SHINee Duets 2013: royalwisteria & ikui (Part One)
Title: The Difference Between Endurance and Resignation: Networking 101
Authors: royalwisteria & ikui
Pairing: Onew/Minho
Rating: R
Warnings: Brief mention of pornography.
Authors’ Notes: A translation of Onew’s Barcelona diary by vivz @sp was used. Also, the title “Pardon the Sports” was inspired by the ESPN tv show “Pardon the Interruption”. ikui: Plus a quick thanks to acousticscenery for helping me out. ;A;
Pardon the Sports (PTS)
a sports blog by Sano
October 27
Today my mom called and it was really good to talk to her. I remember the days when I was a freshman at university and I called her every day. I would have trouble falling asleep and would wonder about how she was doing, if dad was okay, how Ari and Bae are, who walked them today, stuff like that. The last time I called home was probably four months. I get notes from my sister, but it’s not quite the same as hearing my mom’s actual voice.
It was nice. I should call more often, let her know how my life is. Be a good son.
labels: personal, mom, home
November 4
Apparently Minsun’s pregnant! Shit, that news surprised me. I mean, I guess it’s natural for a twenty-seven year old to want children, but I never thought I’d ever be an uncle. It’s weird to think that, in however long, my sister will have a kid.
I told her she should name the kid after me and she hit me.
labels: personal, minsun, children!
November 18
My brother-in-law should have known better than to bet against me for the UK-South Africa match. He thinks he knows soccer, but he actually doesn’t. All that means is more money for me, though, so no big deal.
(My suggestion of naming my niece or nephew after Ari got me another slap.)
labels: personal, youngjae
December 2
Jjong took me out drinking again last night. It was fun and all, but I always regret it right about now. AKA- I’m severely hungover. It was also really cold and I might be getting a cold (or hypothermia).
labels: personal, dino
December 14
People tell me that I should pay more attention to politics, and I see their point, but I get sick of them telling me the same thing over and over again. It’s stupid and there’s only so much I can take of them telling me what to do before I snap.
labels: personal, politics, friends
December 21
It’s the holiday season, and that means it’s the season for questions from nosy family members wanting to know what I’m doing with my life. No one thinks that this blog is going to get anywhere and they all tell me to concentrate on my job, but I think that’s boring. What sort of life am I living if I can’t do something I enjoy and love without getting flak for it?
I’m going to continue this blog, no matter what my family says. Jjong agrees, but I think that their reasons are bullshit. I’ll do what I want with my life, no thanks to my aunt Hyemi. I’m glad that my parents are supportive, if not entirely sure of what I’m doing.
labels: personal, family, holidays
It’s Sano’s holiday post that gives Jinki courage he’d been trying to find for what seems like forever. It was a sort of whim a year ago that led him to follow his blog, as many of his friend has insisted that if he wants to be a true Korean, he should know at least something about soccer. Following all the games on his own, and watching games with a group of friends had seemed like so much work and required a leap into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to get into. So he’d figured why not a sports blog? And then he found Sano’s PTS.
He really doesn’t know all that much more about soccer, or sports in general, than he did a year ago. The majority of Sano’s posts are about soccer, with some baseball during the baseball season, but Jinki’s much more interested in Sano himself. It started with cursory glances at the smaller posts labeled ‘personal’ and the next thing Jinki knew, he’d read every single personal entry Sano had ever posted.
It’s a little creepy and stalker-ish, but he knows all about his parents, their dogs, what kind of foods Sano likes, his roommate Jjong. And Jinki likes Sano. So he wants to be friends with him- simple as that, really. But the thought of commenting on any of Sano’s posts is paralyzing; he can press the comment button and have the box appear, but his fingers freeze while poised over his keyboard.
What should he say? Something commiserating, encouraging him to post even more? It’s not like Jinki exactly reads all of his posts; sports is not his strong suit and he only knows the names of four positions in soccer: offensive, midfielder, defensive and goalie. But he wouldn’t bet his life, much less anything else, on his being right with those four.
His phone buzzes in his pocket; a text, or an email. A few moments later he hears his mom call for him to join them for dinner- Sano’s not the only one at home for the holidays. His reserves of courage are drawn upon as he quickly types out a message to send him.
You’re not the only one with nosy relatives who think your life is quickly going nowhere and that you’re better off sans blog. Just keep what you’re doing, you have fans and people who support you! - Onew
And then he presses send.
When dinner is over, he talks with his parents, his mom and dad discuss their Christmas plans and talk about that ‘little girl down the road that you always used to play with that was ‘so cute.’ Jinki knows that they mean the two of them were cute together, and he can sense their ulterior motive of hooking him up the moment they mention a female name or body part. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that, despite being in his mid-late twenties, a girlfriend is nowhere on the horizon. If ever. He figures if he ever gets a boyfriend, he’ll tell them he’s gay then.
And then, as he’s settling on the couch with his favorite childhood book, a book he only ever reads when at home, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, fingers deft as he unlocks it and checks his email.
Oh fuck is his first thought because although he’d imagined sending a message to Sano millions, billions of times, Jinki had conveniently disregarded the possibility of Sano replying. And now that he has- Jinki has no idea what to do.
Thanks! It’s nice of you to message me that; I know it takes courage to talk to someone like this and I appreciate it. Even though I don’t know you, you seem like a good guy and I’m sure that you have fans and people to support you. I know we don’t know each other, but if you’d like to talk, I’m here! - Sano
He turns his phone off, habitual, and sits on the couch for a few long, forever minutes. Then he picks up his book, runs his fingers down the soft edges of worn pages, and opens it to where he had left off. There’s no way he’s ready for this, and he’ll take at least a couple hours to figure out an appropriate response other than the ‘oh my god oh my god oh my god he talked to me he replied’ that’s going through his head.
When he goes to bed, stairs creaking the same way from when he was a teenager, he opens his computer just to see the message bigger on his screen. He takes a few, leisurely moments to stare at it, before shutting his computer and crawling into his narrow bed that always smells of home.
The next afternoon, Jinki makes himself sit down in front of his computer and carefully type out a reply. It’d be rude, after all, to leave it for any longer than that.
I didn’t think that you’d actually reply to me-
He backspaces that (too personal and embarrassing) and tries again.
I can’t believe that you wouldn’t mind talking to me; we are, after all, strangers-
He backspaces that too (kind of self-deprecating) and tells himself third time’s a charm, even though that hasn’t worked much for him in the past.
I’ll extend the offer back to you: we’re strangers, but sometimes you need a stranger to talk to. My name’s Onew, or online it is, and I’ve wanted to talk to you for too long and embarrassing a time to admit to. It’s nice to meet you! (By the way, are you Japanese?)- Onew
This message he sends. Sano doesn’t reply for a few days, which then stretch to a full week and a day. By the end of the week, Jinki is constantly refreshing his email, waiting for a notification that Sano had replied and positive that he was creeped out by his message, the question, every single word he had typed.
Sano’s reply reassures him, and Jinki can sense sincerity and an apology in his words.
Sorry for the late reply! I really wanted to get back to you, you seem like a good person and I feel bad about getting to this so late. It was just so busy around the house. My sister scolded me every time I tried to get on a computer and even confiscated my phone. You’d think that as a twenty-four year old, she’d treat me as an adult- but not my sister. But enough about her! You probably don’t want to hear it.
