2PM, Chansung/Junho: Countdown (1/2)
Title: Countdown
Author: mo_chan_tf
Group: 2PM
Pairings: Chansung/Junho
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,700
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, I’m making no money out of this, nor do I claim any of it to be true.
Notes: Especially for Ci and Nora, without whom I wouldn't have written any CNN this in the first place. A huge thank you to ongew for helping me out with the plot. Also, Hottests @ twitter, you guys rock my world! Thanks for keeping me inspired every day. ♥
Finally, I should mention the following: although this is supposed to be a canon!fic, the main idea came up after one of my students talked about this movie. I haven't watched it yet, but if you have, you'll probably notice one similarity. :)
Summary: Time waxed and waned, making it difficult to tell what was and what was not.
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“Eight minutes left.”
Junho looked up from where he was sitting and frowned as he tried to locate the speaker. He didn’t recognize the voice, nobody was rushing through the room, and he was pretty sure thirty minutes could not have passed since he sat down to fix his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“Who said that?” He asked as he looked around. Everybody was busy preparing for the concert, or just trying not to let anxiety take hold of them. Minjun sang something with his eyes closed, voice barely audible. Wooyoung was having a change of clothes because he had ripped his pants while doing a split at the worst time possible. Taecyeon and Nichkhun were talking in English, so Junho tried to ignore the pang of jealousy for not knowing what it was about and not having the ability to understand it.
“Nobody said anything,” Chansung was sitting at his side, looking at him curiously.
“I’m sure I heard-” Junho stopped midsentence. He was stubborn, not stupid. It would be no use to argue with the maknae if he hadn’t heard it. Junho shook his head to drop the subject and Chansung closed his eyes, leaned back against the chair and let the makeup artist work on his skin.
Junho frowned. Maybe he had just imagined it? Maybe he’d remembered a line from some movie he’d watched and it echoed in his mind while he was distracted? He was not sure he wanted to believe that, but he decided to let it go as a moment of lapse.
“Does my hair look good?” he asked Chansung.
“Yup,” he said, without looking at Junho. His right eye twitched but didn’t open as the makeup noona applied foundation to his cheeks.
Junho tried not to pay attention to the movement of those fingers on Chansung’s face, but this pang was deeper and harder to ignore. It was not momentary, simple envy; it was jealousy of the kind he would always feel whenever someone else touched Chansung.
He kicked Chansung’s shin, who chuckled, though he tried to suppress it or the noona might get angry with them. Although he didn’t want to be scolded in case they got late because of him, Junho still felt tempted to bother Chansung a little more. He just kicked his shin again, and this time Chansung took advantage of the makeup artist being turned away to get some concealer, and tried to grab at Junho’s leg, only to have his hand kicked as well.
Junho almost fell off the chair, both because he’d lost his balance after hitting the other and because he’d started to laugh and forgot to adjust his position. He managed to sit up again, somehow, though not before Taecyeon and Nichkhun laughed at him.
“Careful not to hurt your precious butt, man,” said Taecyeon, loud and in English, as a relapse or on purpose, though Junho was more inclined to believe the latter to be true. Nichkhun laughed again and was joined by Chansung-Taecyeon had made enough jokes related to the maknae’s butt as well for them all to understand it by now. Even Minjun got up to join his Old Boy Team, and Wooyoung-had disappeared somewhere.
Junho got up to kick at Taecyeon too, but Nichkhun dragged the giant away from him while Minjun said something about not ruining their clothes and hair again. It was enough that they had bet on who would do a split faster to tease each other about being tired and Wooyoung had actually done it. Now they’d have to buy him dinner for five days, one each.
Thinking about that made Junho miss the time when they all lived together. Wooyoung could wait for the six of them to be able to gather and meet for each meal-Nichkhun had suggested that-but the damn alien said he didn’t trust them enough to wait. Junho wouldn’t blame him for that, but the thought was contradicted by some nostalgic bitterness.
“Junho ah?” he must have spaced out, because he didn’t remember Chansung getting up or approaching him, and now the maknae had a hand on his arm. Junho stared at it as if a bug had decided to nest on him. Chansung took it the wrong way and moved back slightly. “Are you okay?”
Junho’s eyes turned to slits. He did feel weird. “How much time do we have left?”
“About thirty minutes.”
His eyes became even smaller. “Your clock must be late.”
Shrugging, Chansung checked his Twitter and smiled at something before Junho smacked his arm.
“Stop ignoring me!” He sounded angry, but Chansung just took a step back and kept smiling at his stupid phone. Junho’s next punch was stronger, so Chansung grabbed at his wrist, but didn’t put the offending mobile away. The provocation was obvious; Junho was the one who kept checking his own phone, even during interviews and tv shows, but he couldn’t help wanting to hit him again.
He never got to, though.
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Junho’s ass hit the floor, followed by the chair he’d been sitting on and tried to hold on to when he actually thought it was Chansung.
What?
He didn’t have time to figure that out because soon there was a crowd around him. Nichkhun was somehow faster than Chansung, who was too busy laughing, and helped him get up while Minjun came to ask if he was okay and Taecyeon tried not to look amused as he joked.
“Hurt that precious butt of yours?”
Junho saw the worry mixed with the mirth in his eyes, but what confused him was that Taec had just made a similar joke, and it was not like him to be repetitive in his sense of humor, not when it involved the very same people and in a time span of less than-
“You’re sitting!!!” his bewilderment at Chansung being on the chair next to his was met by a moment of silence.
“I’m sorry, I thought it wasn’t serious…” The maknae looked repentant and a little concerned. Junho noticed that his cell phone was nowhere to be seen, and the noona still had the foundation sponge in her hand instead of the concealer.
“What’s the matter?” a pantless Wooyoung asked, voice flat as he rested his chin on Minjun’s shoulder to peek at them as he would animals in the zoo.
Junho would like to know the answer to that.
“Where’s your cell phone?” he asked Chansung, who still looked lost at how to interpret Junho’s behavior, who showed more agitation than normal.
“In my pocket-”
Junho reached into his back pocket and grabbed for what he wanted.
“Junho ah!!!” Chansung tried to reach him but Junho turned around just as the staff gently pressed the other down to keep him in place. Chansung hit his butt instead, which got them even, so the remaining members dismissed the whole ordeal as something normal.
Except for Nichkhun, who kept his eyes on Junho until the other was forced to meet his gaze.
“Yes?”
“The way you fell before, it was so weird… are you alright? Did you sleep enough?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, because everybody was used to his mood swings. Even though he looked unconvinced, Nichkhun was distracted by Taecyeon saying something that sounded like “Leave him alone, Khuniya!” and Junho nodded at him for that.
“Junho ah.”
His head hung down. Of course Chansung would be the most difficult one. “What.”
“I want my cell phone back.”
“You’re not using it.”
“Neither are you.”
“I will.”
“But you have yours.”
“I just want to check something.”
“Then do it already!”
“You’re not even gonna ask me what it is?”
“As long as you don’t post compromising messages on my twitter, I don’t care.”
“Not even if I go through everything you’ve saved here? All pics? Contacts? Girls’ numbers?”
“There’s nothing you haven’t seen.”
