Love from Last Night (1/2)
Title: Love from Last Night
Pairing: Kaisoo
Genre: actor!au, slice of life
Rating: PG-15
Length: 12,510 words (twoshot)
Summary: Bookworm Kyungsoo has a drunken one night stand with a guy from a club. Turns out the guy is an A-list actor--and the nation's heartbreaker.
Notes: Unintentionally inspired by Notting Hill. Title taken from "Under Attack" by Shy Girls. Written to that song, and to "Still Not Falling" by the same artist, whom you can listen to here. FYI, the complete lyric goes: Love at first sight is better than love from last night :)
There is a quiet comfort to Saturday nights that Kyungsoo has always relished. Nine times out of ten, he'll stay in. Just bolt the door, boil a pot of spicy ramyun with an egg and fresh scallions in it, and indulge his solitary nature. His one-bedroom flat cocoons him like a warm blanket; a safe, familiar haven in which he can curl up for hours, reading.
Sometimes, when he's feeling sociable, he'll whip up something that doesn't pour out of a packet and invite his friends over. Jongdae and Baekhyun are the perfect dinner companions--endlessly funny, perfectly raucous, at ease around all people. Nothing like him, in other words. But they'd all grown up together, gone to all the same schools, and moved out at the same time after graduation, so he's used to their noise. He almost likes it.
He should also be used to their weekend whims by now; their penchant for dragging him to places he'd never go otherwise. Because it's a lovely Saturday evening, the blue-black kind best spent with tea and a tome--and yet Kyungsoo finds himself crowded into a smoky club, dance music like gunfire to his ears.
He's spent the better part of the last two hours hiding in a padded booth, beer bottle held protectively in front of his face. Jongdae and Baekhyun have long abandoned him for their makeshift dates--two girls in identical crop tops and tiny skirts they've managed to scoop off their barstools and usher onto the dance floor.
That makes four people, Kyungsoo counts--four ridiculously uncoordinated, full-grown people who make "grinding" look like light morning exercise for seniors.
The electro-fied remix of a '90s hit has gotten so loud, the secondhand shame so thick, he doesn't realize how drunk he is. There are six empty bottles on the table, the entire collection his. He knows this because his friends were busy doing soju bombs at the bar to lure in their prey, while he watched, slit-eyed, from a distance. Now, everything is pounding (his head, the music). So much so, that Kyungsoo finds it absolutely necessary to stumble out of his leather-upholstered cave and hunt down some peace and quiet.
There's a flight of stairs over to his left, which Kyungsoo convinces himself is his chance for escape (although he vaguely remembers the mouth of the club being a walk up, not down). A burly heap of bouncer stands at the bottom of the staircase, and the dregs of Kyungsoo's common sense tell him this might not be the exit, after all. But then there's a screech, and a patch of sequined girls tumble over in a glittering wave, and the bouncer is leaving his post (quite calmly) to pluck them off the ground.
"We've got a spill," the big guy calls out.
Kyungsoo trudges up the stairs serenely, barely registering the hullaballoo. His sneakers squeak on the plexiglass steps--left, right, left, right. It's the only sound his spinning senses can discern, and he keeps himself steady by clamping onto the metal railing. When the steps end, there's only a heavy black curtain to rustle aside, and Kyungsoo finds himself not on the street, but in the VIP lounge.
He looks around him in a haze. The effects of the beer have turned his eyelids to lead, so he only sees the room in fragments. Deep violet walls. Blink. Glass lamps, glass tables. Blink. A long, expensive-looking couch with a young man seated on it. Blink, blink.
"Hello," says the stranger, voice hoarse from disuse. A rock glass with an inch of golden liquor in it rests on his knee. The hand around the glass wears a platinum band on its ring finger.
"H-hi," Kyungsoo slurs in response. "I'm just--"
"Are you lost?" The stranger fiddles with his drink, thumb tracing strips of condensation off the cheek of the glass.
Kyungsoo tries to explain that he's just looking for the way out, and this clearly isn't it, and he's sorry for barging in. But what he says instead is, "I'm really drunk."
The stranger leans his head to one side. "Me, too." He takes a draught of his liquor and swallows with a soft hiss. "Do you want to hide out here?"
"Yes," Kyungsoo replies on auto-pilot. He's so wasted. "Just for a while."
The stranger gestures to the expanse of empty couch next to him, and Kyungsoo is walking over with measured steps and sinking into the plump white cushions. This place is fancier than downstairs; cleaner, too. It's not exactly quiet, but this is probably the most peace he's going to get in a bumping Hongdae club.
The stranger drains his drink and sets it down with a clatter. He yanks off the couple ring and drops it into the glass. Then Kyungsoo senses a dip in the couch, and the stranger is shimmying closer to him, slow with inebriation, until they are side by side.
Kyungsoo's eyelids still feel like there are anchors attached to them. He labors to prop them open for more than a few seconds at a time. But up close like this, the metallic fragrance of good scotch and cheap beer mingling between them, there's no mistaking it: the guy is gorgeous. It's a terrible kind of beauty--the kind that makes even the most seldom-used libido flare up without fair warning. Kyungsoo feels the licks of heat against the base of his stomach and gulps.