I’m actually not Japanese; my friend Jjong called me this back when we were in college. It’s the name of a Japanese manga character and I somehow resembled him. I’m Korean! And wow, I’ve received messages from other people saying that they love my blog, but it’s new every time. Thank you so much for liking my blog, even though I’m only running it because I like sports a lot. I see you have a news blog-? With photos? Do you take them yourself?
Again, sorry for the late reply. I feel terrible. I hope you don’t hate me. - Sano
How could Jinki hate him?
Please don’t worry about it; in no way do I hate you. I was a bit nervous and got worried that I had offended you somehow and it’s a relief that’s not the case. I hope that, despite questions as to your life aspirations, you had a wonderful time at home with family. It can be exhausting.
So we’re both Korean! Well, my name is less ambiguous than yours, we’re both writing in Korean, so the assumption that I’m Korean is an easy stretch, but that’s okay. I post about local and national events as a sort of photo-journalist. I have my own camera and take pictures of things I like and so on. I don’t particularly think my blog is exciting; it’s a lot of facts and my interests don’t always align with other people’s. - Onew
Two days later, Sano follows Jinki’s blog and he nearly freaks out- this was something he’d only dreamed of. He’d never thought that his favorite blog would follow him back and Sano’s reply is charming, along the lines of ‘why hadn’t I followed you before!’ and ‘I should check out my followers blogs more often; it can just be troublesome to look at them all.’
They comment on each other’s blogs posts, personal and not as they continue to message each other. Jinki’s email is full of unopened emails from his blog that he doesn’t want to delete, but preserve as a precious memory of yet another part of their conversations. Sometime in spring they exchange emails; Jinki tries to not feel too fluttery over it, tells himself that the somersault in his stomach as he gives Minho his personal email address is nerves. And it is.
But when their real names come up, Jinki heading home on the train, scrolling through his email, he starts sweating even more in the mid-July heat.
Why not? I see no harm in it. My real name’s Minho. You don’t have to share, if you don’t want to. I just thought that I’d like you to know my real name. I consider you a close friend by now and would rather have you call me Minho than Sano. - Minho (wow, it’s somehow weird typing my real name)
This time, the fluttering is harder to ignore, harder to dismiss. His fingers tremble violently and he almost drops his phone on the train and hurriedly stuffs it into his pocket.
You consider me a close friend? I’m honored! Well, Minho, my name is Jinki. I’m quite used to Onew, and I have close friends who call me Onew, but I’d like to return the honor you’ve given me. - Jinki
When Minho sends him an email asking for advice, Jinki is oddly excited to try and help. He has no siblings or anyone else younger to advise and it’s something that he’s always wanted to do.
Yeah, sure. How can I help?
Minho’s reply doesn’t come for a few days, and when Jinki sees it he understands.
I’m going to start this with a necessary statement: I love my dad. I love my dad, but he’s difficult. We used to get along really well when I was a kid: he loved taking me around to the games and hearing me chatter excitedly all the way through the games. (He’s a soccer coach, by the way.) It’s because of him that I started playing soccer myself, and he used to be really proud of me.
Oh god, this sounds a bit like a sob story. I’m sorry if you don’t think this means anything, but- he stopped being proud. He started being critical and my clearest memories of high school were him telling me that I shouldn’t bother trying to go pro. He never said why; I was one of the best players on my team so I hoped it wasn’t that. And so, because of his disapproval, I ended up not trying at all. I went to college, got a job, did all sorts of things that I was supposed to do.
But he’s still not proud. He wanted me to play soccer regardless of his thoughts. He told me that yesterday. I wanted to please him and ended up not doing so, and it turns out that he wanted was the exact opposite. I don’t think I can make him proud of me.
He knows that he should respond as quickly as possible, but he wants to think about this, think about it deeply. Minho doesn’t get along with his dad. Now that Jinki thinks about it, Minho barely mentions his dad. When he does, it’s always in conjunction with his mom.
The email is read at least fifty times over the next few days, and he wonders if Minho is anxiously waiting for a reply from Jinki, the nail-biting, staring into distances sort of anxious.
Let me preface my reply with my own necessitated statement: I love my parents a lot. I’m an only child, and they have essentially supported me in everything I’ve done. They insisted on paying for my college tuition even though they could hardly afford it- I am still not sure if they could or not because they’ve never let me know. I love my parents, because I didn’t have many other people to love growing up and they doted on me more than they probably should have. So, my relation to your experiences is through that lens.
And my first question is about communication, because I would have estranged from my parents if we had never been able to communicate properly. Have you ever sat your father down and tell him any of this? Have you ever told him that you craved his approval, but it was always something elusive, just out of reach?
Another question I have for you: is what you want approval, or something else? My intentions are not cruel when I ask if you have tried to maturely look at the situation, because this feelings started when you were a child. Have you been maturing at the same rate your relationship with your father has, or has your relationship remained at the same childhood state?
I think that you should not concern yourself with being approved by your father or any such nonsense. Your father has clearly contradicted himself, and, Minho, you are strong enough to face him about this. I think that, if looking for a solution, this is the best advice I can offer: talk to him.
Two weeks pass without a reply, but Jinki figures that Minho needs time to sort everything out.
I talked with my dad. I don’t really want to talk about it, it’s kind of painful, not quite yet cathartic at all, but thanks. Jinki, honestly, thank you. I needed to do something, I just didn’t know what to do.
Jinki doesn’t reply with nosy questions, comments that prove further, and instead replies with an embarrassing story of how he accidentally locked himself out of his apartment and the journey slash adventure that then followed. He hopes it’ll make Minho smile.
He goes on a business trip mid-September, to the oh-so-distant shores of Japan. It’s not supposed to be that big a deal, but it somehow becomes a big deal when he’s so much busier than expected and leaves him less time to talk with Minho. At first that’s fine, it truly is, but by the fifth day Jinki is anxious. The trip is to be two weeks and he’s traveling around the country, taking pictures of almost everything for his blog and writing up reports and details of business for his job.
It leaves no time for emails, no time for idle checking of his phone- which doesn’t properly work in Japan. He’d thought that it’d be no big deal, inexperienced as he is, but it is.
He misses Minho- he misses Minho an embarrassing ‘a lot’, the type of ‘I miss you’ he’d whisper into an ear while hugging after a long absence, fighting back (completely unnecessary) tears.
Which is ridiculous. They’ve never even met. Jinki needs to get his shit together.
When he lands in Incheon, Jinki pulls out his phone. He had fully charged it last night, at the airport hotel, figuring that he’d be on it all day after the flight and he’s right. Jinki’s fingers are glued to his phone, swiping through pages, flipping through email, eyes devouring text.
Minho emailed him. A lot. It makes Jinki smile stupidly.
They’re simple emails, short anecdotes, about his niece (who was named Jinri), the joy his parents take in asking him if he has a girlfriend yet and the repeated ‘no, I do not’ they receive as an answer. He talks about work, a cat he passed by walking around town one day, a cafe he visited with his best friend Jonghyun (tagged din in his blog, for reasons Jinki doesn’t quite understand).
In every email, he asks about Japan, if he’s okay, if he’s safe, how he’s doing, if he’s eating well- questions that, to be honest, Jinki associates with his mother.
He spends the taxi ride back to his apartment typing an email back on his phone, fingers messing up far too often from excitement.