Oh really? Junho suspected that was just Chansung trying to get him off track, but he let it pass because he still wanted to check the time. The fact that he took too long just to press the screen made him realize the ridiculous dread he felt-
Junho didn’t allow the thought to be completed and simply started singing Back To Square One. He ignored Chansung’s look and Minjun pointing out that they wouldn’t sing that at this concert so why didn’t he save his voice or warm it up with some throat exercises first?
“Last time I tried that-”
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“-our fans kept making fun of me!”
Junho froze. He was sitting on the chair again, in front of the mirror. He didn’t have Chansung’s cell phone in his hands anymore, which meant that he had just shouted out of the blue, and he could already feel the others staring at him quizzically.
“Junho ah?”
He took a deep breath. This is not happening. It’s just a dream, it’s not happening, I’ll wake up soon enough and it will all go away.
Junho knew that dreams weren’t supposed to feel so real and that he could still connect the recent events to what he was doing some minutes ago-and he definitely hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the mirror, not with everyone watching. He was tired, but not so much, and he was actually buzzing with energy and excitement because this would be their first concert in Korea after Grown was released and he wanted it to be perfect.
He sighed, looked at himself in the mirror again and fixed his hair, because it had actually gotten messy when he fell.
When he fell.
His butt was not exactly hurting, but he could feel a slight achiness that couldn’t be from just sitting on the chair. He turned it around and surveyed the room, pointedly ignoring Chansung.
Minjun still had his eyes closed, his smooth voice as low as he could make it. Wooyoung was waiting for his replacement pants to be found, arms crossed as he kept his eyes to the floor. Taecyeon and Nichkhun’s conversation went on, though now it had changed to a tentative Japanese as they asked each other for words and phrases one of them didn’t remember or know yet.
“How do you say ‘butt’ in Japanese?” Junho asked as he approached them. Taecyeon sniggered and Nichkhun smiled, surprised and amused by his sudden question.
“Is that what you say to girls in Japan?”
Junho flashed a grin at Taecyeon to dismiss the question. “Hyung, can you do something for me?”
“Depends on what I get in return.”
Junho rolled his eyes at Taecyeon and turned to Nichkhun. “Can you pinch my arm, please?”
“Hey, hey, if that’s the favor I’ll gladly do it!”
He gave Taecyeon his sweetest smile. “You still want revenge, Taecyeonnie?”
“No, I’d just like to see you squeak like a girl.”
“Guys?” Nichkhun looked from one to the other uneasily.
“It’s okay hyung, it’s not like he’d hurt me on purp-OUCH! WHATTHEFUCK TAEC, DID YOU HAVE TO DO IT SOOO…!” Junho clutched his left arm, close to the elbow, face scrunched up in pain.
Taecyeon used Nichkhun as a shield. It looked like he wanted to run away, but he was also chuckling at Junho. “You literally asked for it.”
Junho tried to calm down his breathing and ignore the pain that far surpassed the one in his butt, but his dignity was already lost. All he managed was some muttered swearing as he slumped back on his chair, sleeve pulled up to reveal his bruising skin.
“What the hell was that?” Minjun asked, turning up at his right side, left arm around his shoulders as he frowned at the bruise. “Aigoo! You’ll have to cover that up with some makeup!”
Junho didn’t dare look at the noona beside them, who was still tending to Chansung. The maknae was unusually quiet given what just took place, but Junho inferred that to be payback for his previous lack of response to Chansung calling him.
“It’s okay, hyung, I just needed to make sure I was awake.”
Minjun narrowed his eyes at him. Then he hit Junho’s head. “Yah! Does that feel like you’re still sleeping?”
“What-” Minjun hit him again, though Junho tried to cover his head to block it. The older one just shoved at his hands and hit him once more. “Ouch, I get it, now please stop! Hyung!”
Minjun’s hand paused an inch away from his scalp. He nodded, then, and turned the slap to a soothing rake of his fingers through Junho’s locks. “Let me fix this for you.”
Junho wanted to hit him back and tell him to go away, but he just closed his eyes and let Minjun have his way. He was too befuddled to care.
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If Junho had kept his eyes open, he would have seen his hair being styled up to resemble Elvis Presley’s pompadour, but since he didn’t, next time he opened them he was still in front of the mirror, while Minjun sat in a corner, singing.
A childish sob escaped him and he stomped his foot on the floor, frustrated, angry and-his arm still ached. He was sure that lifting up his sleeve to check it out would only expose the bruise to the others and then he would have explain how he had hurt his arm, something he was not in the mood to handle. He took a deep breath and tried to do some thinking instead, regardless of this being only a dream.
Because it had to be a dream. Taecyeon might not have succeeded at waking him up, but he was just dreaming.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes-and freezing again because he may have smudged the makeup and he’d just been finished, right before Chansung’s turn. Was it only him, though? Maybe the others were pranking him? It wouldn’t explain how he always ended up back on the same chair when he was somewhere else and couldn’t have gotten there in a millisecond, not even if someone hit his head so he wouldn’t remember it happening. He was not waking up; he was just being thrown back.
He was not waking up.
He was not waking up.
Junho shook his head, refusing to give in to that thought. He would not despair; he would not make a fool of himself in front of the others again. He would try to understand the situation and find a way to get out of it.
He peeked at Chansung, but he couldn’t talk now. Junho didn’t want to discuss this where others could hear it anyway, though he didn’t intend to treat it as anything beyond a hypothesis. Turning his chair around, he looked past Wooyoung-still pantless-, Minjun-still singing-, and focused on the remaining two members of the group. Taecyeon would either laugh at him or give an useless answer to the question, but Nichkhun-he would think about it. He might use weird metaphors and even believe this was possible, which would only make it more difficult for Junho, but he didn’t have much choice.
“Khuniya,” he called, using Taecyeon’s pun with the lyrics for ADTOY despite himself.
“Ha ha,” Nichkhun sing-sang through a vivid smile, though Junho wondered when he would get tired of that, like they all eventually did with every joke. He moved from Taecyeon’s side to come and lay a hand on Junho’s shoulder, as if foreseeing his predicament. Where Chansung was sensitive to everyone’s mood and offered comfort, Nichkhun was fast to get worried and offer help. “Yes, Nuneo?”
“You once read a book titled… Minutes… something…”
“Eleven Minutes,” he nodded, and then smiled suspiciously. “Why? Did Wooyoungie recommend it to you? You know what it is about, right?”
Junho shook his head at all three questions. He had just recalled one of their Real 2PM videos where Wooyoung talked about that book, and it was definitely not something he wanted to discuss. “No, I thought-forget it,” he waved a hand dismissively, but Nichkhun’s eyebrows were already furrowed. “Did you ever…read anything about…going back in time?”
Nichkhun’s features softened into an almost beam. “I can recommend you tons of books about that! I guess Chansungie has got some about that too, and-”
“No, no, I’m not talking about books!” he said, trying not to sound cutting, but the other’s face fell anyway. “I mean, thanks, hyung, but I just asked-I’m just curious about the subject.”