"I'm Jongin," the stranger murmurs. Kyungsoo can't explain why the way he says it makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. His dark hair is raked off his forehead in a devilish rumple, skin the palest alloy of bronze. He wears a V-neck sweater, tight trousers, and pristine dress shoes--all black, all perfectly innocuous. But Kyungsoo finds the whole outfit astonishingly lewd.
"I'm really, really drunk," he answers stupidly.
"Not as drunk as me," the stranger--Jongin--replies. His tongue skates out to wet the corner of his mouth. "I haven't done anything like this in so long."
"Done what?" Kyungsoo mutters. But Jongin has already closed the distance between them: a quick slam of lips to shut him up, followed by a languid, drawn-out web of tongues and teeth.
Everything after that is a blur.
"Let's go to your place," he hears Jongin say.
"Okay."
Kyungsoo doesn't know how they're suddenly on the sidewalk, Jongin's fingers loose around his wrist. Then they're in a cab, Jongin's palm a promise on his thigh. In the elevator of Kyungsoo's apartment building, they keep their hands in their pockets, the CCTV winking above them. Finally, they're pushing into Kyungsoo's flat, and Jongin's tipping him backwards, one hand on Kyungsoo's nape and the other scrabbling at the zipper of his jeans.
"Condom," Kyungsoo pants as Jongin makes out with his neck.
"Pocket," Jongin mumbles around his Adam's apple.
Kyungsoo remembers the crinkle of the package when he fished it out of Jongin's pants, the heat of Jongin's hand when he took it from him, the brush of Jongin's fingers above the waistband of his underwear. And eventually, Jongin's chest against his back, and Jongin's breath on the sensitive spot behind his ear, and Kyungsoo's own voice a surprise, low and longing and letting on more than he bargained for.
When he wakes up the next morning, his sheets are indecently crumpled, and his hangover is bone-deep. There's his hoodie on the floor, there's his T-shirt, his scrunched-up jeans, one sock, his briefs (Kyungsoo blushes)--a zigzag trail of discarded clothing leading from the front door to the foot of his bed. He still has the other sock on underneath his blanket, and he's alone.
Later, after he's had a hot shower and a bowl of limp soup, Kyungsoo empties out the trash. That's how he finds the used rubber, knotted expertly at the top.
"You had a one night stand?!" Baekhyun screams.
"We should take you out more often!" Jongdae exclaims.
"Shut up," Kyungsoo groans. "Why do you have to be so loud in the morning?"
"It's three o'clock!" his friends cry out at the same time.
"Shut up." Kyungsoo buries his head in his arms. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."
They're at the novelty diner near Kyungsoo's apartment. It's a retro place they frequent on Sundays, thick with the smells of bacon and coffee. A pleasant, middle-aged waitress replenishes their mugs from a stainless steel pitcher. Behind her, on the counter, there's a small television set playing a KBS program.
"You dark horse," Jongdae says, his tone admiring. "I didn't know you had it in you."
Baekhyun is nodding along in amazement. "How long's it been? Two years?"
"Two and a half," Jongdae corrects him. "It was fall when he broke up with the last guy."
"How do you even know that?" Kyungsoo wails. He shakes his head, keeping the movement tiny. "I don't care. Just please, please, shut up."
The two lower their voices to stage whispers. Jongdae says, "I'm pretty sure this was his first one night stand. Like, in his life."
"Right?" Baekhyun hisses. "Did you see who it was?"
Jongdae bugs out his eyes. "How? We were with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb all night!"
"You're Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb," Kyungsoo mutters lamely. "You look so stupid when you dance. Ugh."
"Don't be rude," Baekhyun tells him blithely. "Besides, those girls were totally into it."
"Now tell us about your sexcapade," Jongdae whines. "This never happens."
Kyungsoo grunts. The soreness in his head has spread out to the rest of his body; the combined effect of the heavy drinking and…what came afterwards. "I don't know--I was really plastered. Like, I got lost, and then I sat down, and he kissed me and suddenly we were in my apartment, and then we…you know."
"Boned?" Baekhyun supplies helpfully.
"Got up in it?" Jongdae busts out a complementary body roll.
"Guys," Kyungsoo sighs.
"What's his name?" Jongdae pries Kyungsoo's phone from his fingers. "Did you get his number?"
"Jongin." Kyungsoo finally straightens up, scratching at an eyebrow. "And no, I didn't."
"Whaaat." Baekhyun wears the expression of a disappointed father. "Did he get yours?"
"Like I told you earlier, he was gone when I woke up."
Jongdae clucks his tongue. "That's not cool. I would have at least said thank you."
"I'm not a prostitute," Kyungsoo grits out in monotone.
"You're just a whore," Baekhyun quips, wiggling his eyebrows. When Kyungsoo retaliates with a smack to his crown, the jokester relents. "Kidding, kidding! Geez. Can you at least tell us what he looks like?"
Complete silence. Crickets, really.
