Write my curses in cursive

[iphisto]

JJ Project, JB/JR, PG-13
canonfic // "New apartment, new debut. Beginnings, he thinks, trying to lick the melted ice-cream off his knuckles."
~8,000Warnings: Swearing

A/N: "canon" fic with lots of liberties taken: the biggest being that irl their manager lives with them and dream high 2? let's just pretend that didn't exist. Depending on how you look at it, I've either fiddled with the seasons of Seoul or the dates of the debut. I don't know where the line between alternate reality and canon is drawn. I'll let you decide that.
***
When they move into their new dorm it’s clean, sparse, ordered. There are no beds for them to build or bookshelves to put together, only a few boxes of personal belongings from storage and clothes waiting to be unpacked. With everyone’s conflicting schedules there’s no time for a proper housewarming party, but there’s still a window-leaf potted plant with a card and lots of signatures waiting on the doorstep. Jinyoung picks a spot near the large windows of their lounge-room for it and decides that he prefers it like this anyway, just the two of them to christen the apartment as theirs.

Jaebum leaves the few groceries they’d needed to buy on the laminate kitchen counter and joins him on a tour, even though they’d already been shown around by their manager during the official inspection. They barrel down the narrow hallway, speeding up until Jinyoung’s barging past Jaebum to dive onto a bed and crow “Mine!” as Jaebum flops next to him seconds later, laughing.

“Fine, fine,” he says, rolling off and crossing the hall to his own bedroom, opening the wardrobes.  “It’s nice,” he says, and his voice carries loudly, the dark hardwood floors bouncing the noise in a way the musty carpets of their old dorms hadn’t.

When they make it back to the lounge Jaebum tries a 4-step in the large space between the TV, lounge and far windowed wall. He trips a little over his own feet lazily, flopping to the ground and stretching his limbs out. He can’t reach anything but floorboards.  Jinyoung inspects the big leather couch, dark and cold to the touch and so long he can roll onto it and stretch out with his fingers barely reaching over the edge, his back cracking out the tension as he lets out a breath in a rush.  That’s the biggest difference, he thinks. So much space that they’re unused to. He bites his lip against the excitement that’s buoying him, rolling off to find Jaebum stilled, eyes closed against the morning sun that slants inside. Jinyoung leans down and grabs his hand, hauling him up as he starts awake.

“The space’s for dancing, not for sleeping.”  Jaebum just shrugs, humouring him with a yawn and a gentle shove in the direction of the kitchen.

Jinyoung shoves him back but goes anyway, putting the meat into the fridge and grabbing the cheap convenience store ice-creams they’d bought, condensation already sweating against the plastic. Jaebum figures out how to open the windows that look down on the highway below and they lean out, the cold breeze cutting through the fragile spring warmth.  Jinyoung shivers in his thin t-shirt.

“Less than two months to go,” Jaebum murmurs, and the excitement about the new dorm flips over in his stomach.  New apartment, new debut. Beginnings, he thinks, trying to lick the melted ice-cream off his knuckles.

That night Jinyoung sits in the lounge and watches TV, waiting for Jaebum to finish cooking dinner and pretending like he doesn’t check round the corner of the kitchen every five minutes to see if it’s ready.  Jaebum catches him and laughs.

“What? I’m hungry, okay,” he says, and as if on cue his stomach gives a loud rumble.

Jaebum’s mouth twitches with the effort of holding back his remarks. “You may as well set the table,” he says over the sound of the stove extractor, and Jinyoung obliges.

Over the meal Jaebum pours them soju that someone must have left in the cupboards unthinkingly.

“To JJ project,” he says, before wincing in a way that showed he maybe regretted his genuine tone. Jinyoung takes pity and decides not to rib him for it, instead raising his own glass to clink it against his.

“To JJ project and this hella ballin’ bachelor pad,” he calls, downing the shot and spluttering, quickly grabbing at the grilled pork to get the taste out.

Jaebum raises his eyebrows but keeps a straight face downing his own shot, muffling his own cough until Jinyoung kicks him under the table for having a stick up - being such a stick in the mud. Jaebum gets him back by stabbing at his hand viciously with a spoon; Jinyoung glares at him and chews menacingly but Jaebum coughs out a laugh and ignores him. Other than the beginning scuffle the dinner is quiet, just the sounds of cutlery clinking over the background chatter of the TV.

They crash early in anticipation of a morning practice, their schedule already ramping up in preparation for debut.  Jinyoung’s body clock isn’t ready for sleep and he lies awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.  The apartment is eerily quiet, the walls and thick glass blocking out the noise of the highway below them. Jinyoung’s used to sharing a room with three other guys, surrounded by the noise of other trainees with shitty sleeping habits and odd training schedules, sounds of life making it through the plaster walls during all hours of the night. He tries to count off the sounds that he’s able to pick up as a way to get to sleep: the low hum of the refrigerator, warped by the distance of the hallway, the dull sound of a loud truck making it through the soundproof windows, the tick of his watch from across the room. There’s something else on the edge of his hearing, and at first he thinks he’s imagining it, but he finally recognises it as Jaebum’s breathing, carrying quietly through their open bedroom doors across the hall.  It turns something in his chest, something raw and unknown, and he fumbles for where he left his headphones on his bed stand to shut it out with music.

