Round 1: The Remainder Theorem (Team Future)
Title: The Remainder Theorem
Team: Future
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: SME
Pairing: Luna/Minho
Summary: It’s not about falling in love with someone. It’s about falling in love with the idea of that person, with the idea of being in love.
Author's Note: I wanted to play with perspectives a bit. And write an epic love story at the same time. Hopefully, I didn't make everything incomprehensible. Often blatant inspiration or bits taken from Juno, 500 Days of Summer, Inception, Les amours imaginaires and Norwegian Wood. Go Team Future!
Prompt: 2NE1's Go Away
It’s not about falling in love with someone. It’s about falling in love with the idea of that person, with the idea of being in love.
- Xavier Dolan
I wanted the pleasure of seeing her again. The pleasure of hearing her. So she could make me laugh and cry. One more time, if I may.
- Michel Tremblay
A woman sits up straight: she’s on edge. She leans into the cushions: she’s provocative. She leans over to another woman: she’s a gossip. She holds the other woman’s hand: she’s queer. She hold an apple in her hand: she’s a temptress. She slices the apple: she’s tame. She slices your heart out: she’s a bitch. She wears a heart at her throat: she’s a beauty. She wears a silk tie at her throat: she’s butch. She wears a silk camisole: she’s a slut. She’s slutty: she’s a celebrity. She celebrates herself: she’s got nerve. She’s celibate: she’s pathetic. She’s empathetic: she’s a sweet thing. She sweetens the deal: she’s a honeypot. She hones her tongue: she’s a shrew. She’s shrewd: she’s deadly. She’s dead: she’s innocent. She’s a virgin: She’s on edge.
- Eva Heisler
They watch Inception three times, the five of them together.
From Jonghyun and Kibum's elaborately constructed arguments about what really happened when Cobb (Romeo, Jonghyun still stubbornly calls him) wakes up on the plane, Marion Cotillard versus Ellen Page and the merits of Joseph Gordon-Levitt's hair, Minho is fairly sure that they've stolen off to the movie theatre on their own more than once.
"I wonder if I'm dreaming," Jinki mumbles into his coffee the morning after Jonghyun had confessed to buying the movie on iTunes. There had been a whole fight about it.
The next morning, there are four bowls of rice on the table.
"Oops," is all Jonghyun says quietly, when the milk he's pouring misses his cereal bowl by a good metre. Jinki raises an eyebrow at him as lumps begin to form and sink in Kibum's orange juice.
When Kibum sprints for the sink (later, but not that much later), Taemin plants a bony elbow under his ribs and even Jinki quirks a corner of his mouth at him with sleep-swollen eyes.
Minho has to pinch himself to stop laughing.
This is how it ends: it is early September and he is hoisting Taemin's suitcase into the car trunk. When he slides back into the front seat, Taemin is fingering his passport and staring at the Starbucks outside.
"Do you want something before you leave?" He's conspicuously aware of the lack of papers in his hands. He wraps them around the steering wheel instead.
Taemin doesn't say anything for a few moments, then dimples at Minho. "They have Starbucks in Tokyo too, you know."
"Yeah." There's a yellowing leaf stuck under the windshield wiper. He has a sudden overwhelming itch to reach through the glass and pull it out. "I guess I just thought it would be different."
Taemin is staring at the leaf too. "They're a multinational corporation. I'm pretty sure things won't change too much from one timezone to the next."
The ensuing silence is too conspicuous, and he resentedly turns the key far too hard in the ignition. The engine groans and snarls to life.
"Minho."
He can hardly look over without feeling fingers at his throat. "What?"
"You have every one of our CDs." There's something like wonder in Taemin's voice.
The clatter of hard plastic as he pulls out onto the road, motor humming. "Yeah."
Dear Minho, it says, I had an Americano when I arrived. The apartment is nice, kind of small. Doing pretty well, even if the city's expensive. Say hi to everyone for me. Arial, font size 12.
It's devoid of the tell-tale hurry of a dying ballpoint pen's scratch on the back of a takeout receipt, pinned to the fridge. Minho taps back a few lines about the weather in Seoul.
Lady Liberty waves at him from the kitchen counter; he points Joohyun to the fridge so she doesn't see him practically lunge for the glossy slip of card.
For Taemin's birthday, he spends two hours with Jonghyun and Jinki staring at the screen of a dirty Hello Kitty netbook. They end up emptying a pack of convenience store alcohol and spending fifty dollars more than intended.
("Overseas banking charges, you stupid shit." Jinki had grumbled at Jonghyun.
"He'll love us, okay.")
They all wake up to the same text the next morning, from the floor of Jonghyun's living room. Thanks for the gift ^^ I'll show you when I buy something pretty.
The browser is still open to the Thank You page of Barney's. An emaciated girl in towering heels leers at him from the screen. She's wearing a huge neon fur scarf that looks as though it's swallowing her neck and upper body. It's not even cold in New York yet.
He didn't understand the seduction of it. You can have all of that here, he had said. Why are you so eager to leave us behind for that? The people you love, they're here.
Silence.
You're going to break us.
Kibum had torn out of Minho's grip, like ripping an iron brand from his naked skin. You just don't get it. But you will, you'll see.
He doesn't.
This is the way he might later think about how the rest of his life began: sitting next to Soojung in a bar while she snarls and sobs about her "abandonment by stupid bandmates", steadying her when she falls onto the car door because she's flirting outrageously with Minho because she's drunk, and the inhibition of age and seniority has gone out the window.
Somehow, miraculously, they make it to his apartment. It's a struggle to get her shoes off and then Soojung herself onto his bed; he's about to close the bedroom door when Soojung sits up unnaturally straight in her bed.
"You said I was pretty."
Except for the copious amounts of eyeliner, she looks every inch the sixteen year old she said she had wished to be, surrounded by mounds of pillows and blankets.
"You did."
"Soojung." He thinks about how Jinki would talk on days when Jonghyun was feeling particularly short: brittle as porcelain and volatile as napalm. "Look, you are very pretty."
She hiccups violently. "I don't think that you think so."
How much of this will she remember? "You're like a little sister to me," he says honestly. "And you're very drunk right now. Get some sleep and we'll talk about this tomorrow morning, okay?"
"No." His head and ears begin to pound from the late hour or the drinks, or the stress of not knowing how to deal with the girl in his bed.
"Minho, you're not listening."
The pain is swelling. "I am."