Japan was beautiful. I think Korea is beautiful too, but there’s something that is spectacular about Japan’s rural areas that is somewhat different than Korea. It was hard to communicate, as my Japanese is non-existent other than konnichiwa and hai and iie but I got by with my colleagues. I took a lot of pictures as well; so many that I had to buy a new memory card so I could take some more.
I thought about you often. I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t able to contact you more frequently, but I was often without good signal and the systems are different in Japan and I was only able to check my phone when I had access to wi-fi, which was not as often as I’d like. But I’m back now! It’s great to be in Korea, to hear Korean, all the familiar sites.
‘I thought about you often.’ Something about that bothers Jinki. He’s not sure what, exactly, but it bothers him so much he deletes the entire email. He tries again.
The trip was wonderful and full of great, new experiences. I took so many pictures I had to buy a new memory card- imagine that! There were difficulties communicating, but I managed to scrape through with a little help from colleagues and a great deal of help from continuous games of charades.
I’m sorry I wasn’t able to email you back until now, I was very busy. I’m glad to hear that Jinri is doing well; she sounds like a lovely little girl. I’m back in Korean, so I’ll be sure to check my email as frequently as normal from now on.
Why was this one so impersonal? Jinki stretches his neck, rolling it around, feeling the kinks get worked out. Then he deletes the email and sinks into the taxi seat until it pulls up in front of his apartment.
Jinki doesn’t know how long he’s been wallowing for, but it’s been for far too long. He lives off cup noodles and other cheap meals he buys on the way home from work. Work is the only reason he leaves his apartment as he tries to figure out what, exactly, is wrong. He has no clue.
The email he ended up sending Minho was this:
I’m back.
Which is wrong on so many levels, but before Jinki can figure out how to tell Minho what he really wants to tell him-- as long as whatever the hell it is-- it’ll just have to do. He’ll ignore the emails from Minho until then, too. It’s his self-punishment.
But his will doesn’t have a great track-record, and he eventually checks it.
Hey, Jinki, I got your email that you’re back but haven’t gotten anything since. Your email was also unusually bare. I hope that you’re just tired and that you’ll be able to tell me more later, because I’m really curious!
It’s been four days since that email, and still nothing. I’m worried. I hope you’re okay. I hope that nothing happened in Japan to hurt you.
Where are you? Are you okay?
Should I call the police to track you down? Hire a private investigator?
Sorry, that joke was dumb. I understand that you don’t want to talk to me anymore, so I’ll stop the emails. This is the last one. But could you please, if it’s not too much, let me know that you’re okay? I’m worried. You’ve helped me out so much in the past, more than I think you realize, that I want to look out for you as well. I miss you. -- Minho
The last email is from five days ago. Jinki is a terrible person, but something warm suffuses him at the thought that Minho misses him. Could it possible meant that Jinki wasn’t the only lonely one when he was gone, or should he stop deluding himself now?
His fingers hover over his computer’s keyboard for a few moments, oddly reminiscent of when he first emailed Minho so long ago.
I’ve had a lot on my mind, sorry for not contacting earlier! I was just thinking that I want to stop this exchanged, not because I’m sick of you or anything absurd like that, but because I want to meet you, face-to-face. How do you like cafes?
Minho’s reply comes a couple hours later, Jinki checking his email right before falling asleep.
I know a great place.
Jinki finds that sometimes it is necessary to double-check things - no scratch that - triple-check. His Google calendar has the meeting marked off, bright green square indicating the time and place on a Friday afternoon. But, even then, there is always that worry; what if he input the wrong information, or maybe his finger slipped? After all, his calendar was already covered in appointments and to-do-lists, a haphazard schedule. It doesn’t provide much reassurance when his chubby fingers navigate the arrangement of coloured blocks on the touchscreen, the situation just asking for disaster.
It would probably be better to just check the original e-mail, the press of a subject header a much simpler task that required less coordination. Although, in the blur of scrolling text in his inundated inbox, Jinki hopes he can find the confirmation, browsing through the label so aptly named, “Sano of Pardon the Sports - aka: Minho.” Admittedly, it makes Jinki a little embarrassed, the fact that he has so many e-mails to plow through, not only from their direct exchanges, but from rss feeds and update notifications. It’s not as if he is cyberstalking Minho, really, but a small part of him feels a little ashamed.
Thankfully, the email is there, and he reads the message carefully. According to the text, Jinki has no reason to doubt himself. No reason at all, except- Maybe he should still send a confirmation email, just to make sure the internet didn’t manipulate the message. Or maybe, one never knows, Minho typed an agreement by mistake. Anyway, it’s not like they could call each other or meet in person to confirm, since well, this would be their first time actually meeting. Yes, a confirmation e-mail is the only natural solution.
Hey Minho, I just wanted to check. We are meeting up today right?
No, no that is stupid. He sounds like a flake, completely irresponsible and disorganized. Jinki jabs at the backspace key on his phone.
Confirming, we are scheduled to meet at 5:00 pm in Hapjeong correct?
Yes, sounding like a professional robot is a great prelude to meeting a friend, or former friend at the rate Jinki is going. His fingers tap the backspace once more, deleting any and all of his awkwardness. It’s lovely that he can censor himself online, Jinki muses, which sadly leads to the realization that meeting face-to-face meant there would be no backspace for any verbal vomit on his part.
Jinki feels sick, allowing himself to inhale for the first time in what feels like hours.
Honestly, this whole thing feels ridiculous, Jinki groaning as he flings himself back under the sheets. He isn’t sure what part of him thought it was sane to send an email at 5:00 am, a whole twelve hours before the agreed meeting time and in fact, three hours before he was expected to be at the office. Really, if he was to frame this situation from another perspective, one could conclude that Jinki was having trouble sleeping because of a date.
The statement makes him pause.
Mortification seeps into his skin and Jinki fights to push the humiliation down. He needs to remember, Minho is just a guy he’s talked to online and wants to become friends with. He doesn’t actually know him, at least not the offline Minho, and there is nothing that rationalizes Jinki’s behaviour. A meeting between two guys with the same interests, it is as simple as that. Although, is there a given procedure for whatever this is?
News stories arise in Jinki’s head, the ones about people meeting through online games or chatting services: one person being a thief, a murderer, a pedophile; the other, an innocent victim... Except there is no chance, absolutely no way, that Minho is any one of these things. Jinki groans at his paranoia, curling his knees up to his chest. Still, maybe he should have asked Taemin to come with him; if not for protection, to at least elbow him when he says something dumb.
Sleep deprivation is a nasty thing, and that fact is clearly reflected during Jinki’s workday. His article on the conflict between the residents of Jeju island and government authorities remains untouched, eyes glazed over for a majority of the morning. The glow of his computer screen almost lulls him to sleep and despite a quick trip to the bathroom, where Jinki splashes his face with cold water, he still feels as tired as ever. The mirror reveals the bruises under his eyes, and Jinki sighs to himself. Just another attractive day for his ever so attractive face (insert sarcasm).
Which is why Jinki feels a little silly when he feels a rush of adrenaline at the buzz in his front pocket. The email on his phone reads as follows:
See you today at 5! :)
Sender: Choi Minho
Why didn’t he think of that? Jinki groans, leaning back into his chair, lamenting the state of his non-existent eloquence. He then swings back up, punching a hasty reply.