“Really? You always talk about not regretting the past and looking forward-”
Junho shook his head again; how wrong was he expressing himself? “It’s not regrets I’m talking about, hyung. It’s like…revisiting the past? Going back to the same moment again and again? But not just thinking about it, just really… physically…”
“He wants to know if you believe it’s possible to time travel, Khun hyung,” Chansung chimed in, voice soft, eyes closed while powder was applied to his skin. Junho chewed into his lower lip as he felt the urge to curse for being loud and forgetting that a silent Chansung could also mean an attentive one.
“Oh,” Nichkhun frowned, thoughtful. “That’s an interesting question. But it’s not so much it being possible or not that matters here, I’m afraid.”
Junho’s eyes narrowed a little. Besides sounding like some cocky character whose name Junho couldn't remember, Nichkhun also seemed like he did understand what was going on. “Why not?”
“It’s not why you asked me. You don’t want to know if it’s possible or not-if you want to discuss it, it’s because you’re wondering about--what if it happened. Right?”
Chansung’s chuckle was quiet but impossible to miss. “Khun hyung,” was all he managed, as if that alone explained his reaction.
Junho closed his eyes, disliking the sense of bafflement that set over him. He tried to keep his voice as uninterested as possible when he looked at Nichkhun again. “I don’t want to go back in time, but what if it happened despite that?”
“Hmmm.” Nichkhun pursed his lips, one arm supporting the other as he held his chin. Junho almost wished the other were wearing glasses so he could snap a picture and make fun of him. He kept the diversion to himself instead. “I guess it would be like recurring dreams?”
Junho hoped his confused expression would speak for itself. Nichkhun’s resigned, I-can’t-believe-you-don’t-know-about-that-either sigh confirmed it.
“You know, those dreams you have over and over again? They can also be nightmares. You might either have PTSD, OCD or just anxiety…if that’s the case, that is.”
“I don’t have-any of those,” Junho said, knowing very well how unsure he must sound by now. “Khun hyung, I’m sorry, but you’re not helping...”
“No, I’m sorry, Junho ah, I’m getting off topic.” He smiled and squeezed Junho’s shoulders again. “What I mean is, when you have a recurring dream, there’s probably something you need to get solved, a problem with which you’ve struggled for a long time, a stressful situation you can’t forget, and so on…Once that’s sorted out, the dream usually stops.”
Although he might feel stupid for asking, Junho also knew that not voicing questions was worse. “But how does that relate to time traveling?”
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“Eight minutes left.”
Junho was so startled he almost fell off the chair again. His breathing was erratic and the makeup around his eyes was smudged from his having rubbed at them again. His stare met Chansung’s in the mirror and he immediately looked away, unable to bear that searching gaze.
“Junho ah.”
Stop calling me like that, was what he wanted to say despite loving to hear the meanings so casually interwoven in a simple endearment. Chansung didn’t know, but it was the fifth time he called Junho that way. What should have been 32 minutes had become a repetition of the same 8 ones, which were actually not the same. If all that time had actually passed, they would have been on stage by now.
Junho wanted to cry, but only because he liked to dramatize things. He would not get desperate. He would not go crazy. He would not believe this was really happening.
What did Khun say about sorting things out?
He paused, really thinking about it now. Maybe he was momentarily distracted by Chansung's presence beside him, but the other had to keep still and not speak as the staff continued to put makeup on his face, so Junho had an excuse not to answer his previous call.
Why would he keep going back in time against his will? What problem did he still have? What was the one thing he wanted to leave behind, but couldn't because--because he wanted it?
Junho didn't like where these questions were leading him. He had the feeling he knew what this was about, yet he refused to face this too. 2PM was doing well, they were slowly yet steadily regaining status in Korea, their concerts sold out quickly, and more than proud of that Junho was satisfied with himself, with all of them. He was about to go solo in Japan, have concerts there, do things on his own, a prospect that exhilarated and scared him but only made him want to go forward, to see how things would unfold, to work on his own success. He would miss having five people around him all the time to back him up and support him just as he would do for them, he would probably have to adjust to the constant distance and find it lonely at times, but it was all for the best.
What years of discipline and self-control hadn't taken care of, distance and lack of time together would have to do.
They were not kids anymore. They were not teenagers. The responsibilities had only increased with time, and so had the pressure. The time to blame it on curiosity had passed along with hormones and sex drive and loneliness and the impossibility of having a relationship with anyone.
He knew he should let this go as much as he didn’t want to, as much as he had always been unable to.
Is Chansung what this really is about, then? he still asked himself, despite knowing the answer, despite the way his hands were starting to shake as if to match the thump-thumping of his heartbeat.
"Nuneo?"
Always sensitive to the things going on around him and to whatever tension might be in the air, of course Chansung would notice the slight tremble in Junho's breathing, the way he clasped his own fingers either to have something on which to hold on or to just try and stop the shake from getting worse. Junho didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, Chansung was beside him, a hand on his arm and a questioning frown on his face. His makeup was still unfinished but Junho couldn't concentrate on that to make a joke and get out of this quickly because Chansung's eyes were intent on him, and all he could do was stare back. His hands were covered and then squeezed by the other, and Junho bit at his lower lip so his mouth wouldn’t remain parted stupidly-that was Chansung’s habit, except his lips also looked tantalizing and way too welcoming. Junho forced himself to stand still, to stop reacting to mere possibilities. His breathing got back to normal, slowly, until he felt almost calm again.
"It's okay," Junho said, managing a tight smile. "Concert anxiety."
Chansung kept his eyes fixed on him as if he could prod into his mind and challenge those words. Without Chansung saying it, Junho still reckoned the other expected him to talk if there was something else bothering him, though Chansung wouldn’t oblige him to do so because that's exactly what he didn’t need right now. Junho almost wished Chansung would act differently then and push him into action. God knows he lacked the courage that Chansung would certainly have if the situation was reversed.
"Who's in for a last minute snack?" Wooyoung asked, finally wearing another pair of the tight black pants for their Game Over performance.
Junho's stomach had a different answer than the one on the tip of his tongue. "Not hungry."
Chansung shook his head, whether at Wooyoung's question or Junho’s response, the latter was not sure. Wooyoung had already turned to Nichkhun, whose answer was positive, and Minjun, who said he would watch over them so they wouldn’t cause mischief like the wicked dongsaengs they were. Junho could hear Minjun’s throaty laugh as they left the room, just as Chansung sat back under the staff's slightly impatient gaze. Taecyeon looked at him through the mirror, but Junho missed his next words.
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Minjun was singing. Nichkhun and Taecyeon were talking. He couldn’t hear or see Wooyoung but he was pantless again, that's for sure. Chansung's presence was as strong and alluring as ever, but Junho closed his eyes and attempted to shut his ears off to everything and everyone as he clasped his hands again.
He prayed.
He chanted silent words to himself until his breathing calmed, and a soothing coolness remained within him. He wouldn’t freak out, he just needed to think and accept this as real, no matter if it was temporary or not. Only then would he be able to think about what to do.
No, he knew what he had to do, and that was to confront his own feelings. What he didn’t know was how he would do that, if it was the right path at all. But if it didn’t work, well, he had all the time in the world to try again, right? The same eight minutes would roll by until he either succeeded at making time advance again or went mad trying.
