to the kitchen.
He greets his mom good morning and sticks his tongue out at his younger sister seated at the table. He aims for the fridge, unclasping a bottle of water from inside and drinking half of it.
"Just take it with you," His mom instructs and he retaliates with how they were not allowed to take food from the outside into the building, even water. "Then sit down, I'm making banana spring rolls."
Banana, fried sugar and jackfruit steam disperses in the air, but it doesn't help soothe the look on Sehoon's face when he glances at his watch. "I'm going to be late."
"Then wait for a second, I'll let you take these with you." His mother flips the spring rolls on the raw side and Sehoon thinks that will take two more minutes and that feels nothing short of an eternity when you're in a hurry and you already have thirty seconds to put on your shoes.
So he dashes past his sister, tests his lightning fast speed by taking three of the rolls on her plate, his other hand taking a plastic bag from the drawers, and he's out of the kitchen. If he doesn't debut, he at least has a promising future in being a pick pocket. Life isn't so unfair.
If Sehoon were to wake up earlier, he'd have to sleep earlier for his regular six hours but seeing as he comes home a little after eleven and only gets to bed before midnight, he is left with no choice than to race against the clock.
If it's some kind of disorder to be so time conscious then Sehoon should be locked up somewhere. He's been counting down seconds since a year ago. Before this he was actually pretty lenient in school. He didn't give himself tight schedules or quotas and he got scolded for that more times than one.
It was only when the trainers of the company told him that his aspirations would mean nothing if he allows himself to be lazy did he really find the willpower to keep himself on track, all the time. And it has been working for him ever since. He has even managed to jog to the beat of the seconds ticking, one step, two step, three step.
He decides that the train would be best for when he eats the banana spring rolls, more inertia with the tracks and all, but as soon as he steps into the cramped space, his mouth is dry. He should have taken that bottle of water with him and drank everything before entering the building.
He eats one of the spring rolls anyway, mouth even drier after the first two bites.
He checks his cellphone after a distinguishable vibrate from his pocket, some of the oil from his snack printing on the screen because of his thumb. He swipes the screen while the message loads. From the blurry, oil strewn mess he makes out an unregistered number and the first two words of the message.
"Good morning." Sehoon mumbles out loud, the banana spring roll caught in his mouth as he uses both hands to hold his phone. "This is Chanyeol hyung." Sehoon sneers. "Luhan has no credits and is asking me to text you where you are. We are at practice room D, floor 4 today. Take care on your commute."
Sehoon presses buttons on his phone to save Chanyeol's number. When he's asked to type the name down he realizes that he doesn't know how to the spell the yeol part of his name.
He goes back to the message and reads Chanyeol's name, saves his number then replies with where he is and that he'll be there in less than an hour.
Chanyeol must sleep for only five and half hours, considering that he's at the building a lot earlier.
∞
"I hate being a trainee." Baekhyun downs the last of his overpriced bottled water, crunching the plastic in his hands before chucking it at the horizon. It probably hits a street lamp or a cab below.
They got a tip about the rooftop being vacant this time of the afternoon. Usually a pass card is swiped by the exit to deactivate the lock but the machine was busted years ago and no one ever bothered to fix it. No one ever dared come up after the suicide anyway, even the fire exits were tainted.
Sehoon doesn't know whether he should thank the suicide cases, or be worried about literally following their paths. He probably shouldn't thank them.
"Maybe I should have just joined a fraternity." Baekhyun stretches his limbs back and faces Sehoon. "Should I have joined a fraternity?"
"So you can debut as a douche?" He pretends to aim a fist at Beakhyun's stomach. Baekhyun sends his hands down to shield the region, dodging away.
"It'll probably take less. Maybe all I have to do is give my first born then I'm in the brotherhood."
"You're not quitting."
"I'm not gonna quit, I'm not stupid. I just," With both his hands, Baekhyun holds one higher than the other, then alternates between the two as if suggesting both options to be tangible. "what if."
No, there is nothing assuring about being a trainee. Just because they were under one of the most prestigious talent agencies in the country does not make them a shoe in for success, to be on the walls of every teenage girl, to be on every music show, to be the star of many fan fictions on various sites, to be the apple of billions of pairs of eyes, to be destined for greatness.
Being chosen is different from being special.