Can’t wait! See you there.
He probably sounds a little bit girly, a little bit desperate, but at this point Jinki doesn’t care.
Jinki shuffles under his desk and grabs his just-bought-two-day- ago copy of Hana-Kimi. He had already blown a full day over this, so why not do a little more research on the origins of Sano?
Page one.
Sano is staring him back in the face, brown streaked across the white pages.
“What are you?”
Foreshadowing. That is what this all was. Fate was telling him that this whole day would be a series of unfortunate events: first his utter lack of sleep; secondly, getting nothing done on the job; thirdly, running into and spilling iced coffee on an undoubtedly pristine designer shirt, adorned by a young blonde man who had enough venom in his eyes, it could burn your brain tissue. Oh yeah, to top it off he is inside a restaurant where there are plenty of spectators to view this sad debacle.
“I’m so sorry!”
Thankfully Jinki has learned to focus during situations like this, ignoring public reaction and his ruined manga, turning his attention to the more important matter at hand. Jinki has a quick reaction time and whips out a package of tissues (his mother always taught him to be prepared), padding the man down. Jinki doubts this will prevent the laundry bill he is surely to be handed, but it’s the thought that counts right?
“Aish!”
Jinki cringes. So maybe the thought wasn’t enough after all.
“Get off me.”
Jinki backs away, bowing while holding out a few paper bills.
“To pay,” Jinki clarifies, “For the shirt.”
There is an angry huff followed by a sharp speech. “Well it was an accident right?”
Jinki raises his head and nods, the words far different from the reprimand he expected. Somehow mercy had made its way into his lackluster day.
The blonde man eyes him up and down before taking the bills from his hand.
“You’re lucky I am going home anyway.” The man looks down at him, lips slanted in resignation. “Also here, I think you want this.”
Jinki blinks, his now coffee-stained manga being pushed into his chest.
“T-thank you.” Jinki bows repeatedly, as the man directs a not so discreet middle finger his way, not that Jinki would complain; the whole fiasco ended up being a mitigated disaster after all.
But his poor manga, his poor droplet splattered hoodie, and his poor non-existent image. Jinki eyes the tiny spots on his stained sweater then flips forlornly through the first few pages of the manga, index finger stopping at the image of a sharp glare from Sano’s coffee-stained face.
Maybe when they first meet, this is how Minho will look at him, Jinki’s speckled clothes no doubt making a good impression. That and the added factor that Minho would probably take notice of all the gawking stares he is receiving.
Jinki however, is not unfamiliar with public humiliation and he ignores both the amused and annoyed patrons directing their attention his way, likely gossiping about the idiot at the front door. Head down and shuffling through the relatively crowded restaurant - filled with young, fashionable, and judgmental customers obviously - Jinki finds a dark corner to sit in, the nicest and most comforting place for his already bleak mood.
His cell phone reads 5:05 pm and yes, Jinki can hear the snide remark of a girl two seats away, whispering that she can’t believe someone is coming to meet this “nerdy klutz’s ass”. Jinki directs a pleasant smile her way and she looks away immediately, embarrassed from being caught. It’s a slight victory in Jinki’s books but it doesn’t help deter him from his anxiousness.
Minho still isn’t here.
Or at least Jinki doesn’t think he is.
Their plan had been a little silly after all, Minho telling Jinki he would be wearing a striped blue sweater and in return, Jinki saying he would wear a bright yellow hoodie. Sure, these obnoxiously bright colours could be easy to recognize, but wouldn’t it have been easier to just exchange numbers? Jinki looks about nervously, leaning up in his chair and finding no one in the attire Minho assured him he would be in.
Has he been stood up?
There is a slight pinch in his chest and Jinki shakes his head, releasing a small breath. Talk about being overdramatic and far too nervous for no reason at all. Play it cool Jinki. If this stripe wearing dude shows up - and man does he hope he does - then it will be great; but if Minho doesn’t, Jinki will just order his dinner and be on his way. It will be just like any other day. Yep.
Jinki whips his phone to his face and immediately checks his inbox.
No new messages.
A cough, Jinki holding the back of his hand to his lips as he momentarily forgets how to breathe.
He is being ridiculous.
Another breath and Jinki presses the buzzer on his table, a server shortly after attending his call. A cold cola arrives and Jinki tries to ease his shoulders, lifting the glass and letting the sweet liquid slip past his lips. He needs to calm down and not look so… freakish. He holds the edges of his ruined Hana Kimi copy and continues to read from where he left off, Sano being a not-so-subtle jerk to Mizuki.
Yeah that’s right, Jinki looks totally smooth: the dork in the yellow sweater reading a shoujo manga. But whatever, he had every right to look insane because well, just like Mizuki, his offer of friendship was being rejected by some (probably) amazingly talented and hot gu-
“I’m so sorry. I missed my bus getting here.”
The smooth baritone rumble startles Jinki as he looks up from the crinkled pages of his manga.
“Are you Onew-er I mean Jinki?”
He’s better than Sano. A hundred - no a million times better: dark eyes, long lashes, the immaculate square jaw of an Adonis, and legs for days. Jinki swallows dry air and reaches for his glass, taking a huge gulp of soda, promptly chomping on an ice cube. Oh right, reality; he should reply.
“Uh yeah. I’m Onew or rather, uh Jinki.”
And Jinki would have beaten himself over his sudden inability to articulate words but he is blindsided when the man before him smiles with a laugh, eyes wrinkling together and a set of pretty white teeth being put on display.
“Glad to finally meet you.” A relieved breath. “My name is Choi Minho.”
A hand is extended his way and Jinki takes it without a thought, feeling more than a little foolish.
“So have you ordered anything?” There is another friendly smile from Minho, inducing another round of scattered thoughts from Jinki. The best he can do is point dumbly to his soda and nod, trying to imitate a warm expression in return.
Sadly, this attempt at communication earns Jinki a more-than-three second stare from Minho, those seconds nearly spanning into eternities as Jinki curses internally, wondering why he felt so exposed. Perhaps it had something to do with those annoyingly wide eyes, eyes that could easily judge the pimple on his left cheek, the coffee on his clothes, or just his overall lacking image. Damn all the forces of nature for misleading Jinki into believing that meeting a person from online meant being greeted by a normal human - not some otherworldly evolved being.
Jinki sinks into his chair, the irrational idea of the table having the capacity to hide some of his imperfections a comforting thought.
Which is when it hits him, the sudden transition from handsome face to childish brat, Minho laughing with a hand rising to his lips.
“You aren’t what I imagined.”
Jinki feels the cold wind of a punch at his throat, uncertain if he should be flattered or offended. He goes for the latter, pessimism having always been his crutch.
“Well I could say the same about you.” Jinki’s lips twist into a defensive frown. “You never told me you actually look better than Sano.”
Minho pauses once more as Jinki flails his manga about in one hand.
Then it erupts, an open bellow of a laugh that fills Jinki’s ears from bottom up. Naturally, he should have been embarrassed, being reminded yet again that the only safe place he could censor himself is behind a keyboard, but just this once, Jinki lets it slide. Okay, so maybe Minho does have something else going for him, Jinki swallowing his pride and deciding then and now that he really likes the sound of Minho’s voice.
“We really should order some food. I hear they have the best croquettes in the city.”