So far, he had been practical about one of the most subjective aspects of life. Yet there was no right time for feelings, no right place for starting over, and no right person to fall in love with. Instead, there was Chansung, just a couple of steps away. There was the venue, the rush of their upcoming concert, less than thirty minutes away if he could help it, and the thump-thumping of his heartbeat.
How much time did he really have? How much time before Chansung found someone else, before their roads set them impossibly apart, before they got so busy they would refuse to give themselves the time to feel alive again?
Junho pursed his lips, frustrated at the situation, but angry at himself. This might be a chance given him, a weird twist of fate, so he might as well make good use of it. But what could he say in eight minutes? What could he do?
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“Eight minutes left.”
He stood up as if those words-that warning--were hands to push him off the chair and force him into action.
"Chansung," he called, hoping his expression would be excusing enough for the staff whose work he was interrupting. She sent him a glance and seemed about to continue applying foundation on Chansung's cheeks, since they were all used to talking while still getting prepared to go on stage. Chansung, however, must have sensed something in Junho's voice, and one look between them made him whisper an excuse before getting up.
"What is it?" he asked, an easy smile ready on his lips, his expression half curious and half trying to make Junho relax. Junho took a deep breath, aware of everyone around them, aware that his time was running out-
“Come with me,” he grabbed Chansung’s hand and pulled, heading out the room, into the corridor, past dozens of staff and other doors and quizzical looks or even a voice that might have been Namyong scolding them or just asking where they were going. Junho wasn’t sure himself, he just spared brief glances at door signs before finally finding a bathroom. He shoved Chansung inside and pushed the door closed with his foot. He was breathing heavily, dizzy from the heat and the tight outfit and the excitement of what he had just started, what he was about to do. “Chansung,” he panted, looking into his eyes, searching, revealing, opening up and crumbling down. Something caught in his throat and for a moment he thought he would choke, but it was just the emotions willing to overflow past his lips.
Chansung’s amused smile-he had followed without resistance, he was waiting for Junho to speak, his hand was warm beneath Junho’s slightly damp one-faltered for a brief second, something unreadable sparkled in his eyes before it faded into serenity, and his smile turned to reassurance. “Are you nervous because of the concert, Nuneo?”
It was like a follow-up of their previous moment, except Chansung wouldn't remember holding his hand; he wouldn't remember touching Junho and helping him calm down just by being there. The realization set Junho's hands shaking again, because he wanted Chansung to remember, he wanted this to be real for him too, even if he feared a rejection, even if they would be awkward unless this also ended suddenly to send Junho back to square one. “I’m… yes, that too, but I-” he licked at his lower lip, teeth worrying at it. Chansung’s fingers shifted against his until he was the one holding his hand, squeezing, impossibly nice. Junho leaned into him almost unconsciously, but the way his other hand gripped at Chansung’s left arm was nothing short of determined. “I want you to remember this,” he said softly, and swallowed hard-the doubts went down his throat, burned his stomach, and made him shudder. “I want you to remember,” he said again, this time forceful, resolute, the thump-thumping of his heartbeat louder than the tick-tock of an evil clock.
Junho kissed him. Chansung’s lips might have parted in surprise, but Junho pressed against him, their mouths brushed together and Junho stole at those lips with his own, through which he poured what he couldn’t put into words.
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“Ewwwwww-”
“Do you really love yourself THAT much?”
“Is that-SALIVA-I’M SO DISGUSTED YUCK WHAT THE HELL!”
Junho froze. His face was pressed against a cool surface and he was-
He was back in their dressing room, which meant-
A low sob escaped his lips and he hit his head against the mirror just once before recoiling to sit on the chair, covering his face with his hands. The laughter and shock he had caused should be dealt with a mechanical grin and some ridiculous lie or joke, but if he just sat here for the next seven minutes and-thirty seconds?-they would all forget it and this would all be over and he would start sinking into madness.
He had kissed the mirror. He had kissed Chansung. No, he had kissed the mirror. He had kissed Chansung.
And it hadn’t worked.
And his friends and co-workers were having a good time at his embarrassment. They would forget this, it was not real, but Junho wouldn’t forget, and it was real for him.
It was real for him.
They had kissed, he had ripped his heart out and he was now empty. But Chansung wouldn’t remember.
Was he supposed to try again? Was he condemned to repeat the same eight minutes forever? What kind of horrible reality was this?
“Junho ah.”
“No. Go away.”
But a hand touched his shoulder, and warmth seeped into his skin, his veins, his muscles, his eyes. His eyes were burning.
Junho started shaking again, but he was not crying. It took him a moment to realize the laugh he heard was his own, but then he only cackled louder, and took advantage of his crazed desperation to save whatever was left of his dignity.
“Scared you?”
Chansung seemed unsettled by the smugness in his voice, and his lips parted for a second. Junho had to swallow the urge to kiss him again, because now that he'd had a taste, he only yearned for more. And he wanted it to be real. And he wanted Chansung to remember.
“Only our Chansung would believe Junho was really embarrassed,” Minjun came behind the maknae and put an arm around his shoulders, smiling at him and then at Junho. “You've just won a bet.”
“I-what-”
Taecyeon was rolling his eyes at him. “You won’t have to pay for Wooyoung’s dinner because you made out with the mirror.”
“I DIDN’T MAKE OUT WITH THE MIRROR!”
Minjun chuckled. “Yah, did you hit your head too hard? It was just a bet, Nuneo.” Then his face changed and his smile turned playful. “But if you keep denying it, nuh-ah, you’ll have to pay for everybody’s turn to treat Wooyoung. And I intend to take him somewhere really nice.”
"Yeah, I know very well about your intentions," Taecyeon said, wriggling his eyebrows. Minjun slapped at his arm, but they were both laughing.
There was suddenly a hand on his forehead and Junho flinched, his head bumping into Chansung’s stomach by accident.
“Are you alright?” Nichkhun asked, unfazed by his reaction. He just frowned in thought as he seemed to scrutinize Junho’s face for any sign of weakness.
“I’m okay,” he said, and maybe his voice sounded a little too strained, but he just cleared his throat and pretended not to notice. “So I’m not paying for Wooyoung’s dinner. Great. Now let’s all finish preparing for the concert, and-”
“I’m ready,” Wooyoung’s voice came from over Minjun’s shoulder, where his chin was resting. He was wearing the Game Over outfit, pants included, and he had a calm if not confident smile on his face.
Junho noticed that Taecyeon and Nichkhun hadn’t said anything in English yet, that he hadn’t heard Minjun’s singing voice, and for a moment he dared hope. Then he looked at Chansung, but his makeup was still barely there, which meant-
“How-” he blinked, took a deep breath, and tried to keep his voice steady, to conceal his anxiety. “How long do we still have?”
Chansung checked it on his cell phone. “Thirty minutes.”
Junho repressed a scream and bit at his lip so hard he could almost taste blood. He couldn’t give himself another bruise, though, not one so visible; no matter how many times he was rudely thrown back.
“Are you sure?” Junho asked instead, but it must have sounded strange, judging by the look the others gave him. Chansung just showed him the screen, though, and if Junho felt slightly like throwing the damn cell phone on the floor, well, he would have to repress that too. “Ooo…kay,” he managed. His head was pulled back by what he already knew was Nichkhun’s hand again, checking his forehead. “Can you not-”
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[ Next]
Author: mo_chan_tf
Group: 2PM
Pairings: Chansung/Junho
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,700
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, I’m making no money out of this, nor do I claim any of it to be true.