***

He remembers the first time they’d been put together for a trainee showcase, and Jaebum had been quiet and serious and told him in painstaking detail all the moves that he’d screwed up, had been too messy with, out of time. After the session Jinyoung had been shaking, jittery and nauseous with the fear and uncertainty. He had shoved his jacket into his gym bag with sweaty hands and his footsteps were squeaky loud on the floor in his rush to flee. He was afraid of Jaebum, pretty much really fucking terrified, and more than a little bit angry, at least until Jaebum caught up with him on his way out and handed him a carton of chocolate milk.  Jinyoung had looked at him, and had seen the minute tremor of his hands, the nervousness and sincerity behind his casual stance. Jaebum had said wait, and Jinyoung did, and they walked to the bus stop in awkward silence. It was the little things, like the decision that Jaebum didn’t need to know right now that Jinyoung really didn’t like chocolate milk, but that instead Jaebum definitely deserved teasing for his incompetent attempt at opening his own carton. Somehow saying wow you really fucked that up, didn’t you, broke the wall of tension in a way that a heartfelt thanks or a do you always act like a confusing dick wouldn’t.  From the start they had needed to learn to navigate around each other without a map and few lighthouses.

And long before that, even: part of the same competition, tied for equal first, and Jaebum had shaken his hand and said congratulations and Jinyoung had felt suddenly out of his depth, confronted with the weight of Jaebum’s seriousness. And then just as suddenly Jaebum’s face had broken into a brilliant smile, and he’d said, I mean, congratulations, you’re probably gonna get to work with the most awesome person ever, by which I mean me. Jinyoung had stared and wondered what the hell he was on about and laughed awkwardly and Jaebum had said by the way I’m Im Jaebum, and Jinyoung had said I’m Park Jinyoung, like they didn’t already know each other’s names. Jaebum had been right.

Now it seems stupid that he hadn’t been able to read Jaebum’s shyness, or that he’d been so put off by the solemn and matter-of-fact your rhymes seriously suck ass right now that he hadn't been able to recognise it for the gentle ribbing that it was. He wonders how he would have seemed to Jaebum: confident, obnoxious, probably unbearably so in both cases.

On the second weekend since the move he visits his old dorm for the bi-monthly league of legends casual match - he’s shit at it, but he likes to watch. He forgets the trick to jimmying the lock on the bathroom and ends up stuck there, heart racing and wondering how long he could live off eating hand-soap. Eventually someone comes along to use it, and shouts through to turn the lock clockwise about three quarters of the way around, lift the door a bit and then try pulling.  He gets it unstuck on the third try and wonders how he could forget something he used to do every day, could do even in his sleep.

When he gets home Jaebum’s fussing in the bathroom and Jinyoung does a double take.

“Wow,” he says, standing in the doorway. “Just, wow.”

Jaebum jumps a little before going back to running his hands through his short hair. “It’s…very blonde, isn’t it.”

“No freaking shit, Sherlock,” Jinyoung says, still frozen. It’s not like Jaebum’s been sucked up by aliens and replaced by a being-from-the-nearest-class-m-planet, but. It’s still unnerving.  Jaebum’s face looks different in the bathroom mirror reflection, even though Jinyoung can’t pinpoint exactly why. Same strong cheekbones, sleepy brown eyes, but it changes him somehow.  At least the smile he shoots Jinyoung is the same, a little crooked and wonky with his overbite.

“I guess it’ll take some time to get used to,” Jaebum says, giving it a last run through and flick, and Jinyoung shakes off the splintery feel of imagining it’s his own hands, looking for fragments of memories that don’t exist.

***

His world begins to revolve around Jaebum, no matter his preference: they slide into it, slow and inexorable.  School is - strange. More and more he wonders if his friends are his, or if they belong to JR - junior to the JYP and soon-to-debut trainee. He doesn’t know if that’s the same thing. He finds himself watching his words closer.

He goes from school to company to home and Jaebum is always there, physically or not; he finds himself saying Jaebum did so and so, Yesterday we went and checked out that new shoe store, you wouldn’t believe what happened to Jaebum and I- he wonders if others notice.

Jinyoung’s always been an early riser and Jaebum a morning grouch, and it becomes increasingly evident the less sleep they get. They’re still in school - for the meantime at least - and the early starts are not exactly Jaebum’s forte.  Jaebum’s alarm blares throughout the apartment, setting Jinyoung’s teeth on edge, until it becomes unbearable and he stumbles his way into Jaebum’s room. He manages to get the alarm off and yanks at Jaebum’s blankets, Jaebum hissing at the cold and shoving a pillow over his own face.

“Go away,” he bites out, muffled through the pillow. Jinyoung yanks that away too, glaring down and trying to look as stern as possible.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late, stop being so lazy,” he says, the mattress dipping under the weight of his arm as he leans in. He thinks he can feel the warmth of Jaebum through the blankets, but that could just be him imagining things.

Jaebum blinks up at him unfocused, no glasses and contacts not in yet. He could probably shove Jinyoung off and send him sprawling on the floor. He could just as easily snap that he’d stayed up far later than Jinyoung to practice,  or that Jinyoung had forgotten to do the dishes only yesterday to fuck around on his ipad, so who’s calling who lazy?

“Eugh, morning breath,” he says instead, pushing a spluttering Jinyoung out of the way as he half-rolls, half clambers off his bed. He sends Jinyoung wobbling and pitching into the mattress.