“Yeah.”
“Hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“You can stop holding my hand now.”
Part Two
Authors: royalwisteria & ikui
Pairing: Onew/Minho
Rating: R
Warnings: Brief mention of pornography.
Authors’ Notes: A translation of Onew’s Barcelona diary by vivz @sp was used. Also, the title “Pardon the Sports” was inspired by the ESPN tv show “Pardon the Interruption”. ikui: Plus a quick thanks to acousticscenery for helping me out. ;A;
Pardon the Sports (PTS)
a sports blog by Sano
October 27
Today my mom called and it was really good to talk to her. I remember the days when I was a freshman at university and I called her every day. I would have trouble falling asleep and would wonder about how she was doing, if dad was okay, how Ari and Bae are, who walked them today, stuff like that. The last time I called home was probably four months. I get notes from my sister, but it’s not quite the same as hearing my mom’s actual voice.
It was nice. I should call more often, let her know how my life is. Be a good son.
labels: personal, mom, home
November 4
Apparently Minsun’s pregnant! Shit, that news surprised me. I mean, I guess it’s natural for a twenty-seven year old to want children, but I never thought I’d ever be an uncle. It’s weird to think that, in however long, my sister will have a kid.
I told her she should name the kid after me and she hit me.
labels: personal, minsun, children!
November 18
My brother-in-law should have known better than to bet against me for the UK-South Africa match. He thinks he knows soccer, but he actually doesn’t. All that means is more money for me, though, so no big deal.
(My suggestion of naming my niece or nephew after Ari got me another slap.)
labels: personal, youngjae
December 2
Jjong took me out drinking again last night. It was fun and all, but I always regret it right about now. AKA- I’m severely hungover. It was also really cold and I might be getting a cold (or hypothermia).
labels: personal, dino
December 14
People tell me that I should pay more attention to politics, and I see their point, but I get sick of them telling me the same thing over and over again. It’s stupid and there’s only so much I can take of them telling me what to do before I snap.
labels: personal, politics, friends
December 21
It’s the holiday season, and that means it’s the season for questions from nosy family members wanting to know what I’m doing with my life. No one thinks that this blog is going to get anywhere and they all tell me to concentrate on my job, but I think that’s boring. What sort of life am I living if I can’t do something I enjoy and love without getting flak for it?
I’m going to continue this blog, no matter what my family says. Jjong agrees, but I think that their reasons are bullshit. I’ll do what I want with my life, no thanks to my aunt Hyemi. I’m glad that my parents are supportive, if not entirely sure of what I’m doing.
labels: personal, family, holidays
It’s Sano’s holiday post that gives Jinki courage he’d been trying to find for what seems like forever. It was a sort of whim a year ago that led him to follow his blog, as many of his friend has insisted that if he wants to be a true Korean, he should know at least something about soccer. Following all the games on his own, and watching games with a group of friends had seemed like so much work and required a leap into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to get into. So he’d figured why not a sports blog? And then he found Sano’s PTS.
He really doesn’t know all that much more about soccer, or sports in general, than he did a year ago. The majority of Sano’s posts are about soccer, with some baseball during the baseball season, but Jinki’s much more interested in Sano himself. It started with cursory glances at the smaller posts labeled ‘personal’ and the next thing Jinki knew, he’d read every single personal entry Sano had ever posted.
It’s a little creepy and stalker-ish, but he knows all about his parents, their dogs, what kind of foods Sano likes, his roommate Jjong. And Jinki likes Sano. So he wants to be friends with him- simple as that, really. But the thought of commenting on any of Sano’s posts is paralyzing; he can press the comment button and have the box appear, but his fingers freeze while poised over his keyboard.
What should he say? Something commiserating, encouraging him to post even more? It’s not like Jinki exactly reads all of his posts; sports is not his strong suit and he only knows the names of four positions in soccer: offensive, midfielder, defensive and goalie. But he wouldn’t bet his life, much less anything else, on his being right with those four.
His phone buzzes in his pocket; a text, or an email. A few moments later he hears his mom call for him to join them for dinner- Sano’s not the only one at home for the holidays. His reserves of courage are drawn upon as he quickly types out a message to send him.
You’re not the only one with nosy relatives who think your life is quickly going nowhere and that you’re better off sans blog. Just keep what you’re doing, you have fans and people who support you! - Onew
And then he presses send.
When dinner is over, he talks with his parents, his mom and dad discuss their Christmas plans and talk about that ‘little girl down the road that you always used to play with that was ‘so cute.’ Jinki knows that they mean the two of them were cute together, and he can sense their ulterior motive of hooking him up the moment they mention a female name or body part. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that, despite being in his mid-late twenties, a girlfriend is nowhere on the horizon. If ever. He figures if he ever gets a boyfriend, he’ll tell them he’s gay then.
And then, as he’s settling on the couch with his favorite childhood book, a book he only ever reads when at home, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, fingers deft as he unlocks it and checks his email.
Oh fuck is his first thought because although he’d imagined sending a message to Sano millions, billions of times, Jinki had conveniently disregarded the possibility of Sano replying. And now that he has- Jinki has no idea what to do.
Thanks! It’s nice of you to message me that; I know it takes courage to talk to someone like this and I appreciate it. Even though I don’t know you, you seem like a good guy and I’m sure that you have fans and people to support you. I know we don’t know each other, but if you’d like to talk, I’m here! - Sano
He turns his phone off, habitual, and sits on the couch for a few long, forever minutes. Then he picks up his book, runs his fingers down the soft edges of worn pages, and opens it to where he had left off. There’s no way he’s ready for this, and he’ll take at least a couple hours to figure out an appropriate response other than the ‘oh my god oh my god oh my god he talked to me he replied’ that’s going through his head.
When he goes to bed, stairs creaking the same way from when he was a teenager, he opens his computer just to see the message bigger on his screen. He takes a few, leisurely moments to stare at it, before shutting his computer and crawling into his narrow bed that always smells of home.
The next afternoon, Jinki makes himself sit down in front of his computer and carefully type out a reply. It’d be rude, after all, to leave it for any longer than that.
I didn’t think that you’d actually reply to me-
He backspaces that (too personal and embarrassing) and tries again.
I can’t believe that you wouldn’t mind talking to me; we are, after all, strangers-
He backspaces that too (kind of self-deprecating) and tells himself third time’s a charm, even though that hasn’t worked much for him in the past.
I’ll extend the offer back to you: we’re strangers, but sometimes you need a stranger to talk to. My name’s Onew, or online it is, and I’ve wanted to talk to you for too long and embarrassing a time to admit to. It’s nice to meet you! (By the way, are you Japanese?)- Onew
This message he sends. Sano doesn’t reply for a few days, which then stretch to a full week and a day. By the end of the week, Jinki is constantly refreshing his email, waiting for a notification that Sano had replied and positive that he was creeped out by his message, the question, every single word he had typed.
Sano’s reply reassures him, and Jinki can sense sincerity and an apology in his words.
Sorry for the late reply! I really wanted to get back to you, you seem like a good person and I feel bad about getting to this so late. It was just so busy around the house. My sister scolded me every time I tried to get on a computer and even confiscated my phone. You’d think that as a twenty-four year old, she’d treat me as an adult- but not my sister. But enough about her! You probably don’t want to hear it.