Notes: Especially for Ci and Nora, without whom I wouldn't have written any CNN this in the first place. A huge thank you to ongew for helping me out with the plot. Also, Hottests @ twitter, you guys rock my world! Thanks for keeping me inspired every day. ♥
Finally, I should mention the following: although this is supposed to be a canon!fic, the main idea came up after one of my students talked about this movie. I haven't watched it yet, but if you have, you'll probably notice one similarity. :)
Summary: Time waxed and waned, making it difficult to tell what was and what was not.
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“Eight minutes left.”
Junho looked up from where he was sitting and frowned as he tried to locate the speaker. He didn’t recognize the voice, nobody was rushing through the room, and he was pretty sure thirty minutes could not have passed since he sat down to fix his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“Who said that?” He asked as he looked around. Everybody was busy preparing for the concert, or just trying not to let anxiety take hold of them. Minjun sang something with his eyes closed, voice barely audible. Wooyoung was having a change of clothes because he had ripped his pants while doing a split at the worst time possible. Taecyeon and Nichkhun were talking in English, so Junho tried to ignore the pang of jealousy for not knowing what it was about and not having the ability to understand it.
“Nobody said anything,” Chansung was sitting at his side, looking at him curiously.
“I’m sure I heard-” Junho stopped midsentence. He was stubborn, not stupid. It would be no use to argue with the maknae if he hadn’t heard it. Junho shook his head to drop the subject and Chansung closed his eyes, leaned back against the chair and let the makeup artist work on his skin.
Junho frowned. Maybe he had just imagined it? Maybe he’d remembered a line from some movie he’d watched and it echoed in his mind while he was distracted? He was not sure he wanted to believe that, but he decided to let it go as a moment of lapse.
“Does my hair look good?” he asked Chansung.
“Yup,” he said, without looking at Junho. His right eye twitched but didn’t open as the makeup noona applied foundation to his cheeks.
Junho tried not to pay attention to the movement of those fingers on Chansung’s face, but this pang was deeper and harder to ignore. It was not momentary, simple envy; it was jealousy of the kind he would always feel whenever someone else touched Chansung.
He kicked Chansung’s shin, who chuckled, though he tried to suppress it or the noona might get angry with them. Although he didn’t want to be scolded in case they got late because of him, Junho still felt tempted to bother Chansung a little more. He just kicked his shin again, and this time Chansung took advantage of the makeup artist being turned away to get some concealer, and tried to grab at Junho’s leg, only to have his hand kicked as well.
Junho almost fell off the chair, both because he’d lost his balance after hitting the other and because he’d started to laugh and forgot to adjust his position. He managed to sit up again, somehow, though not before Taecyeon and Nichkhun laughed at him.
“Careful not to hurt your precious butt, man,” said Taecyeon, loud and in English, as a relapse or on purpose, though Junho was more inclined to believe the latter to be true. Nichkhun laughed again and was joined by Chansung-Taecyeon had made enough jokes related to the maknae’s butt as well for them all to understand it by now. Even Minjun got up to join his Old Boy Team, and Wooyoung-had disappeared somewhere.
Junho got up to kick at Taecyeon too, but Nichkhun dragged the giant away from him while Minjun said something about not ruining their clothes and hair again. It was enough that they had bet on who would do a split faster to tease each other about being tired and Wooyoung had actually done it. Now they’d have to buy him dinner for five days, one each.
Thinking about that made Junho miss the time when they all lived together. Wooyoung could wait for the six of them to be able to gather and meet for each meal-Nichkhun had suggested that-but the damn alien said he didn’t trust them enough to wait. Junho wouldn’t blame him for that, but the thought was contradicted by some nostalgic bitterness.
“Junho ah?” he must have spaced out, because he didn’t remember Chansung getting up or approaching him, and now the maknae had a hand on his arm. Junho stared at it as if a bug had decided to nest on him. Chansung took it the wrong way and moved back slightly. “Are you okay?”
Junho’s eyes turned to slits. He did feel weird. “How much time do we have left?”
“About thirty minutes.”
His eyes became even smaller. “Your clock must be late.”
Shrugging, Chansung checked his Twitter and smiled at something before Junho smacked his arm.
“Stop ignoring me!” He sounded angry, but Chansung just took a step back and kept smiling at his stupid phone. Junho’s next punch was stronger, so Chansung grabbed at his wrist, but didn’t put the offending mobile away. The provocation was obvious; Junho was the one who kept checking his own phone, even during interviews and tv shows, but he couldn’t help wanting to hit him again.
He never got to, though.
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Junho’s ass hit the floor, followed by the chair he’d been sitting on and tried to hold on to when he actually thought it was Chansung.
What?
He didn’t have time to figure that out because soon there was a crowd around him. Nichkhun was somehow faster than Chansung, who was too busy laughing, and helped him get up while Minjun came to ask if he was okay and Taecyeon tried not to look amused as he joked.
“Hurt that precious butt of yours?”
Junho saw the worry mixed with the mirth in his eyes, but what confused him was that Taec had just made a similar joke, and it was not like him to be repetitive in his sense of humor, not when it involved the very same people and in a time span of less than-
“You’re sitting!!!” his bewilderment at Chansung being on the chair next to his was met by a moment of silence.
“I’m sorry, I thought it wasn’t serious…” The maknae looked repentant and a little concerned. Junho noticed that his cell phone was nowhere to be seen, and the noona still had the foundation sponge in her hand instead of the concealer.
“What’s the matter?” a pantless Wooyoung asked, voice flat as he rested his chin on Minjun’s shoulder to peek at them as he would animals in the zoo.
Junho would like to know the answer to that.
“Where’s your cell phone?” he asked Chansung, who still looked lost at how to interpret Junho’s behavior, who showed more agitation than normal.
“In my pocket-”
Junho reached into his back pocket and grabbed for what he wanted.
“Junho ah!!!” Chansung tried to reach him but Junho turned around just as the staff gently pressed the other down to keep him in place. Chansung hit his butt instead, which got them even, so the remaining members dismissed the whole ordeal as something normal.
Except for Nichkhun, who kept his eyes on Junho until the other was forced to meet his gaze.
“Yes?”
“The way you fell before, it was so weird… are you alright? Did you sleep enough?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, because everybody was used to his mood swings. Even though he looked unconvinced, Nichkhun was distracted by Taecyeon saying something that sounded like “Leave him alone, Khuniya!” and Junho nodded at him for that.
“Junho ah.”
His head hung down. Of course Chansung would be the most difficult one. “What.”
“I want my cell phone back.”
“You’re not using it.”
“Neither are you.”
“I will.”
“But you have yours.”
“I just want to check something.”
“Then do it already!”
“You’re not even gonna ask me what it is?”
“As long as you don’t post compromising messages on my twitter, I don’t care.”
“Not even if I go through everything you’ve saved here? All pics? Contacts? Girls’ numbers?”
“There’s nothing you haven’t seen.”