“Hey!” Jinyoung says, grabbing at his wrist, but Jaebum is faster, and he imagines that maybe he gets a snatch of pulse against his thumb on the inside of Jaebum’s wrist before he pulls free.

Jinyoung scrambles free of the blankets to follow Jaebum out, hooting when Jaebum pulls his shirt off grumpily on the way to the shower.

“Filed away in the spank-bank,” he calls, the spark of fear he recognises as his brain-to-mouth filter jolting behind his ribs a little too late. He coughs and doesn’t see the shirt that gets chucked at his face as retribution, a surprisingly good shot considering how blind Jaebum is without glasses. Jinyoung grumbles but throws the shirt into the hamper for him, scrubbing at his face to try and get the weird feeling of Jaebum’s scent off.  He’s probably just imagining that too, he thinks, sneezing like some dog-man freak.

They’ve lived together long enough now to settle into their morning routine quickly, learning to navigate the increasing disorganisation of the apartment: Jaebum dodges the slip-hazard and/or puddle where the shower always leaks, Jinyoung manages to find his socks in the slowly collapsing pile of folded laundry on the couch, and they each carefully avoid the lethally pointed corner of the kitchen counter, the bruises on their hips finally beginning to fade.

Jinyoung scarfs down his breakfast to meet Jaebum at the front door with only seconds to spare. Jaebum is hopping on one foot, trying to jam a shoe on when he looks up and finally notices the hat on Jinyoung’s head. He winces.

“Not regulation uniform, dude,” and he finishes tying his laces to get up in Jinyoung’s personal space and try to pull it off. Jinyoung manages to wiggle away just in time, batting away his hands.

“No man, you don’t understand, I’m making snapbacks all the rage there. I’m bringing them back, it’s all fine, they recognise,” he hurries out, close to whining as he ducks away from Jaebum’s reaching arms.

“Amazing, truly amazing, but no,” Jaebum says, rolling his eyes and finally managing to flip the hat off and frisbee it to the lounge. Jinyoung frowns at him, half for being a killjoy and half because he hadn’t sounded nearly as sarcastic as he usually does.

“You’re losing your touch,” he mutters, but Jaebum doesn’t seem to hear, just throws his backpack over his shoulder and hooks his fingers in the cuff of Jinyoung’s blazer.

“C’mon, we’re going to be late,” Jaebum says, tugging him through the front door, and Jinyoung follows.

***

They’re given a preview of the teasers before the official releases, sat at a meeting table much too large for them and watching a projector screen. Jinyoung drums his fingers on the wood and his stomach lurches, the beginning drop of a rollercoaster again and again as they loop through all the different minute variations.

“Which one do you boys like best?” the producer’s assistant asks, and Jinyoung shoots a panicked look at Jaebum. He can’t even remember the first option, let alone decide a favourite, and Jaebum’s expression mirrors his own. Jinyoung sees their manager Haesung raise his eyebrows from the corner of his eye.

“Uh,” Jaebum coughs, recovering, “the third one, with- with the-” he halts, unsure, and acts out the first few moves with his arms as the assistant smiles and nods, a little bashful.

“I helped with that one,” she says, skipping back to play it again, and Jinyoung bites down a laugh, because of course. Jaebum gives him a tiny shrug across the table, as if to say, I’m just a natural. Jinyoung can practically hear him in his head, dry and a little self-deprecating, holding the smugness at bay.

They get back so late it’s closer to early morning, Jaebum stifling a yawn as he clumsily thumbs at the elevator button. The ding when they reach their floor is almost unbearably loud in the hushed hallway, and Jinyoung has to stick his head out to check - to check for what, he doesn’t know. The place is always more foreboding when they feel like the only ones awake.

When he unlocks the door to the apartment Jaebum freezes, the door only half-open, and Jinyoung crowds up behind him trying to see.

“What,” he says, heartbeat thundering in his chest, “what is it?” His mind runs through the scenes: someone had broken in, they’d been burgled, someone had died in their apartment, their floors drowned in blood-

Jaebum turns to look at him, throwing the door open, and Jinyoung lifts his hand from where it had landed on Jaebum’s shoulder, quite without his own permission. His mini-crisis about limb control is interrupted though by the sight that meets his eyes:  their shoe cupboard is wide open, their shoes lined neatly in rows on the floor in front. The walk towards it is dream-like, and the sound of Jaebum peeling the sticky note off the door seems to echo in the silence.

“Cupboard needed airing, so did your shoes,” he reads, “from the housekeeper.”

“How long is it going to take to sort them all again,” Jinyoung says, hushed, and Jaebum just shakes his head.

“In the morning,” he says, throwing his arm over Jinyoung’s shoulder and crumpling the note, “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

He hadn’t exactly counted on spending his Sunday morning sorting through a pile of sneakers trying to figure His from His, but Jinyoung does his best to make it fun, which mostly means annoying Jaebum and seeing what shoes he can get away with reassigning as his own.

“Are the Supras yours or what? Mine, right?” he calls back from their little foyer-alcove, and Jaebum hums absent-mindedly at the dinner table.

“The falcons, yeah?” Jaebum rubs at his face blearily, dropping his pen against the homework he’s trying to do as he leans back in a stretch. “Mine, definitely mine. I’ll trade you for the wings, though.”