"Victoria is building her own family. Amber's happy just dancing in Los Angeles. Everybody wants Jinri on their show, and Sunyoung's in New York. I thought they loved me."
"They do." Seoul's neon lights wink at him from the window, teasing. He ignores them. "They do."
"I know they don't!"
It is the calm after the storm. He's dealt with enough drunken bandmates to know this. The ache starbursts behind his eyelids in time with her slowing breathing. She doesn't speak or move after a few minutes, so he lifts his head from the doorframe and exits. The door shuts with a click and it's quiet after that.
Soojung comes to the kitchen the next morning in Taemin's old sweatpants. Her face is pale and bare, except for the red eyes, huge purple circles. When he turns to her with a box of cereal, her gaze flickers to the redness of his left cheek where he pressed too hard into the couch. She flinches away, without a word.
Even as the sun floods through his apartment in gentle light, he knows New York is being painted black in giant swathes, little pinholes of neon light peeking through. Two years is enough time for a person to change, but he feels like he'll never get to grow up. He is static, sitting in a kitchen in Seoul with a glass of undisturbed milk.
Halfway through her bowl of cereal, Soojun abruptly looks up from the comics. "Do you think you did the right thing?"
He meets Jinri in the company building a lot going in and out, sometimes with Soojung. He works with Yoona and Sooyoung on easy dramas; Yuri he rehearses with every Thursday.
Sometimes he sees Qian. That's what Minho calls her now, and he twists the syllables on his tongue the way Siwon did. He knows she likes it from the way she tries not to grin.
Sometimes, among these times, he takes her out to coffee. They sit across from each other at a table in a small private cafe, hidden from the door behind a wall and a remarkable potted plant. It's nice to lean back and hear her talking with animated hands and eyes about the latest news in her life. Occasionally she turns a certain way and the light shines just right, and he will see Tori again. He'll marvel at how easy it feels with her, in this moment.
He really did like her back then.
Now it's comfortable. They drink espresso, and he buys them buttery shortbreads dipped in dark chocolate.
"Minho," she says to him one Monday afternoon. The cafe is empty except for a few hungover baristas; she glances around and puts her hand over his. "I think we'll have to stop this."
"What?" A flush is creeping up her face and she puts her hand over his, calming. "Why?"
"Well, you see-" She's trying not to grin. "Minho, I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant."
He will remember this moment in little things: the crumbs on her fingers, the sour taste of coffee in his mouth, the sun filtering through the window, and the particles of dust floating between them.
The swell of her cheek and the way she sat heavy in her chair. He supposes it's obvious, if you would only look for it.
"It's just that with the way things are, people will talk. I don't care anymore, but it will be hard for you."
"And the baby," he adds.
"And the baby."
He thinks about how they must look to a passerby, seated the way they are. He wonders if they know how to witness the graceful, quiet ending of a boy's first love.
She's shining. How did he not see it? "No matter what, Siwon would have been happy."
"Yes," she says softly. "No regrets, that's what he said."
"No regrets." The words feel heavy on his tongue.
It's a mess of sweaty leather and hairspray, too much cologne and skin. Everyone is moving, dancing, kissing, shaking, laughing, shouting. He's seen more ridiculous outfits than the ones he wears in avant-garde photoshoots by designers he can't pronounce. With the pounding bass and neon lights, it feels something from a half-remembered dream of backstage and SHINee.
So is the voice that comes from below his right shoulder, suddenly. "Minho?"
It's Sunyoung, almost stepping on his toes; she cranes her head to look up at him. Her hair is different from the last time he saw her, he thinks- then he tries to remember the last time he saw her, and fails. It's been a long time, maybe even before the girls disbanded.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"You look good," he tells her, and means it. She was a reluctant redhead in his memory.
She looks at him, confusion apparent in the little half-smile her face. "What?"
He leans in a little, not that it takes much effort from the unceasing push of people around them. There's glitter on her ear. "You look good!"
"Thanks!" They both clear their throats at the same time; it is sort of ridiculous how awkward this situation is making him feel. "You too."
And then she grins, and it's the same old Sunyoung all over again. "How have you been? I've seen you on TV. Keeping busy?"
"I've been well. Average stuff, keeping busy." Almost a year. It's been almost a year, and a little more than two since then. The music is getting louder, the crowd swells along with it. Someone steps on his shoes. Don't think about it. "Don't usually see you at places like this."
She shrugs, and he feels her her shoulder knock against his ribcage. "Soojung suggested that I come, she says she never sees me anymore. I haven't seen her yet though."
He remembers there's an open bar tonight. "Don't count on it."
Something flashes over Sunyoung's face. He almost regrets the loaded comment before she says dully, "There's an open bar. Yeah, I figured as much. I thought I'd come to appease her anyways."
The tightness of her mouth and the furrowed line of her brow startles him. "So you know?"
"Of course I know." She narrows her eyes, at him now. "You don't think I fell off the face of the Earth by going to New York, did you?"
In his imagination, it is Central Park, fashion schools, the five flights of stairs and the elevator that never works in the apartment, the man who sells bananas for 99 cents each on every morning but Sunday. It is Kibum and Taemin and all the people he thought he knew, who never returned. Now he mentally pencils Sunyoung into a grimy subway seat like he sees in the occasional postcards, her imprint on the couch of a two-bedroom student apartment.
Her hair is not black or brown again, like he thought. It is purple.
"Taemin thought it would be a good idea. I said no, but then I didn't count on having Manic Panic in the apartment after St. Patrick's Day. I should have known."
"St. Patrick?"
"People put up green decorations and clovers everywhere. Every pub has half-priced beer and pretends to be Irish for the day. And leprechauns, you know-" She stops short, then looks up from her yoghurt to the window behind him and sighs. "It's a day to get drunk."
"Evidently." He's never heard about this little episode from Taemin, who seems to be on permanent vacation. He had mailed Minho his key, duct-taped onto the back of a postcard, with an offer to live there while he was in Tokyo for a commercial shooting.
A layer of bubbles is building up on the meniscus of the coffee pot, next to the glass of milk on the counter. He reaches out for the cereal.
This feels familiar, this feels different. He is unsettled. There is a girl he used to wave to when they passed each other in some hallway on the job-someone familiar who wore a dress to church every Sunday- in purple hair and last night's eyeliner sitting in his kitchen with the last of his organic yoghurt.
He feels older.