"Don't you think it's sad, though?" Baekhyun proceeds, "To be this passionate and then once we debut no one's gonna see any of it?"
"See any of what?"
"This," He makes a vague gesture back and forth. "The gap between before and after. This part where were never asleep but never really awake."
Sehoon holds his own bottle of water steady in his hands, promptly contemplating the difficulties of keeping it before the halfway mark when it's sunset. Another sip won't hurt, he decides finally, parched. "We see it."
Baekhyun is too lost in his thoughts to recognize Sehoon's reply. Sehoon doesn't feel like repeating himself. "I found a place to stay, by the way."
A week ago, Baekhyun came to Sehoon with the dilemma of his family having to move back to the province, leaving him with very little opportunity to remain in their flat. He asked Sehoon if he could stay at his place for the time being, just before he found a place that was much cheaper. Sehoon, of course, couldn't give him an answer right away. Even if it was his own mother that said no, he still feels sorry for the way things turned out.
Sehoon thinks that his empathy is a sin sometimes. Empathy, naturally, is a quality praised, although for Sehoon, his empathy provided two sides. It worked both ways for him, the keen sense to put yourself in someone else's shoes. So, of course, you would want to make things easier for the person that you are empathizing with, but it could always go both ways. Depending on the person who was in front of you, your empathy could make you want to be there for them, or see if your prediction, should you side with your insensitivity, is accurate. Curious quality, that empathy.
"Chanyeol has a flat all to himself. And a couch. He takes the same route as you apparently."
"You're rooming with Chanyeol?"
"He offered." Baekhyun plays with his fingers, scruffs off nonexistent dirt.
"That was nice of him."
"What's your read on that guy?"
Sehoon takes another sip of his water, dissatisfied in his lack of discipline. "I've only hung out with him once."
"Too early to tell?"
"Way too early."
"He doesn't seem like the type to murder me in my sleep though, right?"
"I don't think he has the steady hands for that." That worked well. It was both a compliment and a shot to Chanyeol's lack of grace.
"Good. I saw a picture of his flat just today. He's gonna show it to me later. You should come."
First of all, the commute to his house already takes him almost two hours. To add a detour would just keep him further from his bed and his sleeping hours would be cut down and he won't even have time to snatch anything off his sister's plate in the morning. Pathetically, Sehoon replies, "No."
"I know it throws off your whole schedule, but jeez. I can't just go there and not be awkward around him. We need middle ground."
"I'm not middle ground, what the hell." Sehoon smirks, tossing his bottle from one hand to the other. "Besides, I just met the guy. Another person won't make things less awkward between you two."
"Yes, of course it will. It's the rules of social… everything." Baekhyun punches Sehoon's shoulder lightly and Sehoon doesn't understand why he thinks that that would be a good addition to a favor. "Better probability for conversation starters."
"Probability, ooooh." Sehoons unhelpfully concludes. He earns himself a smack to the shoulder.
"Come on, I'd do the same for you."
"Really, hyung."
"Really."
"I'll buy you those roasted peanuts you like so much."
Sehoon is only flesh and blood. How could he ever refuse?
∞
Baekhyun's cousin owns an arsenal of guns for airsoft. He's tried it once, a pellet shot between his armor and he had a button sized bruise to prove it, healed months ago. Chanyeol's dad had the same hobby, but after half a year gave it up because he was losing money and time, gotten so addicted to the game he lost track of reality. Chanyeol never tried it. He was too scared of feeling what his father felt, falling into the same trap.
Beakhyun understands. His father was a captain of a ship-- "Yeah, pirates exist, are you kidding?"-- tore a ligament behind his shin during a storm. He was stuck on what he lost so he drank a flood of alcohol because he thought the wave would wash away the taste of the sea. His parents divorced eventually, Baekhyun went with his mother. His father is still alive, self loathing here and there. He calls sometimes but his mother is never ready to talk to him again. Baekhyun has dreams about being his father one day and driving the people that he loves the most at wits end. He's never told anyone that before.
Chanyeol thinks that hardships are what make a man whole. Chanyeol admits how he's being bullied at school. He doesn't fight back, he tries to be the bigger person even when his things are being thrown in the fountain or his lunch is being compromised, he keeps his calm and waits until it's all over.