Jinyoung snorts. “The wings are mine, don’t even try. What about the Airforce?” As he’s talking he tries to slip a particular pair he’d been eyeing for a while up the back of his allocated shelf.

“Jinyoung,” Jaebum says sharply, and he tries not to jump too obviously.

“But you barely ever wear them,” he whines, and brings them out from their hiding spot to hold in front of him and pout.

Jaebum narrows his eyes at him, chewing his bottom lip. He stands abruptly, arriving beside Jinyoung so fast he unbalances from his squat and lands on his butt.

“Nope,” Jaebum says, pulling them from Jinyoung’s grasp and slotting them in next to the other shoes on his shelf. “And for that you lose these, too,” and takes Jinyoung’s vans. Jinyoung groans and lies on the floor, choosing not to point out that the vans had originally been Jaebum’s, and that he’d just borrowed them and never given them back.

Jinyoung fakes sleep as Jaebum continues sorting, only to be awoken with a shoe to the gut. “C’mon, homework,” Jaebum says, wry twist to his mouth. “I’ll let you copy my maths if you help me with English.”

Jinyoung is equal parts grateful and resentful, because now he’ll have to do his English homework, which is one more subject than his original plan of none at all. At least it meant that Jaebum was chilling out a bit about school if he was willing to get Jinyoung of all people to help him. Maybe it’s Jinyoung’s jovial disregard for academic commitment rubbing off, or just a general lessening of intensity from when they were fourteen and still rocking the double-denim. After all, Jaebum was a lot more likely to say screw it, let’s go get dinner when they’re having a terrible practice that’s going nowhere. And, Jinyoung thinks, to be fair, he himself had probably improved a bit. Nothing like the threat of being dropped as a trainee to improve your grades.

Jinyoung pretends to weigh it up and Jaebum snorts, poking at his face. “All right,” Jinyoung says in English, even though he feels kind of stupid. Jaebum just helps him up, his grip strong on Jinyoung’s forearm, and Jinyoung watches the pull and flex of his arm and the way his throat moves as he swallows. He tries to push it away, to the box at the back of his mind he’s tentatively labelled “I really need to stop with having all these metaphorical boners for my roommate”, right next to the neon lights of “And what do we do when they stop being so metaphorical?”

***

The extra hectic preparations begin to take their toll.  Jinyoung’s old knee injury is a constant twinge now, strapped up with tape. He collapses onto the wooden dance studio floor, watching the choreographer go over the moves again again that he still can’t stick. The icepack against his leg is a numb heaven of sorts but it leaves his hands creaky and stiff with the cold. He gets up to hobble around a bit, stretch it out, and Jaebum shoots him a look over his shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” the choreographer says, “He just needs rest.” He talks like Jinyoung isn’t right there, and Jinyoung rolls his eyes at Jaebum.

Jaebum doesn’t return the gesture though, just nodding seriously, the line of his shoulders tense. “I know,” he says, and Jinyoung is suddenly struck by how unmeasurably tired he is. How tired they both are.

The trip home is quiet and Haesung shoots a look at them, tutting at their short, cut-off responses to his questions. “Get some sleep,” he says, handing them a plastic folder. “Your class attendance can drop for the next few weeks, but you still have to do this work for your tutors. You’ll meet them tomorrow.”

They’re yawning on the way up, dozing vertically against the mirrors in the elevator.  Jaebum is more asleep than Jinyoung, fumbling with the keys as they reach their apartment, so Jinyoung takes them from him. Jaebum waits behind him but pitches forward, resting his forehead against the space between Jinyoung’s neck and shoulders. Jinyoung is too tired to summon up an internal freak out. He unlocks the door as gently as he can before shrugging Jaebum awake.

They haven’t eaten since lunch, working straight through dinner, and Jinyoung sets the kettle to boil before pulling out the instant ramyeon. They’ve got frozen meals and a diet plan, but he’s too lazy to bother, and Jaebum has no right to complain unless he wants to cook for them instead.

Jaebum follows him into the kitchen, slouching against the counter with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His eyes are half-closed and he looks mostly asleep, but Jinyoung can still feel him watching as he moves around the kitchen. He ignores the prickling at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to hunch his shoulders in protection. When he leans against the counter he turns and looks out the small window. He watches the headlights of passing cars instead of meeting Jaebum’s gaze.

“How’s your knee,” Jaebum says, his voice rough with disuse, and he clears his throat at the end.

Jinyoung shifts it, kicking out a little to feel the tugs and pulls of it. “It’s okay. I’ll just icepack it before bed,” and it feels like Jaebum is barely listening to his words, just making him talk to break the strange silence. Jinyoung turns back to the ramyeon.

Jinyoung starts at the sound of chair scraping against the floor and Jaebum is slumped into his chair, pushing aside the junk on the dining table to fold his arms and lean his face against his forearm. He’s left the light above the table off, just the harsh light from the kitchen cutting through the dark. When Jinyoung brings dinner over and puts the steaming bowls on the table Jaebum is still watching him; his face is slack-jawed but his eyes are sharp and intent.  He sits up, rubbing at the side of his face and sighing before pulling his bowl closer.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and Jinyoung stays standing there, in between the table and his chair. How hard would it be to kiss him, Jinyoung wonders, or how easy. Jaebum looks up from his food at him in confusion, his eyes tracing over Jinyoung’s face before darting to the food in front of him.  It had always been difficult in his mind, insurmountable. But Jinyoung could rest his palms on the table, lean forward, it would be so simple. He feels the realisation, the possibility so much that it’s almost physical. The weight of it drags at his chest.