Oh really? Junho suspected that was just Chansung trying to get him off track, but he let it pass because he still wanted to check the time. The fact that he took too long just to press the screen made him realize the ridiculous dread he felt-
Junho didn’t allow the thought to be completed and simply started singing Back To Square One. He ignored Chansung’s look and Minjun pointing out that they wouldn’t sing that at this concert so why didn’t he save his voice or warm it up with some throat exercises first?
“Last time I tried that-”
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“-our fans kept making fun of me!”
Junho froze. He was sitting on the chair again, in front of the mirror. He didn’t have Chansung’s cell phone in his hands anymore, which meant that he had just shouted out of the blue, and he could already feel the others staring at him quizzically.
“Junho ah?”
He took a deep breath. This is not happening. It’s just a dream, it’s not happening, I’ll wake up soon enough and it will all go away.
Junho knew that dreams weren’t supposed to feel so real and that he could still connect the recent events to what he was doing some minutes ago-and he definitely hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the mirror, not with everyone watching. He was tired, but not so much, and he was actually buzzing with energy and excitement because this would be their first concert in Korea after Grown was released and he wanted it to be perfect.
He sighed, looked at himself in the mirror again and fixed his hair, because it had actually gotten messy when he fell.
When he fell.
His butt was not exactly hurting, but he could feel a slight achiness that couldn’t be from just sitting on the chair. He turned it around and surveyed the room, pointedly ignoring Chansung.
Minjun still had his eyes closed, his smooth voice as low as he could make it. Wooyoung was waiting for his replacement pants to be found, arms crossed as he kept his eyes to the floor. Taecyeon and Nichkhun’s conversation went on, though now it had changed to a tentative Japanese as they asked each other for words and phrases one of them didn’t remember or know yet.
“How do you say ‘butt’ in Japanese?” Junho asked as he approached them. Taecyeon sniggered and Nichkhun smiled, surprised and amused by his sudden question.
“Is that what you say to girls in Japan?”
Junho flashed a grin at Taecyeon to dismiss the question. “Hyung, can you do something for me?”
“Depends on what I get in return.”
Junho rolled his eyes at Taecyeon and turned to Nichkhun. “Can you pinch my arm, please?”
“Hey, hey, if that’s the favor I’ll gladly do it!”
He gave Taecyeon his sweetest smile. “You still want revenge, Taecyeonnie?”
“No, I’d just like to see you squeak like a girl.”
“Guys?” Nichkhun looked from one to the other uneasily.
“It’s okay hyung, it’s not like he’d hurt me on purp-OUCH! WHATTHEFUCK TAEC, DID YOU HAVE TO DO IT SOOO…!” Junho clutched his left arm, close to the elbow, face scrunched up in pain.
Taecyeon used Nichkhun as a shield. It looked like he wanted to run away, but he was also chuckling at Junho. “You literally asked for it.”
Junho tried to calm down his breathing and ignore the pain that far surpassed the one in his butt, but his dignity was already lost. All he managed was some muttered swearing as he slumped back on his chair, sleeve pulled up to reveal his bruising skin.
“What the hell was that?” Minjun asked, turning up at his right side, left arm around his shoulders as he frowned at the bruise. “Aigoo! You’ll have to cover that up with some makeup!”
Junho didn’t dare look at the noona beside them, who was still tending to Chansung. The maknae was unusually quiet given what just took place, but Junho inferred that to be payback for his previous lack of response to Chansung calling him.
“It’s okay, hyung, I just needed to make sure I was awake.”
Minjun narrowed his eyes at him. Then he hit Junho’s head. “Yah! Does that feel like you’re still sleeping?”
“What-” Minjun hit him again, though Junho tried to cover his head to block it. The older one just shoved at his hands and hit him once more. “Ouch, I get it, now please stop! Hyung!”
Minjun’s hand paused an inch away from his scalp. He nodded, then, and turned the slap to a soothing rake of his fingers through Junho’s locks. “Let me fix this for you.”
Junho wanted to hit him back and tell him to go away, but he just closed his eyes and let Minjun have his way. He was too befuddled to care.
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If Junho had kept his eyes open, he would have seen his hair being styled up to resemble Elvis Presley’s pompadour, but since he didn’t, next time he opened them he was still in front of the mirror, while Minjun sat in a corner, singing.
A childish sob escaped him and he stomped his foot on the floor, frustrated, angry and-his arm still ached. He was sure that lifting up his sleeve to check it out would only expose the bruise to the others and then he would have explain how he had hurt his arm, something he was not in the mood to handle. He took a deep breath and tried to do some thinking instead, regardless of this being only a dream.
Because it had to be a dream. Taecyeon might not have succeeded at waking him up, but he was just dreaming.
“This doesn’t make sense,” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes-and freezing again because he may have smudged the makeup and he’d just been finished, right before Chansung’s turn. Was it only him, though? Maybe the others were pranking him? It wouldn’t explain how he always ended up back on the same chair when he was somewhere else and couldn’t have gotten there in a millisecond, not even if someone hit his head so he wouldn’t remember it happening. He was not waking up; he was just being thrown back.
He was not waking up.
He was not waking up.
Junho shook his head, refusing to give in to that thought. He would not despair; he would not make a fool of himself in front of the others again. He would try to understand the situation and find a way to get out of it.
He peeked at Chansung, but he couldn’t talk now. Junho didn’t want to discuss this where others could hear it anyway, though he didn’t intend to treat it as anything beyond a hypothesis. Turning his chair around, he looked past Wooyoung-still pantless-, Minjun-still singing-, and focused on the remaining two members of the group. Taecyeon would either laugh at him or give an useless answer to the question, but Nichkhun-he would think about it. He might use weird metaphors and even believe this was possible, which would only make it more difficult for Junho, but he didn’t have much choice.
“Khuniya,” he called, using Taecyeon’s pun with the lyrics for ADTOY despite himself.
“Ha ha,” Nichkhun sing-sang through a vivid smile, though Junho wondered when he would get tired of that, like they all eventually did with every joke. He moved from Taecyeon’s side to come and lay a hand on Junho’s shoulder, as if foreseeing his predicament. Where Chansung was sensitive to everyone’s mood and offered comfort, Nichkhun was fast to get worried and offer help. “Yes, Nuneo?”
“You once read a book titled… Minutes… something…”
“Eleven Minutes,” he nodded, and then smiled suspiciously. “Why? Did Wooyoungie recommend it to you? You know what it is about, right?”
Junho shook his head at all three questions. He had just recalled one of their Real 2PM videos where Wooyoung talked about that book, and it was definitely not something he wanted to discuss. “No, I thought-forget it,” he waved a hand dismissively, but Nichkhun’s eyebrows were already furrowed. “Did you ever…read anything about…going back in time?”
Nichkhun’s features softened into an almost beam. “I can recommend you tons of books about that! I guess Chansungie has got some about that too, and-”
“No, no, I’m not talking about books!” he said, trying not to sound cutting, but the other’s face fell anyway. “I mean, thanks, hyung, but I just asked-I’m just curious about the subject.”