Jinki remains unabashed, even when Minho drops the pickled ginger into his bowl.
"So," he says, pointing his chopsticks in Minho's face. "Sunyoung's coming back, did you know?"
He swats at them. "Yeah, I actually saw her at that launch party a couple days ago." The cutlery leaves his field of vision, and Jinki just beams. "You're that proud of Jessica, huh?"
"Well, I can hardly show it to anyone else. Give me my moment."
"It's not your moment, it's your girl's."
"Whatever," the other scoffs. The familiar grin loosens, goes a little slack. "So you met Sunyoung?"
"Yeah."
"How was it?"
"I kind of ran into her in the middle of the club. We talked."
"Oh?"
"It was nice."
This earns him a raised eyebrow.
"And we may have gotten a little drunk."
The eyebrow stays. "I mean, what did you think."
Oh. "She's-" Different. Daring. Maybe kind of sort of appealing in a subversive-to-his-so-called-life way. "She's changed a lot."
"Good or bad?"
"I don't know," he says automatically. He really doesn't, he realizes. "I never really knew her that well."
"Oh? It seemed like you did." Jinki picks up the entire clump of ginger and bites down without noticing. "Ooh look, your beef is coming."
It's no surprise when he runs into Sunyoung, exiting Lee Soo Man's office in a skirt suit. By the time she reaches him, he turns on his heel without a thought to walk with her to the elevator. She's carrying a thick sheaf of papers that she shuffles a little violently, out of beat with her clicking stilettos.
They don't speak until the doors slide shut.
"Contract drudgery," she mumbles.
"Re-negotiations?"
"No, more like clarification and reminder of binding terms."
"Oh." Been there, done that. "How long then?"
She grimaces. "That's not the issue. How much."
He winces, almost involuntarily. "Money?"
"Jobs. They exercised an option."
"Oh."
He's late for his meeting.
He gets an idea.
"So how long are you staying for?"
Sunyoung is stirring her frappucino and frowning at the straw beneath the plastic dome. She sighs and looks up at him, hands stilling. "I don't know. Until I get a good number of recordings done, I guess. A few of the dramas are in limbo now, so it might be longer than I thought it would be."
"There must be some projects that are looking for singers."
"Yeah, but SM doesn't charge cheap. We were never a huge success anyway, so it's hard to finalize things. Until I fill my contract requirements, I guess."
This is his cue: Action. "I'm starting pre-production on a pilot. I can talk to the director. Ask him if he needs anyone for the soundtrack."
"Really?" Her hands drop from the drink. "You'd do that? Don't feel like I'm asking you for this-"
Minho hopes that she understands. He also really hopes that he's not imagining things. "I'm sure. I'd like to help."
She hugs him quick and warm, fingers wet with condensation from the cold plastic cup. "Thank you," she says after she draws back. Her smile is sincere, not carved for a camera. "Really, thank you, Minho."
"You're welcome." He feels a smile tugging on his own lips too. "I'll look into it as soon as possible," he promises.
He sees her in the company building a lot. She's usually in the recording studios, where he'll drop by at the end of the day with tea. Tea, no coffee, Sunyoung says mournfully.
One cloudy weekday morning, she waves at him cheerfully from the studio window. His phone buzzes not thirty seconds later: Tell Jinki I said hi! (:
"Is this a regular thing?" Jinki asks from over his shoulder.
Sure. How do you feel about chai? "Not really," he fibs. "She says hi."
"Mmhmm."
That is the end of that. Sunyoung sings the song and shows up at the the company gym with a scone and coffee for him. "Thanks for everything," she says, perched on the edge of the recording studio couch. He hovers, unsure of where to eat or drink without defiling any expensive equipment.
In the end they go to the practice room, the claustrophobic one with the black walls. "I can't recognise anybody here," Sunyoung says with a rueful laugh. He can pick out a few faces from the hallways, but doesn't know any names.
Her hair is dark brown.
Sunyoung clears her throat and waves her napkin above the table. "Order in the court!"
"We've already ordered, princess."
"Jjong."
"Seriously, listen." She drops her hand to the table, and knits her fingers into the starched fabric.
"Go on."
Her shoulders rise, then fall in exhalation. "I'm thinking it's time to move on. Do you think halfway around the world is a bit too much?"
Yes.
"But there's hardly been time to get to know you," Jonghyun leers.
"It's too early to be drunk."
"It's never too early to be drunk, my love."
"Thou shalt not covet, oppa." She sighs and primly picks up her fork. "Anyways, I've been here forever. I just need something new."
"You've hardly been back for that long." Minho blurts out, disregarding Jinki's elbow in his pelvis.
A clove of garlic flies off Sunyoung's plate as she stabs particularly hard. "See, that's it. My job is my life! I don't want my job to be my life. There's so much more I want to see."
He's proud of how steady his voice is. "I thought you loved singing."
"I did. But not like this. I never thought it would be like this."
He steadfastly refuses to look at Jonghyun making moony eyes at him from beside Sunyoung. "So you came back to tie things up and leave?"
"I just," His hip is starting to hurt, and Jonghyun is making a big show of looking anywhere but their direction. "Thought you would understand."
Thou shalt not steal.
"I'm sorry I brought this up at dinner. Let's just enjoy our meal, okay? Talk about this another time."
"Here," Jonghyun hands him a glass. "Waiter says this wine is excellent."
He lets him and Jinki refill the glass when they think he's not looking.
The whirring sounds emerging from her MacBook are foreboding.
"This is normal," Sunyoung assures him. "It happens all the time. Anyways, if you're into Crystal Castles, you know that was a limited edition EP only sold at their New York show. Okay, enough of that; look at this. You said you like She & Him too? I can't believe you haven't listened to M. Ward's individual stuff yet yet."
Out pops the CD, and she reaches for a new one. "CD case, thank you. Cut Copy is absolute rubbish, but if you really want, Passion Pit has a few good songs. Wait, I know this isn't your style but Ellington is really lovely."
She's halfway through her iTunes library when she reaches for her empty cup. "Let me get that," Minho says hastily, glad for an excuse to save himself from any embarrassment stemming from his complete lack of knowledge of any of the bands she's mentioning. He drops it in the sink and turns to the fridge. "What do you want? Banana milk, Yakult, orange juice..."
"Do you have any beer? Thanks. Oh, you have the 500 Days soundtrack. Did you like it?"