Jaebum coughs, tapping his fingers against the table as his eyes slide away a little nervously.

“What’s up with you lately,” Jaebum says. There’s a moment of silence where Jinyoung’s mind is completely blank, no response waiting to be spat out, and Jaebum hesitantly continues, “Is there something on my face?”

Jinyoung sits down.

***

The music video set is large and intimidating, and after the fourth take of one of his solo scenes Jinyoung’s already decided that he prefers live performances - not that they’ve had any yet, but two solid days of filming makes him certain in his opinion.  At least performing is fun and if he screws up on stage he can just keep going and then it’s over; here, he’s stuck trying to look excited again and again when truthfully he’d like to just go lie down and not wake up for a while.  The special camera frame digs in to his waist and when the camera-man finally unstraps him from it his shirt clings to it, damp with sweat.

“Nasty,” Jaebum says, wrinkling his nose and handing him a water bottle.

“So’s your face,” he mutters back, no fire, and Jaebum ruffles his hair patronisingly, like it hadn’t taken fifteen minutes in makeup to get it to stick up perfectly.

At least they get scenes together, which are much more fun to shoot: they get caught up a little, and  Jinyoung’s laughing real laughter of enthusiasm when the director calls cut, leaning against the concrete wall of the narrow hallway to catch his breath.

Jaebum leans up next to him, but not before one of the extras walking past gets a chance to catch a good ogle. Jinyoung wacks him on the arm, pointing as she walks past meaningfully slow, and Jaebum shoots him a confused look before nodding to her tightly.

“You know her?” Jaebum asks, and Jinyoung scoffs at him disbelievingly.

“This guy,” he says, more to himself than anything, “this fucking guy,” and shoves Jaebum off the wall.

“What,” Jaebum says, looking affronted and shoving Jinyoung back, but before Jinyoung has a chance to tell him what a complete a-grade tit he is for acting dumb Jaebum’s pulled away for another stint in make-up and some solo shots.

When Jinyoung finds him again they’re getting ready to reshoot one of the classroom scenes, and it’s an odd sense of disconnect: Jaebum dressed up and primped for idoldom and slouched on the floor against a school-desk. Jinyoung throws himself behind the desk, his chair screeching madly against the floor, and Jaebum jolts awake with a hand against his chest.

“You scared the shit out of me, Jesus,” Jaebum mutters, rubbing at his temples, and Jinyoung snorts.

“No, it’s Jinyoung, silly,” he says, batting away Jaebum’s hands to rub at the nape of his neck and make chopping-hands against his shoulders. “The head banging get to you?”

Jaebum tries to nod and Jinyoung tugs at his hair in retaliation. What’s a friendly massage between two bros, he thinks, and tries to keep the chest spasms to a minimum. One of the camera-men shoots him an odd look and he coughs, his hands freezing against the warmth of Jaebum’s neck. He turns to look back at him, but Jinyoung stands quickly.

“C’mon, shoot’s about to start,” he says, and then he drags Jaebum up by his armpits before he has a chance to protest. The director calls for the extras to get on set and Jinyoung takes his place, pulling in a deep steadying breath.

When they’re finally let out their manager checks his watch. “If,” he says, not making eye-contact, “if you were to disappear right now, and if I were to somehow not be able to contact you, I imagine it would be hard for me to enforce your curfew.”

Jinyoung knows that Haesung knows they’re too tired to get into any real trouble, and Jinyoung also knows that Haesung knows he knows this, so he nods brightly before slinging his arm over Jaebum’s shoulder before saying, “Should we invite the pretty dancer girl who had her eyes on you?”

Haesung gives a sharp Yah and pushes at Jinyoung’s forehead as Jaebum laughs a little exasperatedly. “Can’t we just go home?”

“Party pooper,” Jinyoung snorts, waving off Haesung. “We have to at least go to the markets and celebrate.”

“Nope,” Jaebum says, their manager clapping him on the shoulder before leaving with the rest of the crew. Jinyoung grouches until they’re in the car by themselves.

“The trick,” Jaebum says, “is to not act like an idiot. We can stop off and get food, alright, but don’t go blabbing and setting him freaking. If he doesn’t know, he doesn’t have to tell us off.”

“He wasn’t freaking,” Jinyoung says, but smiles sunnily at Jaebum anyway. “You’re the best most responsibly sneaky leader ever.”

Jaebum sighs around a smile, self-satisfied, and they make the driver stop at the street vendor closest to their apartment.  The streets are awake and noisy even this late, bugs humming around the dull streetlights above. It feels close to raining, the air crackling with the smell of wet and static.

Jaebum buys them bindaeddeok and Jinyoung knocks his elbow against Jaebum’s side. “You’re the best, hyung,” he says, and when the store owner smiles at him he pushes it further, his tone turned grovelling: Ah hyung, what would I do without you, thank-you, I owe you hyung!

Jaebum tries to glare at him and fails miserably. He grimaces to hide his twitch of a smile and pushes Jinyoung away, nodding his head in apology to the woman. Jinyoung waves over Jaebum’s shoulder. He chews on the pancake and notes with satisfaction the flush across Jaebum’s face and the smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, visible even in the shifting light.