I’m actually not Japanese; my friend Jjong called me this back when we were in college. It’s the name of a Japanese manga character and I somehow resembled him. I’m Korean! And wow, I’ve received messages from other people saying that they love my blog, but it’s new every time. Thank you so much for liking my blog, even though I’m only running it because I like sports a lot. I see you have a news blog-? With photos? Do you take them yourself?
Again, sorry for the late reply. I feel terrible. I hope you don’t hate me. - Sano
How could Jinki hate him?
Please don’t worry about it; in no way do I hate you. I was a bit nervous and got worried that I had offended you somehow and it’s a relief that’s not the case. I hope that, despite questions as to your life aspirations, you had a wonderful time at home with family. It can be exhausting.
So we’re both Korean! Well, my name is less ambiguous than yours, we’re both writing in Korean, so the assumption that I’m Korean is an easy stretch, but that’s okay. I post about local and national events as a sort of photo-journalist. I have my own camera and take pictures of things I like and so on. I don’t particularly think my blog is exciting; it’s a lot of facts and my interests don’t always align with other people’s. - Onew
Two days later, Sano follows Jinki’s blog and he nearly freaks out- this was something he’d only dreamed of. He’d never thought that his favorite blog would follow him back and Sano’s reply is charming, along the lines of ‘why hadn’t I followed you before!’ and ‘I should check out my followers blogs more often; it can just be troublesome to look at them all.’
They comment on each other’s blogs posts, personal and not as they continue to message each other. Jinki’s email is full of unopened emails from his blog that he doesn’t want to delete, but preserve as a precious memory of yet another part of their conversations. Sometime in spring they exchange emails; Jinki tries to not feel too fluttery over it, tells himself that the somersault in his stomach as he gives Minho his personal email address is nerves. And it is.
But when their real names come up, Jinki heading home on the train, scrolling through his email, he starts sweating even more in the mid-July heat.
Why not? I see no harm in it. My real name’s Minho. You don’t have to share, if you don’t want to. I just thought that I’d like you to know my real name. I consider you a close friend by now and would rather have you call me Minho than Sano. - Minho (wow, it’s somehow weird typing my real name)
This time, the fluttering is harder to ignore, harder to dismiss. His fingers tremble violently and he almost drops his phone on the train and hurriedly stuffs it into his pocket.
You consider me a close friend? I’m honored! Well, Minho, my name is Jinki. I’m quite used to Onew, and I have close friends who call me Onew, but I’d like to return the honor you’ve given me. - Jinki
When Minho sends him an email asking for advice, Jinki is oddly excited to try and help. He has no siblings or anyone else younger to advise and it’s something that he’s always wanted to do.
Yeah, sure. How can I help?
Minho’s reply doesn’t come for a few days, and when Jinki sees it he understands.
I’m going to start this with a necessary statement: I love my dad. I love my dad, but he’s difficult. We used to get along really well when I was a kid: he loved taking me around to the games and hearing me chatter excitedly all the way through the games. (He’s a soccer coach, by the way.) It’s because of him that I started playing soccer myself, and he used to be really proud of me.
Oh god, this sounds a bit like a sob story. I’m sorry if you don’t think this means anything, but- he stopped being proud. He started being critical and my clearest memories of high school were him telling me that I shouldn’t bother trying to go pro. He never said why; I was one of the best players on my team so I hoped it wasn’t that. And so, because of his disapproval, I ended up not trying at all. I went to college, got a job, did all sorts of things that I was supposed to do.
But he’s still not proud. He wanted me to play soccer regardless of his thoughts. He told me that yesterday. I wanted to please him and ended up not doing so, and it turns out that he wanted was the exact opposite. I don’t think I can make him proud of me.
He knows that he should respond as quickly as possible, but he wants to think about this, think about it deeply. Minho doesn’t get along with his dad. Now that Jinki thinks about it, Minho barely mentions his dad. When he does, it’s always in conjunction with his mom.
The email is read at least fifty times over the next few days, and he wonders if Minho is anxiously waiting for a reply from Jinki, the nail-biting, staring into distances sort of anxious.
Let me preface my reply with my own necessitated statement: I love my parents a lot. I’m an only child, and they have essentially supported me in everything I’ve done. They insisted on paying for my college tuition even though they could hardly afford it- I am still not sure if they could or not because they’ve never let me know. I love my parents, because I didn’t have many other people to love growing up and they doted on me more than they probably should have. So, my relation to your experiences is through that lens.
And my first question is about communication, because I would have estranged from my parents if we had never been able to communicate properly. Have you ever sat your father down and tell him any of this? Have you ever told him that you craved his approval, but it was always something elusive, just out of reach?
Another question I have for you: is what you want approval, or something else? My intentions are not cruel when I ask if you have tried to maturely look at the situation, because this feelings started when you were a child. Have you been maturing at the same rate your relationship with your father has, or has your relationship remained at the same childhood state?
I think that you should not concern yourself with being approved by your father or any such nonsense. Your father has clearly contradicted himself, and, Minho, you are strong enough to face him about this. I think that, if looking for a solution, this is the best advice I can offer: talk to him.
Two weeks pass without a reply, but Jinki figures that Minho needs time to sort everything out.
I talked with my dad. I don’t really want to talk about it, it’s kind of painful, not quite yet cathartic at all, but thanks. Jinki, honestly, thank you. I needed to do something, I just didn’t know what to do.
Jinki doesn’t reply with nosy questions, comments that prove further, and instead replies with an embarrassing story of how he accidentally locked himself out of his apartment and the journey slash adventure that then followed. He hopes it’ll make Minho smile.
He goes on a business trip mid-September, to the oh-so-distant shores of Japan. It’s not supposed to be that big a deal, but it somehow becomes a big deal when he’s so much busier than expected and leaves him less time to talk with Minho. At first that’s fine, it truly is, but by the fifth day Jinki is anxious. The trip is to be two weeks and he’s traveling around the country, taking pictures of almost everything for his blog and writing up reports and details of business for his job.
It leaves no time for emails, no time for idle checking of his phone- which doesn’t properly work in Japan. He’d thought that it’d be no big deal, inexperienced as he is, but it is.
He misses Minho- he misses Minho an embarrassing ‘a lot’, the type of ‘I miss you’ he’d whisper into an ear while hugging after a long absence, fighting back (completely unnecessary) tears.
Which is ridiculous. They’ve never even met. Jinki needs to get his shit together.
When he lands in Incheon, Jinki pulls out his phone. He had fully charged it last night, at the airport hotel, figuring that he’d be on it all day after the flight and he’s right. Jinki’s fingers are glued to his phone, swiping through pages, flipping through email, eyes devouring text.
Minho emailed him. A lot. It makes Jinki smile stupidly.
They’re simple emails, short anecdotes, about his niece (who was named Jinri), the joy his parents take in asking him if he has a girlfriend yet and the repeated ‘no, I do not’ they receive as an answer. He talks about work, a cat he passed by walking around town one day, a cafe he visited with his best friend Jonghyun (tagged din in his blog, for reasons Jinki doesn’t quite understand).
In every email, he asks about Japan, if he’s okay, if he’s safe, how he’s doing, if he’s eating well- questions that, to be honest, Jinki associates with his mother.
He spends the taxi ride back to his apartment typing an email back on his phone, fingers messing up far too often from excitement.