Baekhyun pouts. "Aw, come on, Soo, it was just a joke." He prods his friend in the arm, like a puppy begging for food.
But Kyungsoo isn't angry--he's distracted. His eyes have glued themselves to the TV, round as saucers, so every bit of white shows.
"What are you looking at?" Baekhyun swivels around in his seat to see for himself.
Jongdae cranes his neck and squints. "Kai Kim?"
It is, in fact, the actor, Kai Kim, being interviewed amidst a mob on Guerilla Date. In Ray-Bans, a striped pullover, and dark denims, he's as dapper as any top star in civilian mode gets. The field of people presses in, smartphones set to record--but it seems Kai Kim isn't claustrophobic. He looks comfortable and unperturbed, hands clasped behind his back as he trades jokes with the male host.
"You know who he is?" Baekhyun directs to Kyungsoo, looking doubtful. "You don't watch TV, much less go to the movies."
"Who cares," Jongdae cuts in. "Spill about this Jongin already."
The truth dawns on Kyungsoo incrementally, jamming in his throat before dripping down, down, down, into the pit of his stomach. He scalds his tongue on his coffee. "Shit," he says. "That's him!"
Four train stops away, near one of Seoul's historic palaces, there's a small bookstore slotted in between a pottery studio and shop that sells parasols. This is where Kyungsoo works. In fact, he owns the place.
Do Specialty Books is painted a dusty blue on the outside, buttermilk white on the inside, with worn wooden floorboards and a large store window that takes up almost the entirety of its facade. It carries hardbound Korean translations of Western classics--Austen, Tolstoy, Hemingway, the Brontës, Shakespeare. Kyungsoo makes it a point to stock the most beautiful and unique covers available for each volume, so the buffed shelves look like they're displaying modern art.
He's not exactly rolling in dough, but business is steady, and every other walk-in becomes a return customer. Many of them are Korean bookworms who, like him, devour anything well-written. He's even got a niche market of foreigners (students, expats) who use these translated books to master the language; familiar plotlines surfacing in the rounded characters and clipped syllables of hangul.
It's not an exciting life, by any means. Kyungsoo can time exactly when the elderly couple with matching wire frames will arrive every Wednesday and buy one book together, after almost an hour of browsing. He recognizes the pack of giggling foreign girls who traipse in twice a month and rack up a few novels each ("For our lit class at Yonsei," the redhead once informed him). He knows the neighborhood residents who drop in on a daily basis by name; they small-talk about the weather and ask about his new shipments. Mr. Jang is fond of the American writers ("Straight to the point," he always tells Kyungsoo). Mrs. Woo prefers romance, and will shyly inquire if he has anything else like Pride and Prejudice.
His friends don't get it. They're all in their mid-twenties, and Baekhyun and Jongdae both work at a radio station as junior producers. In comparison to their work stories filled with idol run-ins and star-studded selcas, Kyungsoo's job just seems so boring. They can't understand why he's "shutting himself in a cave of ancient books" (Baekhyun) when he can work as a literary agent at one of Seoul's big publishing houses and "make a mountain of money out of his molehill of an English degree" (Jongdae). Especially since, according to Baekhyun, "Chicks dig cool jobs. I mean, dudes. Right?"
Their jibes fall on deaf ears, because Kyungsoo actually likes his quiet life. The predictability of the routine, the rareness and smallness of change, and the comfort of the bookstore's clean walls and lovely, papery scent are just right for him. The perfect fit.
Of course, when Kai Kim swans into Do Specialty Books, almost two weeks after their infamous liaison, it is not a perfect fit.
There is a movie star walking around Kyungsoo's tiny bookstore, lingering at the bestsellers table, practically haloed in the light from the window. Kyungsoo has always put more stock in books than in films, but this movie star is dismayingly handsome, and he's seen Kyungsoo without his clothes on, and vice versa.
Kyungsoo gets a murky flash of the stranger's rumpled hair descending below his hips, and he starts to sweat.
Kai Kim--Jongin, whoever--turns to him for the first time since entering. "Excuse me, do you have this book, Anna Kar…something?" His tone is celebrity-polite, his eyes inquiring. Nothing about him betrays any knowledge of who Kyungsoo is.
"Anna Karenina?" Kyungsoo answers slowly, grimacing when his voice cracks. He clears the cobwebs from his throat. "Is that what you're looking for?"
"By Leo Tolstoy?" The movie star pronounces the name with difficulty, tongue sluggish over the unfamiliar syllables.
"Yes, that's it." Kyungsoo slides out from behind the counter and walks to the bookshelf marked with a quaint wooden "T." All the authors are kept in alphabetical order this way. His fingers hover momentarily in front of the shelf before he spots the correct spine and pulls it out. The gentle sound of the cover scraping against the book in front of it does not calm him today the way it usually does.
"Here you go," he murmurs, handing the novel over.
"Great," says the movie star, cracking it open to a random page. "How much?"
The moment he's paid, and Kyungsoo has wrapped Anna Karenina in brown paper and a piece of twine, Kai Kim leaves.