"Yeah, the movie was great." He grabs two bottles, which unfortunately reduces the contents of his fridge by half.
"It was kind of faux-indie, but better than The Garden State. The music is great. The original Pixies or Meaghan Smith's cover?"
He racks his brain. "...Joseph Gordon-Levitt?"
Sunyoung laughs. "Good choice, he's pretty cute. I love that scene. I wish they had included the full cover."
It hits him. "Actually, the soundtrack came as a gift along with the movie. Do you want to watch and stay for dinner?"
She stops laughing. "What?"
The pulse in his thumb pounds steady against the cold glass, but his stomach feels like it's dropped into his not-nether regions. "Dinner?"
The screen goes down, her shoulders go up. "Sorry, I've got something to do."
"Tomorrow night, maybe?"
"No, no, I'm pretty much booked for the weekend. Sorry." She stands abruptly. "Thanks for the beer, but I really have to run."
He's still holding the two unopened bottle by the time she's out the door.
Minho takes a deep breath, and extends his hands.
"Peace offering."
Her head doesn't turn.
"I went over the boundaries, and I'm sorry."
It takes a few moments, but Sunyoung swivels on her bar stool and nods in tipsy approval at the tumblers he is holding. "Grey Goose, I approve."
"Thank you." They clink glasses.
This is turning out to be a classy party after all. I didn't think Jonghyun had it in him."
"Really? After that dinner?"
"Okay, fine. As expected, the drinks are excellent. These ones not excepting."
Liquor stores open at midnight: 6. Minho: 1. "I appreciate your appreciation."
She laughs. Minho: 2.
Bitches.
"So, have you given more thought about this moving thing?" It's safe territory, he had decided. He places Sunyoung's glass on the bar in front of her.
"Yes." She swallows the liquid in one gulp and smacks it down. "I'm determined to make it happen."
It's like he sees himself leaning in with drink in hand, but can't pull back or control what he's saying. "Isn't it a bit rushed?" But then again, he's earned the right to be bitter. "I mean, what is it about New York that makes you so determined to go back?"
"New York?" She cocks her head. "I'm going to Toronto."
Toronto. Toronto?
"Toronto. How drunk are you?" she sighs. "I suck at this so bad. I don't think I've seen Soojung either fully sober or not hungover since I told her I was moving out."
The world is spinning.
"Wait, what?"
"Our lease. We signed a joint two-year thing, but there's an opt-out clause after one year, I just can't manage to talk to her about it."
A year? One whole year?
"And two months. Please don't you tell me too that it was a mistake to move in with her right after we disbanded. I thought we could make it work."
He swallows his words into his chest; it tastes bitter and stale. A palpitation pushes them right back up. "Don't go."
It's her turn to look alarmed. Good, he thinks.
"What?"
엠버 says at 2:39 am:
is this for real? like, for real for real?
민호 says at 2:43 am:
yes
엠버 says at 2:43 am:
holy shit
엠버 says at 2:43 am:
phuket thailand
민호 says at 2:45 am:
that was the idea
엠버 says at 2:48 am:
touchy, doucheface
엠버 says at 2:50 am:
why so serious?
민호 says at 2:51 am:
...have you been watching batman
엠버 says at 2:51 am:
i'm watching batman
엠버 says at 3:06 am:
jesus, thought you left
엠버 says at 3:07 am:
no, i'm watching juno
민호 says at 3:07 am:
i was waiting for you!
엠버 says at 3:08 am:
that thing happened
민호 says at 3:10 am:
what thing
엠버 says at 3:14 am:
the thing
엠버 says at 3:14 am:
you know, when you type something in the window and the other person types something back almost right away
엠버 says at 3:14 am:
but then you don't see it right before you close the window, but it's already in the window
엠버 says at 3:15 am:
so your window doesn't flash, but the message is there
엠버 says at 3:16 am:
then you realise the other person already answered and you feel really stupid for not replying for like, 20 minutes
엠버 says at 3:16 am:
god, i am so eloquent
민호 says at 3:16 am:
i wouldn't call that eloquence
민호 says at 3:16 am:
but yeah, that's what happened
엠버 says at 3:22 am:
story of your life
엠버 says at 3:41 am:
minho?
He is twenty-four years old, and standing in the doorway of a girl's apartment at 3:30 in the morning. The alcohol is to blame.
A chain rattles, and the door swings open.
Sunyoung is the picture of calm. "Keep your voice down, Soojung just fell asleep."
He’s not here for Soojung. "Will you stay?"
She sighs. "We’ve already talked about this. I wasn’t even part of your life three months ago.”
"And since then, I've just been trying to get more time with you."
"Because you thought I was living in New York with Kibum.”
The words sting. "No!"
"You did." She crosses her arms.
"Maybe at first.” What would she do if he reached out for her right now? “But not after I got to know you. And that's what you made it sound like-"
"I never insinuated any such thing.”
He has nothing. "I'm sorry."
“Yes, well. There’s no cure for being an ass, is there?” The words are nasty now, with real anger. "I really did like you, you know. But back then, I didn’t even have a chance."
The world goes silent, only a persistent high whine ringing in his ears. “Sunyoung-”
“I don’t anymore.”
He shakes his head. “But you came back.”
Now she is shaking. “Not for you. To finish my contract, to get my life back. So I didn’t have to ask for permission to change when I want to.”
“You were just there. And it was so plausible. One last trophy, to see if I could do it." She smiles like the old Sunyoung would, sad and sweet and tired. "And I did. It was too easy. You didn't even try to know me."
He is losing, fast. "Don't say that, Sunyoung."
“You just don't understand, do you?” She draws away from him into the apartment, one hand behind the door. “But you will, you'll see one day.”
The words feel strangely familiar, and suddenly he’s looking into a mirror two years and three months too late.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings.
“Hello," he tries. His voice is like gravel in his throat.
Nothing.
"Hello?"
He wakes up.
"Hello?" He breathes in deep. He knows these words, knows the way his tongue and lips curl around the syllables and the vibration of his voice against the phone. It’s me, Minho. Please don’t hang up. Would it be impossible to start over? I’m sorry. I want to know you. I miss you.
“Hello?”
Waiting for the person on the other end to make a sound, the seconds pass like hours as though he is in a dream.
Poll Round 1: The Remainder Theorem (Team Future)
* The previous polls results were viewable to everyone (even the text comments), so we had to take it out. Rest assured, though, that a record of the previos poll has been kept and we are going to factor in these votes for the final count.
