the adventures of rain-dance summer
this is going to sound incredibly naive and (...blanking on the right word right now, omg) well-to-do/first-world/ignorant of me, but i've been so incredibly happy the past few months and would just like to mark this point in time. so, when i'm still jobless and a stay at home child and crying myself to sleep every night in 2013, i can look back
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"oh, shit," he says, as everybody freezes with their mouths open. cue the proverbial record scratching to a halt. seunghyun is hunched over, one hand on his knee and the other at his mouth as he coughs coughscoughs, each one exponentially worse than the last. after a few seconds, he drops down to a sitting position. "shit," jiyong says, "shit, shit, shit."
by the time jaewook comes back with an ice pack for seunghyun's neck, seunghyun has moved to the mirrored wall and jiyong is crouched over him with at least five thousand i'm-so-so-sorry's at his tongue and a cup of water. the music is still going because nobody has thought to shut it off, say, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha on an endless loop. jaewook passes the ice to jiyong, who shoves seunghyun's fingers out of the way to press it gently to his neck himself.
"your hand's gonna--" seunghyun tries to say, but stops to cough in the middle. "--gonna go numb."
jiyong shrugs; his hand is already numb. "don't talk."
jaewook cuts the music off and herds the dancers out of the room for a break, and then there's only silence, distant noises of sneakers scuffing on wood from the other dance rooms. jiyong counts fifteen minutes before seunghyun finally takes an uninterrupted breath and clears his throat. the tension goes out of his shoulders and he relaxes, head bumping against the mirror behind him. there's a bright red imprint on his neck, three little ridges to mark jiyong's knuckles.
"i think they did that move in ong-bak," seunghyun says, his voice hoarse.
jiyong stares at him for a second, then sits back on his haunches. "um." scrolling past the next iamsososorry on the tip of his tongue, he tries to remember the obscure thai action flick they'd watched at kush's house weeks ago. "didn't that guy die?"
"i think so." seunghyun says. "didn't everybody die in ong-bak?"
"except ong-bak."
the corner of seunghyun's mouth curls up. "yea."
"okay, look," jiyong says, "i feel really shitty and stalling isn't helping THIS LINE IS AWKWARD AS BALLS so can you just hit me back?" the smile twists into momentary confusion on seunghyun's face, but jiyong scoots a few baby steps closer, tilting his head to the side to point at his cheek. "just, right here. really hard."
"wait, you. what?" seunghyun's eyebrows disappear into his white hair, half an amused snicker at his lips that has jiyong biting back his own grin despite himself. "the bloody nose wasn't enough for you?"
"no, no nose. the nose is out. if you touch my nose i'll get mad," says jiyong. squeezing his eyes shut for extra emphasis, he jabs his cheek again. "just once really hard, right here. so we're even."
"i feel so much pressure," seunghyun jokes, but jiyong hears him sit up a little straighter, anyway.
he isn't exactly sure what he's expecting since he hasn't seen seunghyun hit anyone on purpose since middle school. but when the tiniest open-palmed slap hits his cheekbone, it jolts him into losing his balance and falling over onto his side, the laughter already tearing breathlessly out of his lungs.
"what was that!" he says, curling in on himself, "what the fuck!"
seunghyun drops the ice pack over jiyong's face, which makes jiyong laugh even harder. "lover," seunghyun says, "not a fighter."
they show the dancers the adjustments when they come back from their break.
seungri is disappointed. but jiyong likes - notes, to himself later - how deep seunghyun's dimples get when they perform it.
he figures seungri will get over it.
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