The moment Kyungsoo sinks into his seat behind the counter in relief, Kai Kim is back.
"Um," he says tentatively, stalking up to the counter, and Kyungsoo just knows that he knows. "I've met you before."
"Oh," Kyungsoo replies.
"Yeah." The movie star observes him a moment before breaking into a cautious grin. "Do you remember me?"
Kyungsoo tries a poker face on for size. "You're Kai Kim," he offers up weakly.
"Yikes. Who told you that?" The other's expression turns curious. "I could've sworn you didn't know who I was when we met at the club."
Kyungsoo flushes painfully red, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck just as his head dips.
Kai Kim laughs, like he's actually charmed. Leaning on his elbows over the counter, he peers into Kyungsoo's downturned face. "So you really didn't know! Don't be embarrassed." He pokes Kyungsoo in the arm until the latter flicks up his eyelids. "Call me Jongin, okay? That's my real name. Kim Jongin."
"Okay," Kyungsoo mumbles, the blood steeping in his cheeks.
Jongin licks the corner of his mouth, and Kyungoo realizes it's more of a habit than a come-on. "Listen, I'm sorry I left--you know, without saying goodbye." He scratches a point on his long, smooth neck, looking sheepish. "I was a bit overwhelmed. My boyfriend had just broken up with me. And I hadn't had a--" his voice drops, "--one-night stand. In a long, long time."
"Oh," Kyungsoo says, well-aware that he's just recycling his responses. He decides not to mention that that was the only one-night stand he's ever had. Ever.
"I hope you didn't think I was a douche. Although I wouldn't blame you." Jongin cocks his head to the side, fishing for an answer. "Did you think I was a douche?"
It's strange, how touched Kyungsoo feels, considering the circumstances. "No," he answers, determined to play it cool. "It was just sex, Jongin."
The way the movie star looks at him--surprised, almost impressed--makes Kyungsoo feel like he's won some sort of prize.
"You never actually told me your name," Jongin says casually.
"Kyungsoo," the bookstore owner tells him. "Do Kyungsoo."
By the time Jongin leaves the bookstore (for the second time), he's saved Kyungsoo's number into his smartphone and extracted a promise from the other to hang out sometime.
"I'm shooting a movie in Changdeokgung Palace. The Joseon version of Anna Karenina," he mentions. "So I'll be around here a lot."
It's only a few days later that Kyungsoo gets his very first text message from a movie star.
Hey! It's Jongin. We started filming in the palace today.
Nice, Kyungsoo sends back, the whole thing a little surreal.
His phone buzzes immediately with a response. You text exactly the way you talk.
What do you mean? Kyungsoo asks, intrigued.
The reply is only two words: Not enough.
Kyungsoo's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But as he formulates his next message--something equally calm and brief, to keep up appearances--his phone buzzes again.
Can I swing by the bookstore around closing? We're only filming until dinnertime today.
It takes an hour for Kyungsoo to reply to that--an hour spent thinking of what he's getting himself into. But when he finally presses send, the message reads: Sure, see you.
Jongin arrives at a quarter to nine. Kyungsoo has already flipped the sign on the door to read "Closed." When the bell at the entrance tinkles, he flutters with nerves.
"Hi," Jongin greets him with a smile. His face is bare, bangs damp and loose over his forehead, like he's just washed his makeup off. "Ready to eat?"
From behind the counter, Kyungsoo's smile is a tentative one. Even so, he's surprised at how he doesn't feel as awkward as the last time they spoke. "Just finishing up here."
While he waits, Jongin loiters around the bookstore, trailing his fingers over the hardbounds and regarding the neat shelves with appreciation. "I love this place," he murmurs.
"Thank you," Kyungsoo says with genuine pleasure. "But it must be a bit shabby compared to where you usually spend your time."
Jongin cocks his head in disagreement. "It's not shabby. It's simple. And elegant. Kind of like you."
The compliment is unexpected, and Kyungsoo glances up in wonder. But Jongin's already flipping through a book, distracted.
These actors, Kyungsoo thinks to himself. They sure know how to turn on the charm.
The movie star drives them both to a tiny pizzeria tucked somewhere in Apgujeong's maze of back alleys. But Jongin seems to come here a lot, since he automatically maneuvers into a nearby basement to park his luxury sedan. The restaurant is filled with foreign patrons, who look curiously in Jongin's direction but leave it at that. The graying Italian gentleman who owns the joint speaks in accented Korean and calls Jongin by his stage name.
"Long time no see, Kai-gun!"
"Table for two, please, Gianni."
They share a quattro formaggio and a margherita, washing down the slices with glasses of rosé. Not too many, though. Jongin actually jokes, "Remember what happened last time," and Kyungsoo has to remind himself that he's going for cool and casual, cool and casual, Kyungsoo. He tosses out a grin attached to a shrug and ignores the heat unfurling at his nape.
They sit and eat and talk until way past midnight. Jongin asks Kyungsoo about his family, his favorite authors, what kind of music he likes to listen to, and how he spends his free time. When they get to the subject of movies, and Kyungsoo bashfully tells him, "I haven't seen anything you're in," Jongin laughs wholeheartedly.
