Get Bent (Jaehwan/Sehun)
Title: Get Bent
Pairing: Lee Jaehwan(Ken) / Oh Sehun
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1000 words
Summary: Jaehwan wears his skirts too short, and Sehun is too lazy to roll his own weed.
Warnings: N/A
A/N: Happy birthday to Gab! I wrote you a load of crap as usual.
Jaehwan wakes up at exactly 5:30 every morning. His alarm blasts Beyoncé (a different song for each day of the week) and he lets it play for over half of the song because “nothing does a body good like Queen Bee before the sun rises!” He makes as much noise as possible getting up and belts Spice Girls in the shower under boiling hot water. It’s not that he means to be a giant pain in the ass, but Oh Sehun can only think of strangling him slowly and painfully every bloody day. What can he do though? It’s Jaehwan.
Sehun is a quiet soul-- not because he is shy or any of that shit, but because he’s generally the biggest bitch on this side of the pacific. No one has ever been good enough for his company, that’s all. He’s tacked himself onto the edge of various groups of people his entire life. He likes the perks of having a social sanctuary, but dislikes the expectations that being an active participator in friendship brings.
He met Jaehwan sophomore year of high school in the mostly neglected bathroom behind the gym. Sehun sat on the grimy counter and lit his blunt in silence as jaehwan painted on firetruck red lipstick.
“You gonna say something, hot shot? Introduce yourself?” Jaehwan’s voice was syrupy with aegyo, and Sehun resisted the urge to puke. So not his type.
“Nah, I’m good.” Sehun blew rings of smoke upward towards the ceiling, one of the only talents he ever really possessed (besides being an artistic genius of course) and one that he was particularly proud of.
Jaehwan scoffed and pursed his lips in a pout that would be pretty damned cute if he wasn’t Jaehwan, the school’s resident crossdressing whore, and returned to his reflection with a sigh. “Ottokaji, what a fuckin’ brat.”
Sehun would have been a liar if he said he didn’t peek under the back of Jaehwan’s miniskirt when he leaned in closer to the mirror.
After four consecutive weeks of skipping class for weed and lipstick, they somehow managed to stick together by default. Jaehwan hung around Sehun at lunch, took the desk beside him at the back of the classroom. It’s not that Sehun liked him or anything; he just didn’t mind him, even though he was clingy and all that shit that he absolutely hated. Sehun ignored the fact that Jaehwan started fucking all of his stoner friends, and slowly became something of a group pet, becoming generally more liked that Sehun himself. His friends had low standards, he told himself. He’d never be caught dead with someone so tacky, he told himself..
Jaehwan signed his name on the back of Sehun’s neck with firetruck lipstick under the bleachers during junior prom, and he shivered at the touch. When he woke up with a lurch the next morning, his hand was smeared red from running his fingers over it.
They survived the rest of high school by a miracle: with ugly bathroom dye jobs, copying each other’s homework, escaping cop busts at sleazy parties, winning/losing fights behind the bleachers, and generally getting on every teacher’s list of hoodlums.
After graduation, Jaehwan got a scholarship to some dumb community college because he managed to actually be pretty good at school somehow, and of course he had to drag Sehun along on pity money that he got for the sole reason that they were both dirt poor. Jaehwan was lead bitch of the communications program from day one while Sehun dozed through his Art History classes. He dropped out after five months.
Thus Sehun is startled awake at 5:30 every morning to Queen Bee and the Spice Girls as Jaehwan puts on his red stilettos and trots out the door to his radio broadcasting job, and Sehun is left to stare blearily at the ceiling of their one room apartment. Nine days out of ten he has a bitch of a hangover, and Jaehwan’s favorite lipstick is smeared all over his shoulder, though they actually do have separate beds if a certain prom queen wannabe would use his. Sehun kicks off his covers and clumsily stumbles out of bed. What can he do though? It’s Jaehwan.
He goes through half a carton of cigarettes by early afternoon. Jaehwan is making him cut back. Sixteen-or-so unfinished paintings lean against the wall beside the only window and bleed paint all over the carpet nowhere near the bunched up drop cloths Jaehwan made him put down. Their lease wasn’t running out any time soon anyway. Jaehwan lets him freeload because he sells paintings to coffee shops every blue moon, if he ever finishes one that is. He drops his brush in a bucket of paint, sending firetruck red droplets flying. Even when using a single color, he can’t seem to find his focus.
At six sharp, the door swings open. “Huni-yah~” Jaehwan’s voice is as annoying as ever. “The station bought us lunch today. I snagged you a bunch of scraps.”
“Ohorat.” Sehun calls absentmindedly from the couch. He’s got the worst headache from staring at the blotchy carpet for two hours.
“Are you high or what?” Jaehwan pulls his stockings off with freshly manicured nails and removes his synthetic nest of curls to drop it in the wig box under Sehun’s bed. His real hair is nice as is, still sort of purple from the last time they tried to dye it. It’s long-- not enough for Jaehwan of course, but it’s soft and silky and…
“Definitely not high.” Sehun mumbled into the armrest.