Team: Future
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: SME
Pairing: Luna/Minho
Summary: It’s not about falling in love with someone. It’s about falling in love with the idea of that person, with the idea of being in love.
Author's Note: I wanted to play with perspectives a bit. And write an epic love story at the same time. Hopefully, I didn't make everything incomprehensible. Often blatant inspiration or bits taken from Juno, 500 Days of Summer, Inception, Les amours imaginaires and Norwegian Wood. Go Team Future!
Prompt: 2NE1's Go Away
It’s not about falling in love with someone. It’s about falling in love with the idea of that person, with the idea of being in love.
- Xavier Dolan
I wanted the pleasure of seeing her again. The pleasure of hearing her. So she could make me laugh and cry. One more time, if I may.
- Michel Tremblay
A woman sits up straight: she’s on edge. She leans into the cushions: she’s provocative. She leans over to another woman: she’s a gossip. She holds the other woman’s hand: she’s queer. She hold an apple in her hand: she’s a temptress. She slices the apple: she’s tame. She slices your heart out: she’s a bitch. She wears a heart at her throat: she’s a beauty. She wears a silk tie at her throat: she’s butch. She wears a silk camisole: she’s a slut. She’s slutty: she’s a celebrity. She celebrates herself: she’s got nerve. She’s celibate: she’s pathetic. She’s empathetic: she’s a sweet thing. She sweetens the deal: she’s a honeypot. She hones her tongue: she’s a shrew. She’s shrewd: she’s deadly. She’s dead: she’s innocent. She’s a virgin: She’s on edge.
- Eva Heisler
They watch Inception three times, the five of them together.
From Jonghyun and Kibum's elaborately constructed arguments about what really happened when Cobb (Romeo, Jonghyun still stubbornly calls him) wakes up on the plane, Marion Cotillard versus Ellen Page and the merits of Joseph Gordon-Levitt's hair, Minho is fairly sure that they've stolen off to the movie theatre on their own more than once.
"I wonder if I'm dreaming," Jinki mumbles into his coffee the morning after Jonghyun had confessed to buying the movie on iTunes. There had been a whole fight about it.
The next morning, there are four bowls of rice on the table.
"Oops," is all Jonghyun says quietly, when the milk he's pouring misses his cereal bowl by a good metre. Jinki raises an eyebrow at him as lumps begin to form and sink in Kibum's orange juice.
When Kibum sprints for the sink (later, but not that much later), Taemin plants a bony elbow under his ribs and even Jinki quirks a corner of his mouth at him with sleep-swollen eyes.
Minho has to pinch himself to stop laughing.
This is how it ends: it is early September and he is hoisting Taemin's suitcase into the car trunk. When he slides back into the front seat, Taemin is fingering his passport and staring at the Starbucks outside.
"Do you want something before you leave?" He's conspicuously aware of the lack of papers in his hands. He wraps them around the steering wheel instead.
Taemin doesn't say anything for a few moments, then dimples at Minho. "They have Starbucks in Tokyo too, you know."
"Yeah." There's a yellowing leaf stuck under the windshield wiper. He has a sudden overwhelming itch to reach through the glass and pull it out. "I guess I just thought it would be different."
Taemin is staring at the leaf too. "They're a multinational corporation. I'm pretty sure things won't change too much from one timezone to the next."
The ensuing silence is too conspicuous, and he resentedly turns the key far too hard in the ignition. The engine groans and snarls to life.
"Minho."
He can hardly look over without feeling fingers at his throat. "What?"
"You have every one of our CDs." There's something like wonder in Taemin's voice.
The clatter of hard plastic as he pulls out onto the road, motor humming. "Yeah."
Dear Minho, it says, I had an Americano when I arrived. The apartment is nice, kind of small. Doing pretty well, even if the city's expensive. Say hi to everyone for me. Arial, font size 12.
It's devoid of the tell-tale hurry of a dying ballpoint pen's scratch on the back of a takeout receipt, pinned to the fridge. Minho taps back a few lines about the weather in Seoul.
Lady Liberty waves at him from the kitchen counter; he points Joohyun to the fridge so she doesn't see him practically lunge for the glossy slip of card.
For Taemin's birthday, he spends two hours with Jonghyun and Jinki staring at the screen of a dirty Hello Kitty netbook. They end up emptying a pack of convenience store alcohol and spending fifty dollars more than intended.
("Overseas banking charges, you stupid shit." Jinki had grumbled at Jonghyun.
"He'll love us, okay.")
They all wake up to the same text the next morning, from the floor of Jonghyun's living room. Thanks for the gift ^^ I'll show you when I buy something pretty.
The browser is still open to the Thank You page of Barney's. An emaciated girl in towering heels leers at him from the screen. She's wearing a huge neon fur scarf that looks as though it's swallowing her neck and upper body. It's not even cold in New York yet.
He didn't understand the seduction of it. You can have all of that here, he had said. Why are you so eager to leave us behind for that? The people you love, they're here.
Silence.
You're going to break us.
Kibum had torn out of Minho's grip, like ripping an iron brand from his naked skin. You just don't get it. But you will, you'll see.
He doesn't.
This is the way he might later think about how the rest of his life began: sitting next to Soojung in a bar while she snarls and sobs about her "abandonment by stupid bandmates", steadying her when she falls onto the car door because she's flirting outrageously with Minho because she's drunk, and the inhibition of age and seniority has gone out the window.
Somehow, miraculously, they make it to his apartment. It's a struggle to get her shoes off and then Soojung herself onto his bed; he's about to close the bedroom door when Soojung sits up unnaturally straight in her bed.
"You said I was pretty."
Except for the copious amounts of eyeliner, she looks every inch the sixteen year old she said she had wished to be, surrounded by mounds of pillows and blankets.
"You did."
"Soojung." He thinks about how Jinki would talk on days when Jonghyun was feeling particularly short: brittle as porcelain and volatile as napalm. "Look, you are very pretty."
She hiccups violently. "I don't think that you think so."
How much of this will she remember? "You're like a little sister to me," he says honestly. "And you're very drunk right now. Get some sleep and we'll talk about this tomorrow morning, okay?"
"No." His head and ears begin to pound from the late hour or the drinks, or the stress of not knowing how to deal with the girl in his bed.
"Minho, you're not listening."
The pain is swelling. "I am."