"I figured," he says, popping a piece of crust into his mouth. "It's refreshing."
Through a few questions of his own, Kyungsoo discovers that Jongin is playing Count Vronsky in his new film--or, at least, the Joseon period counterpart of Count Vronsky. The role of Anna Karenina is being filled by Im Yoona, an actress so celebrated and inescapable in Korean advertising, even Kyungsoo knows who she is.
"Wow," he says, when Jongin mentions her name. "She's pretty."
"Yes, she is," Jongin replies, but there's something off in his tone.
"Is she nice?" Kyungsoo asks, trying to get to the bottom of it.
"She was." Jongin pauses to reconsider, but ends up spilling the truth. "We went out a few years ago. By the end of it, she wasn't so nice anymore."
"Maybe you broke her heart."
Jongin huffs at that. "No, actually. She started seeing the CEO of my agency a few weeks before we broke up. I found out on the news, days after. Same time the rest of the country did."
For once in his life, Kyungsoo wishes he kept abreast of celebrity gossip. "I'm sorry, I don't know anything about this stuff, I didn't realize--"
"No, no, it's fine." Jongin waves away his concern. He feeds Kyungsoo one of his screen idol smiles. "Don't mind me. I feel like I'm so used to people calling me some variation of a lothario. It just felt strange, hearing it from you."
Kyungsoo revs up another apology, but Jongin cuts him off by ruffling his hair.
"Want to know about my other scandals? They're pretty juicy." The actor wiggles his eyebrows. "After Yoona, I dated Krystal from f(x). She was really sweet, but her group went on tour a lot, so we kind of fizzled out. Then, after Krystal, there was Lee Taemin, the ballet dancer. He's still one of my good friends, even though we aren't fooling around anymore." He pauses for a split-second. "My last relationship was with this other actor, but judging by your track record, you probably wouldn't know him."
"Who was it?" Kyungsoo asks anyway.
"Lu Han. He's Chinese." Jongin searches his face for signs of recognition. "Messy breakup. But you already knew that."
"That's quite a lot of scandals," Kyungsoo says noncommittally.
"I know. But it's not like I jump from bed to bed, like all the tabloids say." The movie star's mouth sets in a determined line. "I date a lot, but I only sleep with the people I'm in a relationship with."
"Except me," Kyungsoo murmurs before he realizes that it's slipped out. He claps a hand over his mouth instantly, eyes the size of twin moons.
Jongin looks taken aback, but then he cackles. "You got me there." When the guy leans unapologetically into his personal space, Kyungsoo has to hold himself steady so he doesn't flinch. "For the record, you were my first drunken hook-up since high school."
"Right," Kyungsoo ekes out, biting down the urge to ask about the others. "My pleasure?"
"Mine, too," Jongin says, his tone matter-of-fact. It's almost platonic. He raises his wine glass in a cheerful toast, and Kyungsoo wonders if this means they're friends now.
Apparently, it does, because Jongin texts him every single day for the next month. It's usually a joke he's relaying from the set, or a complaint about the itchy costumes, or something silly like, Yoona smiled at a bunch of fans with kimchi in her teeth. LOL.
The actor also takes to dropping by Do Specialty Books when he's got a break from filming. Once, he waltzes in in the middle of the day and causes a downright stir along the length of street. Kyungsoo stays calm, even as a crowd pushes aggressively into his quiet store and knocks over a few novels. But he pretends he doesn't know the beautiful-famous-person, and only bows when an apologetic Kai Kim rights the fallen books.
Jongin wises up after that. He schedules his drop-ins for first thing in the morning, as Kyungsoo retracts the protective metal grills, or last thing in the evening, when Kyungsoo has just locked the register.
They go for more meals--at Gianni's, at other tiny, hidden gems scattered across Seoul.
"I like my privacy," Jongin explains the second time they forego Italian; this time, for Indian. The restaurant is even smaller than Kyungsoo's apartment, and they are the only Koreans in the place.
"I know," Kyungsoo replies. "Me, too."
He's gotten pretty comfortable around the movie star. There are times when he completely forgets the circumstances of their first meeting, the dormant heat that invaded his belly. Now, their rapport is easy and polite; somewhere between the lines of old college friends and new work acquaintances. Kyungsoo assumes that's why Jongin keeps coming to see him. It must be hard to make a real friend in show business.
When they pay for their food, he is no longer too shy to let Jongin foot the bill.
"But I'm the one who invited you," the actor protests.
"It's not like this is a date," Kyungsoo reasons, already handing his cash to the Indian woman behind the counter. She smiles at him as she recites her spiel ("I've received 15,000 won"). She peers with interest at Jongin, who is still holding out his credit card. He doesn't say a word.
"Besides," Kyungsoo tacks on, "you forget I'm a successful businessman. I can pay for my own curry."
The restaurant is only a block from Kyungsoo's apartment, so he waves away Jongin's offer to drop him off. They say goodnight on the sidewalk, reeking of spices, the restaurant's facade a glow of magenta behind them.