Baekhyun thinks he should fight.
Chanyeol says karma always comes back around.
And Sehoon is standing with his hip connected to the sink, a hand deep in his pocket, watching the two boys seated on the couch a foot away and he wonders what the fuck am I even doing here still?
He's been holding an empty glass for thirty-seven minutes now, the contents already one with his insides and he thinks that it's getting late. He rotates his ankles, places the glass down and tries a yawn that's loud enough to reach the pair on the couch. They don't even spare him a glance. Sehoon scoffs.
He crosses the flat and excuses himself, says how it's late, says how he has to go.
Of course Baehkyun tries to get him to stay, Chanyeol just nodding along with him. They tell him to sleep over but Sehoon gets it, okay. He doesn't need his feelings to be spared. They didn't need him anymore, the middle ground.
He declines the offer to sleep over mainly because there's one couch and Baekhyun can be really pushy sometimes so that couch will be his and the ground that Sehoon is standing on doesn't seem so comfortable.
Before he leaves, Baekhyun talks to him by the door and thanks him. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep over? It's pretty late."
"I'd rather not get in the way." Sehoon swallows a yawn, shoulders the blow of Baekhyun's teasing shove.
"Your call."
∞
On the weekdays, because Sehoon has school, he only arrives at SM before eleven pm, which means that he should be thankful that the company reduces his practice hours to four and distributes them alternately throughout the five days. Sleep bears a resemblance to a wispy breath taken then exhaled-- it's another day ready to be conquered.
Some nights, Sehoon can't sleep. He lies on his back, drills his stare on the ceiling and counts dust particles shadowed by his window. If he keeps still until he counts to forty-four, he can pretend that he's paralyzed, that it ends here.
And he asks himself if it's okay, to be useless but get all the sleep he wants.
He wiggles his toes. He's okay.
∞
If Sehoon stretches inches more a dislocation shouldn't be out of reach. For some reason, he finds groaning is a qualified pain reliever.
Minutes away from dance practice, Sehoon is in the corridor with a few more early trainees. He's positioned on the floor, legs extended in front of him, parted to make way for his torso as he bends forward with his arms over his head. The base of his back cracks pending air and Sehoon hasn't even reached toe altitude yet.
Somewhere in the distance he thinks he hears Baekhyun running down the corridor, calling his name. He doesn't move and waits until Baekhyun is near enough because he's not going to have a conversation when he's in the middle of remedying his posture and Baekhyun is jogging up to him breathless.
Warm hands cup his shoulder blades, "Hyung--" his sentence cut short when he's being eased further down, face inching near the floor, the column of his spine elongating.
A weight sets somewhere along the hub of his spine and he recognizes it as Baekhyun sitting on top of him just to help the stretch further.
Sehoon finally makes it with his nose scarcely touching the floor. He closes his eyes, counts to eight then nudges Baekhyun off him. He rolls his spine back progressively and it's like he's been born again. A pair of legs distorts his line of vision. He blinks up at the figure and recognizes Baekhyun, hands planted on his waist, smiling down at him.
Sehoon's brows knit because he distinctly remembers the weight sliding in the opposite direction which would mean that it would take Baekhyun more than a half second to get to where he is standing now, a human impossibility. Unless, Baekhyun's more than meets the eye or some supernatural shit. Sehoon squints.
Then it dawns on him that there's another person standing behind him, feet moving to get to his side and when he skirts his gaze over long legs and basketball shorts, a white tee and a knotted grin that only Chanyeol can posses, Sehoon is tempted to jerk back similar to many victims in the face of looming death in suspense films.
He clears his throat, palms the ground and balances himself up from there.
Chanyeol offers a friendly grip on Sehoon's nape and squeezes. "Better?"
Whatever revitalization Sehoon achieved from his former stretch is now being encrusted back to its previous tether, the knobs of his spine seemingly bumping back together and trapping air back. Useless, Sehoon thinks. He nods anyway, plasters a smile on his face and counts down the seconds until Chanyeol unlatches the slightly dry precision of his palm from his sweat moistened nape.
end of part i
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-- quick disclaimer: i'd just like to make
it clear that even though this is a canon
fic does not make any of the events real.
the extra people are fictional and so
are the claims of a romance between the
main characters. js.