"Victoria is building her own family. Amber's happy just dancing in Los Angeles. Everybody wants Jinri on their show, and Sunyoung's in New York. I thought they loved me."
"They do." Seoul's neon lights wink at him from the window, teasing. He ignores them. "They do."
"I know they don't!"
It is the calm after the storm. He's dealt with enough drunken bandmates to know this. The ache starbursts behind his eyelids in time with her slowing breathing. She doesn't speak or move after a few minutes, so he lifts his head from the doorframe and exits. The door shuts with a click and it's quiet after that.
Soojung comes to the kitchen the next morning in Taemin's old sweatpants. Her face is pale and bare, except for the red eyes, huge purple circles. When he turns to her with a box of cereal, her gaze flickers to the redness of his left cheek where he pressed too hard into the couch. She flinches away, without a word.
Even as the sun floods through his apartment in gentle light, he knows New York is being painted black in giant swathes, little pinholes of neon light peeking through. Two years is enough time for a person to change, but he feels like he'll never get to grow up. He is static, sitting in a kitchen in Seoul with a glass of undisturbed milk.
Halfway through her bowl of cereal, Soojun abruptly looks up from the comics. "Do you think you did the right thing?"
He meets Jinri in the company building a lot going in and out, sometimes with Soojung. He works with Yoona and Sooyoung on easy dramas; Yuri he rehearses with every Thursday.
Sometimes he sees Qian. That's what Minho calls her now, and he twists the syllables on his tongue the way Siwon did. He knows she likes it from the way she tries not to grin.
Sometimes, among these times, he takes her out to coffee. They sit across from each other at a table in a small private cafe, hidden from the door behind a wall and a remarkable potted plant. It's nice to lean back and hear her talking with animated hands and eyes about the latest news in her life. Occasionally she turns a certain way and the light shines just right, and he will see Tori again. He'll marvel at how easy it feels with her, in this moment.
He really did like her back then.
Now it's comfortable. They drink espresso, and he buys them buttery shortbreads dipped in dark chocolate.
"Minho," she says to him one Monday afternoon. The cafe is empty except for a few hungover baristas; she glances around and puts her hand over his. "I think we'll have to stop this."
"What?" A flush is creeping up her face and she puts her hand over his, calming. "Why?"
"Well, you see-" She's trying not to grin. "Minho, I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant."
He will remember this moment in little things: the crumbs on her fingers, the sour taste of coffee in his mouth, the sun filtering through the window, and the particles of dust floating between them.
The swell of her cheek and the way she sat heavy in her chair. He supposes it's obvious, if you would only look for it.
"It's just that with the way things are, people will talk. I don't care anymore, but it will be hard for you."
"And the baby," he adds.
"And the baby."
He thinks about how they must look to a passerby, seated the way they are. He wonders if they know how to witness the graceful, quiet ending of a boy's first love.
She's shining. How did he not see it? "No matter what, Siwon would have been happy."
"Yes," she says softly. "No regrets, that's what he said."
"No regrets." The words feel heavy on his tongue.
It's a mess of sweaty leather and hairspray, too much cologne and skin. Everyone is moving, dancing, kissing, shaking, laughing, shouting. He's seen more ridiculous outfits than the ones he wears in avant-garde photoshoots by designers he can't pronounce. With the pounding bass and neon lights, it feels something from a half-remembered dream of backstage and SHINee.
So is the voice that comes from below his right shoulder, suddenly. "Minho?"
It's Sunyoung, almost stepping on his toes; she cranes her head to look up at him. Her hair is different from the last time he saw her, he thinks- then he tries to remember the last time he saw her, and fails. It's been a long time, maybe even before the girls disbanded.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"You look good," he tells her, and means it. She was a reluctant redhead in his memory.
She looks at him, confusion apparent in the little half-smile her face. "What?"
He leans in a little, not that it takes much effort from the unceasing push of people around them. There's glitter on her ear. "You look good!"
"Thanks!" They both clear their throats at the same time; it is sort of ridiculous how awkward this situation is making him feel. "You too."
And then she grins, and it's the same old Sunyoung all over again. "How have you been? I've seen you on TV. Keeping busy?"
"I've been well. Average stuff, keeping busy." Almost a year. It's been almost a year, and a little more than two since then. The music is getting louder, the crowd swells along with it. Someone steps on his shoes. Don't think about it. "Don't usually see you at places like this."
She shrugs, and he feels her her shoulder knock against his ribcage. "Soojung suggested that I come, she says she never sees me anymore. I haven't seen her yet though."
He remembers there's an open bar tonight. "Don't count on it."
Something flashes over Sunyoung's face. He almost regrets the loaded comment before she says dully, "There's an open bar. Yeah, I figured as much. I thought I'd come to appease her anyways."
The tightness of her mouth and the furrowed line of her brow startles him. "So you know?"
"Of course I know." She narrows her eyes, at him now. "You don't think I fell off the face of the Earth by going to New York, did you?"
In his imagination, it is Central Park, fashion schools, the five flights of stairs and the elevator that never works in the apartment, the man who sells bananas for 99 cents each on every morning but Sunday. It is Kibum and Taemin and all the people he thought he knew, who never returned. Now he mentally pencils Sunyoung into a grimy subway seat like he sees in the occasional postcards, her imprint on the couch of a two-bedroom student apartment.
Her hair is not black or brown again, like he thought. It is purple.
"Taemin thought it would be a good idea. I said no, but then I didn't count on having Manic Panic in the apartment after St. Patrick's Day. I should have known."
"St. Patrick?"
"People put up green decorations and clovers everywhere. Every pub has half-priced beer and pretends to be Irish for the day. And leprechauns, you know-" She stops short, then looks up from her yoghurt to the window behind him and sighs. "It's a day to get drunk."
"Evidently." He's never heard about this little episode from Taemin, who seems to be on permanent vacation. He had mailed Minho his key, duct-taped onto the back of a postcard, with an offer to live there while he was in Tokyo for a commercial shooting.
A layer of bubbles is building up on the meniscus of the coffee pot, next to the glass of milk on the counter. He reaches out for the cereal.
This feels familiar, this feels different. He is unsettled. There is a girl he used to wave to when they passed each other in some hallway on the job-someone familiar who wore a dress to church every Sunday- in purple hair and last night's eyeliner sitting in his kitchen with the last of his organic yoghurt.
He feels older.
Jinki remains unabashed, even when Minho drops the pickled ginger into his bowl.