Just as Kyungsoo spins on his heel, Jongin calls out, "Wanna come to a party with me next Saturday?" The actor breaks into an unsure smile. "I wish I could lie and say it's going to be a small, intimate thing, but it's not. You'd hate it."
"That's a weird way to invite someone to a party," Kyungsoo says.
Jongin chuckles, but he still looks less assured than usual. "It wouldn't be so bad if we went together."
"It wouldn't be so bad…for me? Or for you?"
"Both."
It's practically in Kyungsoo's DNA to stay in on weekends, to shy away from unfamiliar situations and strangers--what more a shiny crowd of celebrities. So he doesn't know what comes over him, or why his reliable heart skips a tiny, treacherous beat, when he says, "Okay, I'll come."
"Is this seat taken?"
Kyungsoo looks up from his phone and sees a tall, tall man leaning over him. Model, Kyungsoo thinks to himself, taking in the proud nose, jutting cheekbones, and dapper coif. Had it not been for the uncertainty in the stranger's face, Kyungsoo would have thought him haughty.
"Sorry to bother you." Mr. Model clears his throat. "It's just that I don't know anyone at this party, so I'm trying to make myself scarce."
"Join the club," Kyungsoo says, softening.
The newcomer beams. He plops down onto the two-seater sofa that Kyungsoo is occupying and immediately extends his hand.
"I'm Yifan."
"Kyungsoo."
"Nice to meet you. God, this place is insane." Yifan sweeps his gaze over their surroundings, exhaling in a quick stream.
Kyungsoo nods in agreement. They're in the mansion of a famous film director--white marble and European furniture, manicured lawns lit emerald green from the cathedral-worthy windows. There are chandeliers hanging over their heads, intimidating rugs beneath their feet, and everything in between speaks of luxury.
But that's not what makes this party "insane," as Yifan pegged it. No, it's the people. Actors, singers, TV hosts, comedians, supermodels, athletes--you name it, they're here. Everyone is beautiful or brawny or hysterical or scintillating, or a combination of the four. Everyone is talking at the same time, sloshing their drinks as they gesticulate, then tossing them back like they're numb to the burn. Everyone is bumping into servers or other famous people, the first nudge setting off a domino effect in the crowd. Everyone is screaming over each other's heads when they see their friends arrive. There is a lot of sloppy dancing. A lot of scandalous necking. A lot of stupefying noise.
Kyungsoo hasn't seen Jongin in an hour and a half.
It wasn't so bad when they first got here. Jongin had sat them both down by the windows, whispering secrets about the people coming in. It was just the way it was when they were on their own; Kyungsoo issuing soft laughter and Jongin trying for more. It was nice, actually, really nice. But then Jongin'd gone to the washroom, and it was like a spell had been broken.
The last time Kyungsoo had caught a glimpse of him, Jongin was deep in the jostling throng--the arm of a dark-haired guy slung around his waist as a gaggle of girls amused them with a story.
So Kyungsoo found this couch, half in shadows, its high back turned to the revelry. He'd been thinking of calling a cab when Yifan arrived and distracted him.
Almost abruptly, Kyungsoo asks, "What do you do?"
"I just started acting," Yifan replies, "but most days I'm a model." Kyungsoo ticks that invisible box in his head.
Mr. Model regards him curiously. "You're an idol?"
Kyungsoo wasn't expecting that, and he chuckles half-heartedly. "Nope."
"Actor, then?"
"Nope."
"Oh, I know, you're a--"
"Civilian," Kyungsoo finally supplies. "Just a nobody."
Yifan actually looks shocked. "Really?" He purses his lips and tugs self-consciously at his dirty-blonde hair. "I could have sworn you were in the business."
"Why?" Kyungsoo asks, astonished.
"You're so cute."
Kyungsoo doesn't laugh this time--only twists his mouth into the shape of disbelief and lets his eyebrows shoot into his bangs.
"I'm serious!" It's Yifan who cracks up now. "You look famous!"
"Thanks…I guess?"
"You're welcome. Please take it as a compliment." When Yifan smiles at him, Kyungsoo is side-tracked by the flirtation in it. "Are you here with anyone?"
"A friend," Kyungsoo tells him, as mildly as he can manage. "But I lost him, so I think I'm going to head out."
"Can I come?" Yifan asks, more endearing than anything else. "I don't really fit in here."
"Oh."
Yifan never gets his answer, though, because a guy comes out of nowhere and grabs him by the back of his shirt.
"There you are!"
The model practically jumps out of his loafers. "Shit, Joonmyun, you scared the crap out of me!"
"We're supposed to be networking for you here!" huffs the shorter man, hauling Yifan up and very quickly away. "What the hell are you doing, hiding in a corner?"
Kyungsoo just stares.
Somehow, Yifan manages to look over his shoulder and mouth the words sorry and manager and bye. Kyungsoo nods in understanding. "Bye," he replies aloud, with a loose wave.
And then.
"Kyungsoo."
He knows who it is, but he turns anyway. "Hey, Jongin."
"Found you."