When the get back Jaebum turns the aircon off and Jinyoung watches him a little confused as he opens the windows as wide as possible. Jaebum shrugs.

“I just like the warmth,” he says, and Jinyoung decides to roll with it, because he sort of understands. The humidity sits like home on him, familiar and ingrained. He remembers being thirteen, sleepless and stuck to his bedroom floor in the pitch black of midnight. The darkness had cloyed with heat, his skin tacky with sweat, thrum of cicadas loud through the open windows. The edge of summer creeping into the weather feels like home, but he’s not sure which home he means. He remembers the missed call he’d got from his sister this morning with a jolt.

They agree to sleep out in the lounge room, dragging fold-out mattresses and a few token blankets in front of the TV. The lights of the lounge room are bright, cold, and they make the windows dark and mirror-like until Jinyoung pulls across the blinds. They’ve got a rare day off the next day, no school and only a meeting with management for a debrief of the shoot before dinner.  Jinyoung is yawning as soon as he’s crafted a messy approximation of a bed, fumbling the catch as Jaebum throws him the Xbox controller.

“C’mon, one game,” Jaebum says, and Jinyoung humours him, wailing over-dramatically when Jaebum gets a headshot for the billionth time.

“Another crushing defeat at the hands of the ruthless Im Jaebum,” Jinyoung says, tone veering from sarcasm into strange affection with his tiredness. Jaebum brushes invisible lint off his shoulders and shrugs as if to say Well what do you know, I’m just the best as he switches back into single player, and Jinyoung settles down, falling asleep watching the play of blue-washed light against Jaebum’s deft hands.

When Jinyoung wakes the first thing he’s aware of is the crick in his neck, his pillow missing and the sharp brightness of morning sun through the blinds burning at his eyes. The next thing he’s aware of is Jaebum; or maybe he already was aware, and was just renoticing. At any rate he rubs at his face, numb with sleep, and Jaebum shifts beside him. Jinyoung tries to untangle Jaebum from where he’s flung his limbs across him, his leg thrown over shins and his arm a hot strip against his chest. Jaebum feels overly warm pressed against his side.

He jimmies sideways, trying to dislodge himself without waking him, but Jaebum’s arm tightens across his ribs.

“Stop moving,” he groans, “Day off, still early. Sleep more.”

Jinyoung laughs, tension dispelled, and shoves at Jaebum’s hip. “Get off, you giant hot water bottle. I’m sweating here.” It was only half-true; Jaebum was uncomfortably hot against him, but the cool of morning has goosebumps crawling up Jinyoung’s arms.

Jaebum smiles and blinks sleepily but rolls over, tugging the thin blanket up.  Jaebum is already back asleep, his face twitching a little as he settles, and Jinyoung reaches over to smooth his hair down. Jaebum always had the worst bed hair, Jinyoung thinks vacantly, probably because of the bleaching.

Jinyoung realises what he’s about to do before he reaches him, and he freezes like that, his arm stuck out oddly, his eyes wide with shock. He can’t help the half hysterical laughter that spills out and he quickly retracts his arm as Jaebum shifts, murmuring what?

“Nothing,” Jinyoung says, “Nothing,” but he feels like he’s going to start laughing again at how fucking weird he’s being, so he stands and pads to the bathroom. He splashes his face with cold water and staring at himself disbelievingly in the mirror, watching himself chew on his bottom lip. Time to make breakfast, he thinks distractedly, his stomach rolling.

***

They’ve got a photoshoot and the van ride is nervous, the coffee they’d had instead of breakfast buzzing through Jinyoung’s veins. He’s restless the whole ride there, fiddling with his phone and playing with the arm rest, pulling it up and down, up and down, up and down. He’s so caught up in the rhythm of it that he jumps when Jaebum leans over, shoving it up with an audible thunk.

“Just,” Jaebum says, sounding strained, “leave it alone.”

“Sorry,” Jinyoung mutters, swallowing against his nervous energy. Jaebum just makes a noise against the back of his teeth and jerks back to his own seat, and Jinyoung does his best to stay still. Jaebum is the sort to get quiet and tense with nerves - Jinyoung vents it out, but Jaebum folds it in on itself, until the tension is palpable enough to have Jinyoung leaning away. Jinyoung goes loose and jittery, spread out and annoying, but Jaebum is taut and ready to snap when Jinyoung does something particularly infuriating.

They have a fill-in manager today, Haesung off sick, and it’s a constant they don’t miss until he’s gone. It adds another layer of unsettledness that shows in Jaebum as they enter the studio. Jinyoung watches him set his shoulders back and go about the introductions and bows and thankyous and no-really-we’re-so-happy-to-work-with-you’s, butting in with a joke or one-liner when he can. He’s not particularly funny, but the air’s awkward enough for him to earn some surprised - and probably a little relieved - laughter. People a little on edge are always grateful for the opportunity to laugh, even if it is the jumpy sort, he thinks, shooting an overzealous wink at one of the younger stylists and getting a shy giggle in response.

They’re shuttled to a little wardrobe-makeup-change room, settling into auto-pilot - Jinyoung remembers one of their sunbaes joking that idols could enter sleeping competitions, all of them champions of snoozing with their eyes open.  Jinyoung doesn’t even manage that, jerking awake and opening his eyes to a sympathetic looking hairstylist quirking a knowing half-smile back at him through the mirror.