"So," he says, pointing his chopsticks in Minho's face. "Sunyoung's coming back, did you know?"
He swats at them. "Yeah, I actually saw her at that launch party a couple days ago." The cutlery leaves his field of vision, and Jinki just beams. "You're that proud of Jessica, huh?"
"Well, I can hardly show it to anyone else. Give me my moment."
"It's not your moment, it's your girl's."
"Whatever," the other scoffs. The familiar grin loosens, goes a little slack. "So you met Sunyoung?"
"Yeah."
"How was it?"
"I kind of ran into her in the middle of the club. We talked."
"Oh?"
"It was nice."
This earns him a raised eyebrow.
"And we may have gotten a little drunk."
The eyebrow stays. "I mean, what did you think."
Oh. "She's-" Different. Daring. Maybe kind of sort of appealing in a subversive-to-his-so-called-life way. "She's changed a lot."
"Good or bad?"
"I don't know," he says automatically. He really doesn't, he realizes. "I never really knew her that well."
"Oh? It seemed like you did." Jinki picks up the entire clump of ginger and bites down without noticing. "Ooh look, your beef is coming."
It's no surprise when he runs into Sunyoung, exiting Lee Soo Man's office in a skirt suit. By the time she reaches him, he turns on his heel without a thought to walk with her to the elevator. She's carrying a thick sheaf of papers that she shuffles a little violently, out of beat with her clicking stilettos.
They don't speak until the doors slide shut.
"Contract drudgery," she mumbles.
"Re-negotiations?"
"No, more like clarification and reminder of binding terms."
"Oh." Been there, done that. "How long then?"
She grimaces. "That's not the issue. How much."
He winces, almost involuntarily. "Money?"
"Jobs. They exercised an option."
"Oh."
He's late for his meeting.
He gets an idea.
"So how long are you staying for?"
Sunyoung is stirring her frappucino and frowning at the straw beneath the plastic dome. She sighs and looks up at him, hands stilling. "I don't know. Until I get a good number of recordings done, I guess. A few of the dramas are in limbo now, so it might be longer than I thought it would be."
"There must be some projects that are looking for singers."
"Yeah, but SM doesn't charge cheap. We were never a huge success anyway, so it's hard to finalize things. Until I fill my contract requirements, I guess."
This is his cue: Action. "I'm starting pre-production on a pilot. I can talk to the director. Ask him if he needs anyone for the soundtrack."
"Really?" Her hands drop from the drink. "You'd do that? Don't feel like I'm asking you for this-"
Minho hopes that she understands. He also really hopes that he's not imagining things. "I'm sure. I'd like to help."
She hugs him quick and warm, fingers wet with condensation from the cold plastic cup. "Thank you," she says after she draws back. Her smile is sincere, not carved for a camera. "Really, thank you, Minho."
"You're welcome." He feels a smile tugging on his own lips too. "I'll look into it as soon as possible," he promises.
He sees her in the company building a lot. She's usually in the recording studios, where he'll drop by at the end of the day with tea. Tea, no coffee, Sunyoung says mournfully.
One cloudy weekday morning, she waves at him cheerfully from the studio window. His phone buzzes not thirty seconds later: Tell Jinki I said hi! (:
"Is this a regular thing?" Jinki asks from over his shoulder.
Sure. How do you feel about chai? "Not really," he fibs. "She says hi."
"Mmhmm."
That is the end of that. Sunyoung sings the song and shows up at the the company gym with a scone and coffee for him. "Thanks for everything," she says, perched on the edge of the recording studio couch. He hovers, unsure of where to eat or drink without defiling any expensive equipment.
In the end they go to the practice room, the claustrophobic one with the black walls. "I can't recognise anybody here," Sunyoung says with a rueful laugh. He can pick out a few faces from the hallways, but doesn't know any names.
Her hair is dark brown.
Sunyoung clears her throat and waves her napkin above the table. "Order in the court!"
"We've already ordered, princess."
"Jjong."
"Seriously, listen." She drops her hand to the table, and knits her fingers into the starched fabric.
"Go on."
Her shoulders rise, then fall in exhalation. "I'm thinking it's time to move on. Do you think halfway around the world is a bit too much?"
Yes.
"But there's hardly been time to get to know you," Jonghyun leers.
"It's too early to be drunk."
"It's never too early to be drunk, my love."
"Thou shalt not covet, oppa." She sighs and primly picks up her fork. "Anyways, I've been here forever. I just need something new."
"You've hardly been back for that long." Minho blurts out, disregarding Jinki's elbow in his pelvis.
A clove of garlic flies off Sunyoung's plate as she stabs particularly hard. "See, that's it. My job is my life! I don't want my job to be my life. There's so much more I want to see."
He's proud of how steady his voice is. "I thought you loved singing."
"I did. But not like this. I never thought it would be like this."
He steadfastly refuses to look at Jonghyun making moony eyes at him from beside Sunyoung. "So you came back to tie things up and leave?"
"I just," His hip is starting to hurt, and Jonghyun is making a big show of looking anywhere but their direction. "Thought you would understand."
Thou shalt not steal.
"I'm sorry I brought this up at dinner. Let's just enjoy our meal, okay? Talk about this another time."
"Here," Jonghyun hands him a glass. "Waiter says this wine is excellent."
He lets him and Jinki refill the glass when they think he's not looking.
The whirring sounds emerging from her MacBook are foreboding.
"This is normal," Sunyoung assures him. "It happens all the time. Anyways, if you're into Crystal Castles, you know that was a limited edition EP only sold at their New York show. Okay, enough of that; look at this. You said you like She & Him too? I can't believe you haven't listened to M. Ward's individual stuff yet yet."
Out pops the CD, and she reaches for a new one. "CD case, thank you. Cut Copy is absolute rubbish, but if you really want, Passion Pit has a few good songs. Wait, I know this isn't your style but Ellington is really lovely."
She's halfway through her iTunes library when she reaches for her empty cup. "Let me get that," Minho says hastily, glad for an excuse to save himself from any embarrassment stemming from his complete lack of knowledge of any of the bands she's mentioning. He drops it in the sink and turns to the fridge. "What do you want? Banana milk, Yakult, orange juice..."
"Do you have any beer? Thanks. Oh, you have the 500 Days soundtrack. Did you like it?"
"Yeah, the movie was great." He grabs two bottles, which unfortunately reduces the contents of his fridge by half.