Jongin's face is cloaked in worry and guilt. Something else, too--a little dark, a little injured.
"You found me," Kyungsoo bounces back, trying not to sound frustrated.
The actor's words come out in a rush. "I'm sorry I left you all alone. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to. I got ambushed by a few sunbaes on the way out of the bathroom, and that led to another and another and another, and by the time I got back to our spot you weren't there. I tried to--I looked everywhere. In here, out in the garden, I even went back to the car. Thought you might have left."
"I was about to," Kyungsoo murmurs.
"Were you?" Jongin shuts his eyes. "I'm really sorry."
"How'd you know I was here?"
Jongin opens his eyes. "I saw that guy's head peeking over the sofa." The look on his face is so peculiar. "I figured it was a good place for someone to hide. Not that you were hiding--"
"You got me," Kyungsoo interrupts. "I was definitely hiding."
"I'm really sorry," Jongin says again. "Are you angry?"
"No." I'm exhausted.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." No.
"That was Wu Yifan, wasn't it?"
"…What?"
"The guy who was just here." Jongin swallows, lowering his eyes. "That was Wu Yifan."
"I…think so? I didn't get his last name. Why?"
"No reason." Jongin's tone suddenly turns joking. "They say he's going to be the next Kim Woo Bin. My manager told me to watch out."
"I see."
Kyungsoo doesn't know who Kim Woo Bin is, or what it means for Yifan to be next in line to him, but he doesn't feel like asking. He puzzles over the expression on Jongin's face, which has never been there before--at least, not around him.
"What were you guys talking about?" Jongin asks, picking at the fabric of the sofa.
"Not much." Kyungsoo shrugs. "He said he felt like he didn't fit in. We had that in common."
Jongin voice is soft, undemanding. "Do you want to ditch this party?"
"Yes, please."
"Should we go to Gianni's?"
Kyungsoo shakes his head. "If it's okay with you, I'd just like to go home."
Jongin keeps his expression neutral, so Kyungsoo's not sure if he's disappointed. When the movie star says, "Of course. No problem," the bookstore owner just takes it at face value.
In Jongin's car, it's peaceful and dim, and Kyungsoo can feel his mind clearing at last. He rests his head against the window, the vibrations of the running machine like a lullaby.
"Jongin?"
"Hmm?"
"I saw you earlier with some people. Three blondes and a guy with black hair."
"Three blondes...what, you saw that? Why didn't you come over?"
"You were really far away," Kyungsoo excuses himself. "Are they your friends?"
Jongin sighs. "Two of those girls were love interests in my other movies, and one of them played my sister in a drama. And the guy…that was my ex."
"The ballet dancer?"
"Not Taemin," Jongin says. "That was Lu Han. The last one."
"Ah," Kyungsoo murmurs, his throat suddenly tight. "Did you guys patch things up?"
"What? Oh, we were just…" Jongin pauses. "The thing is…" He tries again. "Yes, we did. But it's not…it's complicated."
"That's good." The words you knew this was coming skate across Kyungsoo's tongue, unbidden. But he is cool and casual, like always. "Really, that's great."
"Kyungsoo." Jongin stares at him, and there's that look again--foreign and indecipherable.
"Yeah?"
"It's nothing."
Part 2
Pairing: Kaisoo
Genre: actor!au, slice of life
Rating: PG-15
Length: 12,510 words (twoshot)
Summary: Bookworm Kyungsoo has a drunken one night stand with a guy from a club. Turns out the guy is an A-list actor--and the nation's heartbreaker.
Notes: Unintentionally inspired by Notting Hill. Title taken from "Under Attack" by Shy Girls. Written to that song, and to "Still Not Falling" by the same artist, whom you can listen to here. FYI, the complete lyric goes: Love at first sight is better than love from last night :)
There is a quiet comfort to Saturday nights that Kyungsoo has always relished. Nine times out of ten, he'll stay in. Just bolt the door, boil a pot of spicy ramyun with an egg and fresh scallions in it, and indulge his solitary nature. His one-bedroom flat cocoons him like a warm blanket; a safe, familiar haven in which he can curl up for hours, reading.
Sometimes, when he's feeling sociable, he'll whip up something that doesn't pour out of a packet and invite his friends over. Jongdae and Baekhyun are the perfect dinner companions--endlessly funny, perfectly raucous, at ease around all people. Nothing like him, in other words. But they'd all grown up together, gone to all the same schools, and moved out at the same time after graduation, so he's used to their noise. He almost likes it.
He should also be used to their weekend whims by now; their penchant for dragging him to places he'd never go otherwise. Because it's a lovely Saturday evening, the blue-black kind best spent with tea and a tome--and yet Kyungsoo finds himself crowded into a smoky club, dance music like gunfire to his ears.
He's spent the better part of the last two hours hiding in a padded booth, beer bottle held protectively in front of his face. Jongdae and Baekhyun have long abandoned him for their makeshift dates--two girls in identical crop tops and tiny skirts they've managed to scoop off their barstools and usher onto the dance floor.