They wait while the photographer fiddles with the camera, tucked in the shadows behind the sheer white backdrop. Jinyoung almost trips over the wiring, grabbing onto the metal framework to catch himself in the small space. Jaebum snatches his wrist, and Jinyoung probably would have pulled it away if he wasn’t able to tell that Jaebum would have preferred to be holding his hand.  Something about his pained look and the way he bites out, “please, please be quiet right now for one second,” his fingers twitching, lets him know that if they weren’t surrounded by busy people, he’d probably slip his fingers between Jinyoung’s and hold on tight.  Sometimes, Jinyoung thinks, it would be nice to not care about appearances. Maturity was overrated, and hand-holding was totally excellent, but Jaebum was Jaebum, so. No hand-holding.  Jinyoung considers giving Jaebum shit for being such a needy stress-head, but Jinyoung is meant to be the fun one, and one of the coordis is watching him out of the corner of her eye, so instead he bumps his shoulder against Jaebum’s.

“Chill,” he says.

Jaebum deflates just a little, leaning more heavily against him. Jinyoung allows himself a little bit of pride at that. He wasn’t particularly anxious about photoshoots, not moreso than the usual nerves, but Jaebum had this weird thing about it all. And once Jaebum got into a fixed loop it was hard to jolt him out of it. Jinyoung pries his hand free and shoves Jaebum onto the set, the photographer nodding at his assistant as he takes a couple of test shots. Jaebum pulls a face at Jinyoung and Jinyoung sticks his tongue out at him right back, swaggering on set dramatically and causing Jaebum to snort a laugh.

Sometimes Jinyoung feels drunk on the power of it, knowing it only takes a stupid expression to put Jaebum back on the path to chipper or some half-assed snark to have him bright red with embarrassment. He feels like some sort of psychic Jaebum-whisperer, too many years of experience in figuring out what he’s saying and what needs to be said. It can get overwhelmingly frustrating, suffocating, and then other times Jaebum will turn up waiting outside his school after a long day with a coffee or shaved ice and they’ll catch the bus home in silence, and Jinyoung wonders if maybe Jaebum’s got his own supernatural tricks up his sleeve.  Maybe it’s not some psychic bullshit, he thinks, slinging his arm over Jaebum’s shoulder and wincing at the strong flash. Maybe that’s just friendship.

When they get back to the apartment Jinyoung beelines for his bedroom, rummaging through his wardrobe for his hidden Very Serious Emergency Only Okay Sort of Regular Midnight Snacks sweet stash. He calls for Jaebum without thinking, and when he turns Jaebum’s standing in his door. He hesitates for a moment before stepping over the threshold. They’ve been in each other’s rooms, of course they have, but they prefer the neutral ground of the lounge room and they’re both unexpectedly tense.

“Here,” Jinyoung says, throwing a packet of sour worms, the plastic crackling, “and welcome to my humble abode.”

He sits in his desk chair, spinning round and watching Jaebum stand untethered in the middle of the room, smearing across his vision as his speed picks up. His own packet of sweets lies unopened on the desk.

Jaebum chucks the sweets onto the bed and grabs the back of Jinyoung's chair unexpectedly. Jinyoung jerks, almost losing his balance, and when Jinyoung cranes up to look him in the eye he wobbles a bit, still dizzy. Jaebum’s face is close and earnest, biting at the edge of his lip. Jaebum pushes up his glasses, a nervous habit, and Jinyoung could swear that he can see the blush creep across his cheekbones. He must have swapped from contacts as soon as he got home, Jinyoung thinks vacantly, catching his reflection in the lenses.

“Just,” Jaebum says, “don’t make this weird, okay?”

Jinyoung’s heart is suddenly trying to turn itself inside out with how near he is, the possibilities of the situation thudding right at the front of his brain. He tries not to look at Jaebum’s arm, still resting on the back of the chair and so close. “Uh,” he says.

When Jaebum kisses him the first thing he thinks is fucking finally and then okay now what do I do, and even a handy “Um” or “keep doing that, yes, good” doesn’t seem like it’d work. Jinyoung settles for leaning forward eagerly, digging his fingers into Jaebum’s hip and trying to reach up. Jaebum knocks their teeth together, shifts sideways and tries to reposition, their teeth clacking again. Jinyoung ignores it, trying to catch his breath and pull Jaebum closer all at once. He thought the dizziness had worn off, but apparently not: his head spins a little, floaty, and he wonders if this is what déjà vu feels like. But, like, the opposite of déjà vu, or something, like, his brain stutters out as Jaebum’s knee knocks against his own and he’s suddenly confronted with the possibility of him straddling his lap. Their teeth clack again.

Instead Jaebum leans back, smiling embarrassedly and flushed. “This isn’t very comfortable,” he says, and Jinyoung nods seriously in agreement before he makes eye contact and the laugh he’s holding in bursts out.

“Don’t make this weird,” he repeats, and Jaebum hides his face in his hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” he groans, sounding exasperated, “You didn’t have any better ideas, I bet.”

Jaebum really isn't a swearer, not usually, and it surprises Jinyoung in a way sends a thrill straight to his gut. He shifts forward off the chair and half bowls Jaebum over, sending him stumbling backwards towards Jinyoung’s bed. He falls against him with an oof.