"It was kind of faux-indie, but better than The Garden State. The music is great. The original Pixies or Meaghan Smith's cover?"
He racks his brain. "...Joseph Gordon-Levitt?"
Sunyoung laughs. "Good choice, he's pretty cute. I love that scene. I wish they had included the full cover."
It hits him. "Actually, the soundtrack came as a gift along with the movie. Do you want to watch and stay for dinner?"
She stops laughing. "What?"
The pulse in his thumb pounds steady against the cold glass, but his stomach feels like it's dropped into his not-nether regions. "Dinner?"
The screen goes down, her shoulders go up. "Sorry, I've got something to do."
"Tomorrow night, maybe?"
"No, no, I'm pretty much booked for the weekend. Sorry." She stands abruptly. "Thanks for the beer, but I really have to run."
He's still holding the two unopened bottle by the time she's out the door.
Minho takes a deep breath, and extends his hands.
"Peace offering."
Her head doesn't turn.
"I went over the boundaries, and I'm sorry."
It takes a few moments, but Sunyoung swivels on her bar stool and nods in tipsy approval at the tumblers he is holding. "Grey Goose, I approve."
"Thank you." They clink glasses.
This is turning out to be a classy party after all. I didn't think Jonghyun had it in him."
"Really? After that dinner?"
"Okay, fine. As expected, the drinks are excellent. These ones not excepting."
Liquor stores open at midnight: 6. Minho: 1. "I appreciate your appreciation."
She laughs. Minho: 2.
Bitches.
"So, have you given more thought about this moving thing?" It's safe territory, he had decided. He places Sunyoung's glass on the bar in front of her.
"Yes." She swallows the liquid in one gulp and smacks it down. "I'm determined to make it happen."
It's like he sees himself leaning in with drink in hand, but can't pull back or control what he's saying. "Isn't it a bit rushed?" But then again, he's earned the right to be bitter. "I mean, what is it about New York that makes you so determined to go back?"
"New York?" She cocks her head. "I'm going to Toronto."
Toronto. Toronto?
"Toronto. How drunk are you?" she sighs. "I suck at this so bad. I don't think I've seen Soojung either fully sober or not hungover since I told her I was moving out."
The world is spinning.
"Wait, what?"
"Our lease. We signed a joint two-year thing, but there's an opt-out clause after one year, I just can't manage to talk to her about it."
A year? One whole year?
"And two months. Please don't you tell me too that it was a mistake to move in with her right after we disbanded. I thought we could make it work."
He swallows his words into his chest; it tastes bitter and stale. A palpitation pushes them right back up. "Don't go."
It's her turn to look alarmed. Good, he thinks.
"What?"
엠버 says at 2:39 am:
is this for real? like, for real for real?
민호 says at 2:43 am:
yes
엠버 says at 2:43 am:
holy shit
엠버 says at 2:43 am:
phuket thailand
민호 says at 2:45 am:
that was the idea
엠버 says at 2:48 am:
touchy, doucheface
엠버 says at 2:50 am:
why so serious?
민호 says at 2:51 am:
...have you been watching batman
엠버 says at 2:51 am:
i'm watching batman
엠버 says at 3:06 am:
jesus, thought you left
엠버 says at 3:07 am:
no, i'm watching juno
민호 says at 3:07 am:
i was waiting for you!
엠버 says at 3:08 am:
that thing happened
민호 says at 3:10 am:
what thing
엠버 says at 3:14 am:
the thing
엠버 says at 3:14 am:
you know, when you type something in the window and the other person types something back almost right away
엠버 says at 3:14 am:
but then you don't see it right before you close the window, but it's already in the window
엠버 says at 3:15 am:
so your window doesn't flash, but the message is there
엠버 says at 3:16 am:
then you realise the other person already answered and you feel really stupid for not replying for like, 20 minutes
엠버 says at 3:16 am:
god, i am so eloquent
민호 says at 3:16 am:
i wouldn't call that eloquence
민호 says at 3:16 am:
but yeah, that's what happened
엠버 says at 3:22 am:
story of your life
엠버 says at 3:41 am:
minho?
He is twenty-four years old, and standing in the doorway of a girl's apartment at 3:30 in the morning. The alcohol is to blame.
A chain rattles, and the door swings open.
Sunyoung is the picture of calm. "Keep your voice down, Soojung just fell asleep."
He’s not here for Soojung. "Will you stay?"
She sighs. "We’ve already talked about this. I wasn’t even part of your life three months ago.”
"And since then, I've just been trying to get more time with you."
"Because you thought I was living in New York with Kibum.”
The words sting. "No!"
"You did." She crosses her arms.
"Maybe at first.” What would she do if he reached out for her right now? “But not after I got to know you. And that's what you made it sound like-"
"I never insinuated any such thing.”
He has nothing. "I'm sorry."
“Yes, well. There’s no cure for being an ass, is there?” The words are nasty now, with real anger. "I really did like you, you know. But back then, I didn’t even have a chance."
The world goes silent, only a persistent high whine ringing in his ears. “Sunyoung-”
“I don’t anymore.”
He shakes his head. “But you came back.”
Now she is shaking. “Not for you. To finish my contract, to get my life back. So I didn’t have to ask for permission to change when I want to.”
“You were just there. And it was so plausible. One last trophy, to see if I could do it." She smiles like the old Sunyoung would, sad and sweet and tired. "And I did. It was too easy. You didn't even try to know me."
He is losing, fast. "Don't say that, Sunyoung."
“You just don't understand, do you?” She draws away from him into the apartment, one hand behind the door. “But you will, you'll see one day.”
The words feel strangely familiar, and suddenly he’s looking into a mirror two years and three months too late.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings.
“Hello," he tries. His voice is like gravel in his throat.
Nothing.
"Hello?"
He wakes up.
"Hello?" He breathes in deep. He knows these words, knows the way his tongue and lips curl around the syllables and the vibration of his voice against the phone. It’s me, Minho. Please don’t hang up. Would it be impossible to start over? I’m sorry. I want to know you. I miss you.
“Hello?”
Waiting for the person on the other end to make a sound, the seconds pass like hours as though he is in a dream.
Poll Round 1: The Remainder Theorem (Team Future)
* The previous polls results were viewable to everyone (even the text comments), so we had to take it out. Rest assured, though, that a record of the previos poll has been kept and we are going to factor in these votes for the final count.