Japan was beautiful. I think Korea is beautiful too, but there’s something that is spectacular about Japan’s rural areas that is somewhat different than Korea. It was hard to communicate, as my Japanese is non-existent other than konnichiwa and hai and iie but I got by with my colleagues. I took a lot of pictures as well; so many that I had to buy a new memory card so I could take some more.
I thought about you often. I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t able to contact you more frequently, but I was often without good signal and the systems are different in Japan and I was only able to check my phone when I had access to wi-fi, which was not as often as I’d like. But I’m back now! It’s great to be in Korea, to hear Korean, all the familiar sites.
‘I thought about you often.’ Something about that bothers Jinki. He’s not sure what, exactly, but it bothers him so much he deletes the entire email. He tries again.
The trip was wonderful and full of great, new experiences. I took so many pictures I had to buy a new memory card- imagine that! There were difficulties communicating, but I managed to scrape through with a little help from colleagues and a great deal of help from continuous games of charades.
I’m sorry I wasn’t able to email you back until now, I was very busy. I’m glad to hear that Jinri is doing well; she sounds like a lovely little girl. I’m back in Korean, so I’ll be sure to check my email as frequently as normal from now on.
Why was this one so impersonal? Jinki stretches his neck, rolling it around, feeling the kinks get worked out. Then he deletes the email and sinks into the taxi seat until it pulls up in front of his apartment.
Jinki doesn’t know how long he’s been wallowing for, but it’s been for far too long. He lives off cup noodles and other cheap meals he buys on the way home from work. Work is the only reason he leaves his apartment as he tries to figure out what, exactly, is wrong. He has no clue.
The email he ended up sending Minho was this:
I’m back.
Which is wrong on so many levels, but before Jinki can figure out how to tell Minho what he really wants to tell him-- as long as whatever the hell it is-- it’ll just have to do. He’ll ignore the emails from Minho until then, too. It’s his self-punishment.
But his will doesn’t have a great track-record, and he eventually checks it.
Hey, Jinki, I got your email that you’re back but haven’t gotten anything since. Your email was also unusually bare. I hope that you’re just tired and that you’ll be able to tell me more later, because I’m really curious!
It’s been four days since that email, and still nothing. I’m worried. I hope you’re okay. I hope that nothing happened in Japan to hurt you.
Where are you? Are you okay?
Should I call the police to track you down? Hire a private investigator?
Sorry, that joke was dumb. I understand that you don’t want to talk to me anymore, so I’ll stop the emails. This is the last one. But could you please, if it’s not too much, let me know that you’re okay? I’m worried. You’ve helped me out so much in the past, more than I think you realize, that I want to look out for you as well. I miss you. -- Minho
The last email is from five days ago. Jinki is a terrible person, but something warm suffuses him at the thought that Minho misses him. Could it possible meant that Jinki wasn’t the only lonely one when he was gone, or should he stop deluding himself now?
His fingers hover over his computer’s keyboard for a few moments, oddly reminiscent of when he first emailed Minho so long ago.
I’ve had a lot on my mind, sorry for not contacting earlier! I was just thinking that I want to stop this exchanged, not because I’m sick of you or anything absurd like that, but because I want to meet you, face-to-face. How do you like cafes?
Minho’s reply comes a couple hours later, Jinki checking his email right before falling asleep.
I know a great place.
Jinki finds that sometimes it is necessary to double-check things - no scratch that - triple-check. His Google calendar has the meeting marked off, bright green square indicating the time and place on a Friday afternoon. But, even then, there is always that worry; what if he input the wrong information, or maybe his finger slipped? After all, his calendar was already covered in appointments and to-do-lists, a haphazard schedule. It doesn’t provide much reassurance when his chubby fingers navigate the arrangement of coloured blocks on the touchscreen, the situation just asking for disaster.
It would probably be better to just check the original e-mail, the press of a subject header a much simpler task that required less coordination. Although, in the blur of scrolling text in his inundated inbox, Jinki hopes he can find the confirmation, browsing through the label so aptly named, “Sano of Pardon the Sports - aka: Minho.” Admittedly, it makes Jinki a little embarrassed, the fact that he has so many e-mails to plow through, not only from their direct exchanges, but from rss feeds and update notifications. It’s not as if he is cyberstalking Minho, really, but a small part of him feels a little ashamed.
Thankfully, the email is there, and he reads the message carefully. According to the text, Jinki has no reason to doubt himself. No reason at all, except- Maybe he should still send a confirmation email, just to make sure the internet didn’t manipulate the message. Or maybe, one never knows, Minho typed an agreement by mistake. Anyway, it’s not like they could call each other or meet in person to confirm, since well, this would be their first time actually meeting. Yes, a confirmation e-mail is the only natural solution.
Hey Minho, I just wanted to check. We are meeting up today right?
No, no that is stupid. He sounds like a flake, completely irresponsible and disorganized. Jinki jabs at the backspace key on his phone.
Confirming, we are scheduled to meet at 5:00 pm in Hapjeong correct?
Yes, sounding like a professional robot is a great prelude to meeting a friend, or former friend at the rate Jinki is going. His fingers tap the backspace once more, deleting any and all of his awkwardness. It’s lovely that he can censor himself online, Jinki muses, which sadly leads to the realization that meeting face-to-face meant there would be no backspace for any verbal vomit on his part.
Jinki feels sick, allowing himself to inhale for the first time in what feels like hours.
Honestly, this whole thing feels ridiculous, Jinki groaning as he flings himself back under the sheets. He isn’t sure what part of him thought it was sane to send an email at 5:00 am, a whole twelve hours before the agreed meeting time and in fact, three hours before he was expected to be at the office. Really, if he was to frame this situation from another perspective, one could conclude that Jinki was having trouble sleeping because of a date.
The statement makes him pause.
Mortification seeps into his skin and Jinki fights to push the humiliation down. He needs to remember, Minho is just a guy he’s talked to online and wants to become friends with. He doesn’t actually know him, at least not the offline Minho, and there is nothing that rationalizes Jinki’s behaviour. A meeting between two guys with the same interests, it is as simple as that. Although, is there a given procedure for whatever this is?
News stories arise in Jinki’s head, the ones about people meeting through online games or chatting services: one person being a thief, a murderer, a pedophile; the other, an innocent victim... Except there is no chance, absolutely no way, that Minho is any one of these things. Jinki groans at his paranoia, curling his knees up to his chest. Still, maybe he should have asked Taemin to come with him; if not for protection, to at least elbow him when he says something dumb.
Sleep deprivation is a nasty thing, and that fact is clearly reflected during Jinki’s workday. His article on the conflict between the residents of Jeju island and government authorities remains untouched, eyes glazed over for a majority of the morning. The glow of his computer screen almost lulls him to sleep and despite a quick trip to the bathroom, where Jinki splashes his face with cold water, he still feels as tired as ever. The mirror reveals the bruises under his eyes, and Jinki sighs to himself. Just another attractive day for his ever so attractive face (insert sarcasm).
Which is why Jinki feels a little silly when he feels a rush of adrenaline at the buzz in his front pocket. The email on his phone reads as follows:
See you today at 5! :)
Sender: Choi Minho
Why didn’t he think of that? Jinki groans, leaning back into his chair, lamenting the state of his non-existent eloquence. He then swings back up, punching a hasty reply.
Can’t wait! See you there.