“Really? You always talk about not regretting the past and looking forward-”
Junho shook his head again; how wrong was he expressing himself? “It’s not regrets I’m talking about, hyung. It’s like…revisiting the past? Going back to the same moment again and again? But not just thinking about it, just really… physically…”
“He wants to know if you believe it’s possible to time travel, Khun hyung,” Chansung chimed in, voice soft, eyes closed while powder was applied to his skin. Junho chewed into his lower lip as he felt the urge to curse for being loud and forgetting that a silent Chansung could also mean an attentive one.
“Oh,” Nichkhun frowned, thoughtful. “That’s an interesting question. But it’s not so much it being possible or not that matters here, I’m afraid.”
Junho’s eyes narrowed a little. Besides sounding like some cocky character whose name Junho couldn't remember, Nichkhun also seemed like he did understand what was going on. “Why not?”
“It’s not why you asked me. You don’t want to know if it’s possible or not-if you want to discuss it, it’s because you’re wondering about--what if it happened. Right?”
Chansung’s chuckle was quiet but impossible to miss. “Khun hyung,” was all he managed, as if that alone explained his reaction.
Junho closed his eyes, disliking the sense of bafflement that set over him. He tried to keep his voice as uninterested as possible when he looked at Nichkhun again. “I don’t want to go back in time, but what if it happened despite that?”
“Hmmm.” Nichkhun pursed his lips, one arm supporting the other as he held his chin. Junho almost wished the other were wearing glasses so he could snap a picture and make fun of him. He kept the diversion to himself instead. “I guess it would be like recurring dreams?”
Junho hoped his confused expression would speak for itself. Nichkhun’s resigned, I-can’t-believe-you-don’t-know-about-that-either sigh confirmed it.
“You know, those dreams you have over and over again? They can also be nightmares. You might either have PTSD, OCD or just anxiety…if that’s the case, that is.”
“I don’t have-any of those,” Junho said, knowing very well how unsure he must sound by now. “Khun hyung, I’m sorry, but you’re not helping...”
“No, I’m sorry, Junho ah, I’m getting off topic.” He smiled and squeezed Junho’s shoulders again. “What I mean is, when you have a recurring dream, there’s probably something you need to get solved, a problem with which you’ve struggled for a long time, a stressful situation you can’t forget, and so on…Once that’s sorted out, the dream usually stops.”
Although he might feel stupid for asking, Junho also knew that not voicing questions was worse. “But how does that relate to time traveling?”
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“Eight minutes left.”
Junho was so startled he almost fell off the chair again. His breathing was erratic and the makeup around his eyes was smudged from his having rubbed at them again. His stare met Chansung’s in the mirror and he immediately looked away, unable to bear that searching gaze.
“Junho ah.”
Stop calling me like that, was what he wanted to say despite loving to hear the meanings so casually interwoven in a simple endearment. Chansung didn’t know, but it was the fifth time he called Junho that way. What should have been 32 minutes had become a repetition of the same 8 ones, which were actually not the same. If all that time had actually passed, they would have been on stage by now.
Junho wanted to cry, but only because he liked to dramatize things. He would not get desperate. He would not go crazy. He would not believe this was really happening.
What did Khun say about sorting things out?
He paused, really thinking about it now. Maybe he was momentarily distracted by Chansung's presence beside him, but the other had to keep still and not speak as the staff continued to put makeup on his face, so Junho had an excuse not to answer his previous call.
Why would he keep going back in time against his will? What problem did he still have? What was the one thing he wanted to leave behind, but couldn't because--because he wanted it?
Junho didn't like where these questions were leading him. He had the feeling he knew what this was about, yet he refused to face this too. 2PM was doing well, they were slowly yet steadily regaining status in Korea, their concerts sold out quickly, and more than proud of that Junho was satisfied with himself, with all of them. He was about to go solo in Japan, have concerts there, do things on his own, a prospect that exhilarated and scared him but only made him want to go forward, to see how things would unfold, to work on his own success. He would miss having five people around him all the time to back him up and support him just as he would do for them, he would probably have to adjust to the constant distance and find it lonely at times, but it was all for the best.
What years of discipline and self-control hadn't taken care of, distance and lack of time together would have to do.
They were not kids anymore. They were not teenagers. The responsibilities had only increased with time, and so had the pressure. The time to blame it on curiosity had passed along with hormones and sex drive and loneliness and the impossibility of having a relationship with anyone.
He knew he should let this go as much as he didn’t want to, as much as he had always been unable to.
Is Chansung what this really is about, then? he still asked himself, despite knowing the answer, despite the way his hands were starting to shake as if to match the thump-thumping of his heartbeat.
"Nuneo?"
Always sensitive to the things going on around him and to whatever tension might be in the air, of course Chansung would notice the slight tremble in Junho's breathing, the way he clasped his own fingers either to have something on which to hold on or to just try and stop the shake from getting worse. Junho didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, Chansung was beside him, a hand on his arm and a questioning frown on his face. His makeup was still unfinished but Junho couldn't concentrate on that to make a joke and get out of this quickly because Chansung's eyes were intent on him, and all he could do was stare back. His hands were covered and then squeezed by the other, and Junho bit at his lower lip so his mouth wouldn’t remain parted stupidly-that was Chansung’s habit, except his lips also looked tantalizing and way too welcoming. Junho forced himself to stand still, to stop reacting to mere possibilities. His breathing got back to normal, slowly, until he felt almost calm again.
"It's okay," Junho said, managing a tight smile. "Concert anxiety."
Chansung kept his eyes fixed on him as if he could prod into his mind and challenge those words. Without Chansung saying it, Junho still reckoned the other expected him to talk if there was something else bothering him, though Chansung wouldn’t oblige him to do so because that's exactly what he didn’t need right now. Junho almost wished Chansung would act differently then and push him into action. God knows he lacked the courage that Chansung would certainly have if the situation was reversed.
"Who's in for a last minute snack?" Wooyoung asked, finally wearing another pair of the tight black pants for their Game Over performance.
Junho's stomach had a different answer than the one on the tip of his tongue. "Not hungry."
Chansung shook his head, whether at Wooyoung's question or Junho’s response, the latter was not sure. Wooyoung had already turned to Nichkhun, whose answer was positive, and Minjun, who said he would watch over them so they wouldn’t cause mischief like the wicked dongsaengs they were. Junho could hear Minjun’s throaty laugh as they left the room, just as Chansung sat back under the staff's slightly impatient gaze. Taecyeon looked at him through the mirror, but Junho missed his next words.
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Minjun was singing. Nichkhun and Taecyeon were talking. He couldn’t hear or see Wooyoung but he was pantless again, that's for sure. Chansung's presence was as strong and alluring as ever, but Junho closed his eyes and attempted to shut his ears off to everything and everyone as he clasped his hands again.
He prayed.
He chanted silent words to himself until his breathing calmed, and a soothing coolness remained within him. He wouldn’t freak out, he just needed to think and accept this as real, no matter if it was temporary or not. Only then would he be able to think about what to do.
No, he knew what he had to do, and that was to confront his own feelings. What he didn’t know was how he would do that, if it was the right path at all. But if it didn’t work, well, he had all the time in the world to try again, right? The same eight minutes would roll by until he either succeeded at making time advance again or went mad trying.