“This relationship is moving awfully fast,” Jaebum says, voice tight, and Jinyoung would feel the fall in his stomach if Jaebum hadn’t pulled him up closer to kiss him again. He pulls Jaebum’s shirt up around his chest and Jaebum shoves him off enough to pull it the rest of the way, tangling it around his arms until Jinyoung has to sit up and help. He laughs, feeling giddy, and tosses it to the floor as Jaebum slings his arm around his neck. He pulls him back down and wacks him on the shoulder, saying “Stop laughing, stop laughing,” even though he’s laughing too. Jinyoung kisses him, reckless and overenthusiastic, and Jaebum suddenly pushes him off gasping. Jinyoung guiltily retracts his hands from where they’d creeped over Jaebum’s waist.

The rush of thoughts he’s been holding at bay arrives wave-like, the loudest being oh no this is such a terrible idea what have we done and do I like making out more than I like Jesus, which is quickly drowned out by what if he stopped because I’m terrible? how will we ever live together if-

Jaebum pokes at his face and checks back at his watch. “Earth to Jinyoung? We have to leave in ten minutes, and we’re meant to be ready for the tutor.”

“Homework,” Jinyoung says dazedly, “Right. They’re going to kill me.”

“You can copy mine on the way,” Jaebum says, and there’s a smug smile creeping across his face. “If you pay me back.”

Jinyoung pushes off, leaving Jaebum with a quick poke to the stomach and throwing him his shirt. “You’re the best, hyung,” he snipes, and reaches for his backpack. “So that’s what? 100 won?”

“Get out,” Jaebum says, and he herds Jinyoung towards the door with a warm hand against the small of his back, surprisingly gentle given the bite of his tone.  Jinyoung decides to engage in some selective silence, slinging his own arm around Jaebum’s shoulders and hip-bumping him against the hard doorframe as a retort instead. Jaebum bites out an ow, bumping Jinyoung right back, but he manages to dodge it and gives a long yawn before skipping ahead.

“Come on Jaebum, we mustn’t be late,” he says, smiling a little cheekily over his shoulder and it’s ridiculous how buzzed and warm and happy he is, the real and genuine sort that sits behind his ribs. Jaebum ducks his head, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Jinyoung decides that for now, everything is alright.

***

They’re given the final confirmed schedule for their debut performance a week before the date and they buy a cake in celebration.  Summer is already sweltering, soaking their shirts against their backs as they climb the hill to the apartment block in dusk light.  The air tangs of monsoon and bitumen.

They leave the lights off and open the windows in hope of fresh air, the aircon clicking with the strain over the hum of cicadas. They sprawl on the lounge-room floor in darkness and hazy light of the city. Jinyoung lights the candles on the cake and catches Jaebum’s grin; before he even has a chance to attempt blowing the candles out Jaebum’s already got them all. Light from the roadside glints off Jaebum’s teeth and Jinyoung hopes it’s dark enough for him not to notice the icing he scoops up. He gets Jaebum straight across the face with it and satisfyingly determines that no, Jaebum hadn’t been able to see it, even as Jaebum squawks indignantly and wipes it off to smear right back across Jinyoung’s own face. The ensuing battle ends when Jaebum gets Jinyoung pinned to the floor, hands on his wrists, smile quirked to the side. Jinyoung has a moment of anticipation, freefall, and then Jaebum leans in and kisses him softly like it’s nothing. It leaves Jinyoung breathless, hollow and ready to burst all at once, stretched out like the skin of a balloon.

Jinyoung tries to arch up but Jaebum pulls away laughing, rolling off and tucking one hand behind his head.

“To JJ project,” Jaebum murmurs, and Jinyoung watches as he licks the rest of the icing off his hand. Fucking tease.

“To JJ project,” Jinyoung says back, the grin already pulling at his mouth, “and to getting laid on a reg-”

Jaebum blushes so hard and fast Jinyoung swears it reaches all the way down his neck. He manages to get his hand over his mouth quicker than he expected, his eyes bright in the darkness. “Ew, you are so gross, shutup oh my-”

Jinyoung bites him and while Jaebum is busy checking for blood he manages to splutter out "Ew? Excuse me, ew?"

“I don’t know why I keep you around,” Jaebum murmurs, but he isn’t even putting any effort into it, so Jinyoung decides to read it as fond irony instead. “I demand a divorce.”

“Ha ha sucker, shoulda signed a pre-nup,” Jinyoung says delightedly, not bothering to move.

“What?” Jaebum grunts out.

“I get half, don’t you pay attention to anything? And I’m taking the shoes too,” Jinyoung adds, rolling on his stomach to watch Jaebum closer.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, but Jinyoung can see the amusement creeping into his expression. “Fine, I’ll keep you.”

Jinyoung rolls over him, equal parts gleeful and obnoxious, humming the start of bounce and ignoring Jaebum's futile protests, and suddenly it hits him: a week to debut. The routine of preparation had worn them down and made it just another part of the schedule, but the reality is overwhelming.  He rolls off and rubs at the scratches on the floor, remembering when he’d stepped on his keys and left the mark.

“Are we ready?” he asks, and he thinks that maybe Jaebum won’t know what he means.

“Yeah, I think we are,” Jaebum says instead, sitting up his elbows and looking down at Jinyoung. “As long as you fix that third step that you’re always late on,” he adds, shit-eating grin across his face, and Jinyoung reaches for the icing again.

***
A/N: Thankyou and congratulations for surviving until the end, feedback welcome!