He probably sounds a little bit girly, a little bit desperate, but at this point Jinki doesn’t care.
Jinki shuffles under his desk and grabs his just-bought-two-day- ago copy of Hana-Kimi. He had already blown a full day over this, so why not do a little more research on the origins of Sano?
Page one.
Sano is staring him back in the face, brown streaked across the white pages.
“What are you?”
Foreshadowing. That is what this all was. Fate was telling him that this whole day would be a series of unfortunate events: first his utter lack of sleep; secondly, getting nothing done on the job; thirdly, running into and spilling iced coffee on an undoubtedly pristine designer shirt, adorned by a young blonde man who had enough venom in his eyes, it could burn your brain tissue. Oh yeah, to top it off he is inside a restaurant where there are plenty of spectators to view this sad debacle.
“I’m so sorry!”
Thankfully Jinki has learned to focus during situations like this, ignoring public reaction and his ruined manga, turning his attention to the more important matter at hand. Jinki has a quick reaction time and whips out a package of tissues (his mother always taught him to be prepared), padding the man down. Jinki doubts this will prevent the laundry bill he is surely to be handed, but it’s the thought that counts right?
“Aish!”
Jinki cringes. So maybe the thought wasn’t enough after all.
“Get off me.”
Jinki backs away, bowing while holding out a few paper bills.
“To pay,” Jinki clarifies, “For the shirt.”
There is an angry huff followed by a sharp speech. “Well it was an accident right?”
Jinki raises his head and nods, the words far different from the reprimand he expected. Somehow mercy had made its way into his lackluster day.
The blonde man eyes him up and down before taking the bills from his hand.
“You’re lucky I am going home anyway.” The man looks down at him, lips slanted in resignation. “Also here, I think you want this.”
Jinki blinks, his now coffee-stained manga being pushed into his chest.
“T-thank you.” Jinki bows repeatedly, as the man directs a not so discreet middle finger his way, not that Jinki would complain; the whole fiasco ended up being a mitigated disaster after all.
But his poor manga, his poor droplet splattered hoodie, and his poor non-existent image. Jinki eyes the tiny spots on his stained sweater then flips forlornly through the first few pages of the manga, index finger stopping at the image of a sharp glare from Sano’s coffee-stained face.
Maybe when they first meet, this is how Minho will look at him, Jinki’s speckled clothes no doubt making a good impression. That and the added factor that Minho would probably take notice of all the gawking stares he is receiving.
Jinki however, is not unfamiliar with public humiliation and he ignores both the amused and annoyed patrons directing their attention his way, likely gossiping about the idiot at the front door. Head down and shuffling through the relatively crowded restaurant - filled with young, fashionable, and judgmental customers obviously - Jinki finds a dark corner to sit in, the nicest and most comforting place for his already bleak mood.
His cell phone reads 5:05 pm and yes, Jinki can hear the snide remark of a girl two seats away, whispering that she can’t believe someone is coming to meet this “nerdy klutz’s ass”. Jinki directs a pleasant smile her way and she looks away immediately, embarrassed from being caught. It’s a slight victory in Jinki’s books but it doesn’t help deter him from his anxiousness.
Minho still isn’t here.
Or at least Jinki doesn’t think he is.
Their plan had been a little silly after all, Minho telling Jinki he would be wearing a striped blue sweater and in return, Jinki saying he would wear a bright yellow hoodie. Sure, these obnoxiously bright colours could be easy to recognize, but wouldn’t it have been easier to just exchange numbers? Jinki looks about nervously, leaning up in his chair and finding no one in the attire Minho assured him he would be in.
Has he been stood up?
There is a slight pinch in his chest and Jinki shakes his head, releasing a small breath. Talk about being overdramatic and far too nervous for no reason at all. Play it cool Jinki. If this stripe wearing dude shows up - and man does he hope he does - then it will be great; but if Minho doesn’t, Jinki will just order his dinner and be on his way. It will be just like any other day. Yep.
Jinki whips his phone to his face and immediately checks his inbox.
No new messages.
A cough, Jinki holding the back of his hand to his lips as he momentarily forgets how to breathe.
He is being ridiculous.
Another breath and Jinki presses the buzzer on his table, a server shortly after attending his call. A cold cola arrives and Jinki tries to ease his shoulders, lifting the glass and letting the sweet liquid slip past his lips. He needs to calm down and not look so… freakish. He holds the edges of his ruined Hana Kimi copy and continues to read from where he left off, Sano being a not-so-subtle jerk to Mizuki.
Yeah that’s right, Jinki looks totally smooth: the dork in the yellow sweater reading a shoujo manga. But whatever, he had every right to look insane because well, just like Mizuki, his offer of friendship was being rejected by some (probably) amazingly talented and hot gu-
“I’m so sorry. I missed my bus getting here.”
The smooth baritone rumble startles Jinki as he looks up from the crinkled pages of his manga.
“Are you Onew-er I mean Jinki?”
He’s better than Sano. A hundred - no a million times better: dark eyes, long lashes, the immaculate square jaw of an Adonis, and legs for days. Jinki swallows dry air and reaches for his glass, taking a huge gulp of soda, promptly chomping on an ice cube. Oh right, reality; he should reply.
“Uh yeah. I’m Onew or rather, uh Jinki.”
And Jinki would have beaten himself over his sudden inability to articulate words but he is blindsided when the man before him smiles with a laugh, eyes wrinkling together and a set of pretty white teeth being put on display.
“Glad to finally meet you.” A relieved breath. “My name is Choi Minho.”
A hand is extended his way and Jinki takes it without a thought, feeling more than a little foolish.
“So have you ordered anything?” There is another friendly smile from Minho, inducing another round of scattered thoughts from Jinki. The best he can do is point dumbly to his soda and nod, trying to imitate a warm expression in return.
Sadly, this attempt at communication earns Jinki a more-than-three second stare from Minho, those seconds nearly spanning into eternities as Jinki curses internally, wondering why he felt so exposed. Perhaps it had something to do with those annoyingly wide eyes, eyes that could easily judge the pimple on his left cheek, the coffee on his clothes, or just his overall lacking image. Damn all the forces of nature for misleading Jinki into believing that meeting a person from online meant being greeted by a normal human - not some otherworldly evolved being.
Jinki sinks into his chair, the irrational idea of the table having the capacity to hide some of his imperfections a comforting thought.
Which is when it hits him, the sudden transition from handsome face to childish brat, Minho laughing with a hand rising to his lips.
“You aren’t what I imagined.”
Jinki feels the cold wind of a punch at his throat, uncertain if he should be flattered or offended. He goes for the latter, pessimism having always been his crutch.
“Well I could say the same about you.” Jinki’s lips twist into a defensive frown. “You never told me you actually look better than Sano.”
Minho pauses once more as Jinki flails his manga about in one hand.
Then it erupts, an open bellow of a laugh that fills Jinki’s ears from bottom up. Naturally, he should have been embarrassed, being reminded yet again that the only safe place he could censor himself is behind a keyboard, but just this once, Jinki lets it slide. Okay, so maybe Minho does have something else going for him, Jinki swallowing his pride and deciding then and now that he really likes the sound of Minho’s voice.
“We really should order some food. I hear they have the best croquettes in the city.”
“Yeah.”
“Hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“You can stop holding my hand now.”
Part Two