So far, he had been practical about one of the most subjective aspects of life. Yet there was no right time for feelings, no right place for starting over, and no right person to fall in love with. Instead, there was Chansung, just a couple of steps away. There was the venue, the rush of their upcoming concert, less than thirty minutes away if he could help it, and the thump-thumping of his heartbeat.
How much time did he really have? How much time before Chansung found someone else, before their roads set them impossibly apart, before they got so busy they would refuse to give themselves the time to feel alive again?
Junho pursed his lips, frustrated at the situation, but angry at himself. This might be a chance given him, a weird twist of fate, so he might as well make good use of it. But what could he say in eight minutes? What could he do?
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“Eight minutes left.”
He stood up as if those words-that warning--were hands to push him off the chair and force him into action.
"Chansung," he called, hoping his expression would be excusing enough for the staff whose work he was interrupting. She sent him a glance and seemed about to continue applying foundation on Chansung's cheeks, since they were all used to talking while still getting prepared to go on stage. Chansung, however, must have sensed something in Junho's voice, and one look between them made him whisper an excuse before getting up.
"What is it?" he asked, an easy smile ready on his lips, his expression half curious and half trying to make Junho relax. Junho took a deep breath, aware of everyone around them, aware that his time was running out-
“Come with me,” he grabbed Chansung’s hand and pulled, heading out the room, into the corridor, past dozens of staff and other doors and quizzical looks or even a voice that might have been Namyong scolding them or just asking where they were going. Junho wasn’t sure himself, he just spared brief glances at door signs before finally finding a bathroom. He shoved Chansung inside and pushed the door closed with his foot. He was breathing heavily, dizzy from the heat and the tight outfit and the excitement of what he had just started, what he was about to do. “Chansung,” he panted, looking into his eyes, searching, revealing, opening up and crumbling down. Something caught in his throat and for a moment he thought he would choke, but it was just the emotions willing to overflow past his lips.
Chansung’s amused smile-he had followed without resistance, he was waiting for Junho to speak, his hand was warm beneath Junho’s slightly damp one-faltered for a brief second, something unreadable sparkled in his eyes before it faded into serenity, and his smile turned to reassurance. “Are you nervous because of the concert, Nuneo?”
It was like a follow-up of their previous moment, except Chansung wouldn't remember holding his hand; he wouldn't remember touching Junho and helping him calm down just by being there. The realization set Junho's hands shaking again, because he wanted Chansung to remember, he wanted this to be real for him too, even if he feared a rejection, even if they would be awkward unless this also ended suddenly to send Junho back to square one. “I’m… yes, that too, but I-” he licked at his lower lip, teeth worrying at it. Chansung’s fingers shifted against his until he was the one holding his hand, squeezing, impossibly nice. Junho leaned into him almost unconsciously, but the way his other hand gripped at Chansung’s left arm was nothing short of determined. “I want you to remember this,” he said softly, and swallowed hard-the doubts went down his throat, burned his stomach, and made him shudder. “I want you to remember,” he said again, this time forceful, resolute, the thump-thumping of his heartbeat louder than the tick-tock of an evil clock.
Junho kissed him. Chansung’s lips might have parted in surprise, but Junho pressed against him, their mouths brushed together and Junho stole at those lips with his own, through which he poured what he couldn’t put into words.
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“Ewwwwww-”
“Do you really love yourself THAT much?”
“Is that-SALIVA-I’M SO DISGUSTED YUCK WHAT THE HELL!”
Junho froze. His face was pressed against a cool surface and he was-
He was back in their dressing room, which meant-
A low sob escaped his lips and he hit his head against the mirror just once before recoiling to sit on the chair, covering his face with his hands. The laughter and shock he had caused should be dealt with a mechanical grin and some ridiculous lie or joke, but if he just sat here for the next seven minutes and-thirty seconds?-they would all forget it and this would all be over and he would start sinking into madness.
He had kissed the mirror. He had kissed Chansung. No, he had kissed the mirror. He had kissed Chansung.
And it hadn’t worked.
And his friends and co-workers were having a good time at his embarrassment. They would forget this, it was not real, but Junho wouldn’t forget, and it was real for him.
It was real for him.
They had kissed, he had ripped his heart out and he was now empty. But Chansung wouldn’t remember.
Was he supposed to try again? Was he condemned to repeat the same eight minutes forever? What kind of horrible reality was this?
“Junho ah.”
“No. Go away.”
But a hand touched his shoulder, and warmth seeped into his skin, his veins, his muscles, his eyes. His eyes were burning.
Junho started shaking again, but he was not crying. It took him a moment to realize the laugh he heard was his own, but then he only cackled louder, and took advantage of his crazed desperation to save whatever was left of his dignity.
“Scared you?”
Chansung seemed unsettled by the smugness in his voice, and his lips parted for a second. Junho had to swallow the urge to kiss him again, because now that he'd had a taste, he only yearned for more. And he wanted it to be real. And he wanted Chansung to remember.
“Only our Chansung would believe Junho was really embarrassed,” Minjun came behind the maknae and put an arm around his shoulders, smiling at him and then at Junho. “You've just won a bet.”
“I-what-”
Taecyeon was rolling his eyes at him. “You won’t have to pay for Wooyoung’s dinner because you made out with the mirror.”
“I DIDN’T MAKE OUT WITH THE MIRROR!”
Minjun chuckled. “Yah, did you hit your head too hard? It was just a bet, Nuneo.” Then his face changed and his smile turned playful. “But if you keep denying it, nuh-ah, you’ll have to pay for everybody’s turn to treat Wooyoung. And I intend to take him somewhere really nice.”
"Yeah, I know very well about your intentions," Taecyeon said, wriggling his eyebrows. Minjun slapped at his arm, but they were both laughing.
There was suddenly a hand on his forehead and Junho flinched, his head bumping into Chansung’s stomach by accident.
“Are you alright?” Nichkhun asked, unfazed by his reaction. He just frowned in thought as he seemed to scrutinize Junho’s face for any sign of weakness.
“I’m okay,” he said, and maybe his voice sounded a little too strained, but he just cleared his throat and pretended not to notice. “So I’m not paying for Wooyoung’s dinner. Great. Now let’s all finish preparing for the concert, and-”
“I’m ready,” Wooyoung’s voice came from over Minjun’s shoulder, where his chin was resting. He was wearing the Game Over outfit, pants included, and he had a calm if not confident smile on his face.
Junho noticed that Taecyeon and Nichkhun hadn’t said anything in English yet, that he hadn’t heard Minjun’s singing voice, and for a moment he dared hope. Then he looked at Chansung, but his makeup was still barely there, which meant-
“How-” he blinked, took a deep breath, and tried to keep his voice steady, to conceal his anxiety. “How long do we still have?”
Chansung checked it on his cell phone. “Thirty minutes.”
Junho repressed a scream and bit at his lip so hard he could almost taste blood. He couldn’t give himself another bruise, though, not one so visible; no matter how many times he was rudely thrown back.
“Are you sure?” Junho asked instead, but it must have sounded strange, judging by the look the others gave him. Chansung just showed him the screen, though, and if Junho felt slightly like throwing the damn cell phone on the floor, well, he would have to repress that too. “Ooo…kay,” he managed. His head was pulled back by what he already knew was Nichkhun’s hand again, checking his forehead. “Can you not-”
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[ Next]