That makes four people, Kyungsoo counts--four ridiculously uncoordinated, full-grown people who make "grinding" look like light morning exercise for seniors.
The electro-fied remix of a '90s hit has gotten so loud, the secondhand shame so thick, he doesn't realize how drunk he is. There are six empty bottles on the table, the entire collection his. He knows this because his friends were busy doing soju bombs at the bar to lure in their prey, while he watched, slit-eyed, from a distance. Now, everything is pounding (his head, the music). So much so, that Kyungsoo finds it absolutely necessary to stumble out of his leather-upholstered cave and hunt down some peace and quiet.
There's a flight of stairs over to his left, which Kyungsoo convinces himself is his chance for escape (although he vaguely remembers the mouth of the club being a walk up, not down). A burly heap of bouncer stands at the bottom of the staircase, and the dregs of Kyungsoo's common sense tell him this might not be the exit, after all. But then there's a screech, and a patch of sequined girls tumble over in a glittering wave, and the bouncer is leaving his post (quite calmly) to pluck them off the ground.
"We've got a spill," the big guy calls out.
Kyungsoo trudges up the stairs serenely, barely registering the hullaballoo. His sneakers squeak on the plexiglass steps--left, right, left, right. It's the only sound his spinning senses can discern, and he keeps himself steady by clamping onto the metal railing. When the steps end, there's only a heavy black curtain to rustle aside, and Kyungsoo finds himself not on the street, but in the VIP lounge.
He looks around him in a haze. The effects of the beer have turned his eyelids to lead, so he only sees the room in fragments. Deep violet walls. Blink. Glass lamps, glass tables. Blink. A long, expensive-looking couch with a young man seated on it. Blink, blink.
"Hello," says the stranger, voice hoarse from disuse. A rock glass with an inch of golden liquor in it rests on his knee. The hand around the glass wears a platinum band on its ring finger.
"H-hi," Kyungsoo slurs in response. "I'm just--"
"Are you lost?" The stranger fiddles with his drink, thumb tracing strips of condensation off the cheek of the glass.
Kyungsoo tries to explain that he's just looking for the way out, and this clearly isn't it, and he's sorry for barging in. But what he says instead is, "I'm really drunk."
The stranger leans his head to one side. "Me, too." He takes a draught of his liquor and swallows with a soft hiss. "Do you want to hide out here?"
"Yes," Kyungsoo replies on auto-pilot. He's so wasted. "Just for a while."
The stranger gestures to the expanse of empty couch next to him, and Kyungsoo is walking over with measured steps and sinking into the plump white cushions. This place is fancier than downstairs; cleaner, too. It's not exactly quiet, but this is probably the most peace he's going to get in a bumping Hongdae club.
The stranger drains his drink and sets it down with a clatter. He yanks off the couple ring and drops it into the glass. Then Kyungsoo senses a dip in the couch, and the stranger is shimmying closer to him, slow with inebriation, until they are side by side.
Kyungsoo's eyelids still feel like there are anchors attached to them. He labors to prop them open for more than a few seconds at a time. But up close like this, the metallic fragrance of good scotch and cheap beer mingling between them, there's no mistaking it: the guy is gorgeous. It's a terrible kind of beauty--the kind that makes even the most seldom-used libido flare up without fair warning. Kyungsoo feels the licks of heat against the base of his stomach and gulps.
"I'm Jongin," the stranger murmurs. Kyungsoo can't explain why the way he says it makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. His dark hair is raked off his forehead in a devilish rumple, skin the palest alloy of bronze. He wears a V-neck sweater, tight trousers, and pristine dress shoes--all black, all perfectly innocuous. But Kyungsoo finds the whole outfit astonishingly lewd.
"I'm really, really drunk," he answers stupidly.
"Not as drunk as me," the stranger--Jongin--replies. His tongue skates out to wet the corner of his mouth. "I haven't done anything like this in so long."
"Done what?" Kyungsoo mutters. But Jongin has already closed the distance between them: a quick slam of lips to shut him up, followed by a languid, drawn-out web of tongues and teeth.
Everything after that is a blur.
"Let's go to your place," he hears Jongin say.
"Okay."
Kyungsoo doesn't know how they're suddenly on the sidewalk, Jongin's fingers loose around his wrist. Then they're in a cab, Jongin's palm a promise on his thigh. In the elevator of Kyungsoo's apartment building, they keep their hands in their pockets, the CCTV winking above them. Finally, they're pushing into Kyungsoo's flat, and Jongin's tipping him backwards, one hand on Kyungsoo's nape and the other scrabbling at the zipper of his jeans.
"Condom," Kyungsoo pants as Jongin makes out with his neck.
"Pocket," Jongin mumbles around his Adam's apple.
Kyungsoo remembers the crinkle of the package when he fished it out of Jongin's pants, the heat of Jongin's hand when he took it from him, the brush of Jongin's fingers above the waistband of his underwear. And eventually, Jongin's chest against his back, and Jongin's breath on the sensitive spot behind his ear, and Kyungsoo's own voice a surprise, low and longing and letting on more than he bargained for.
When he wakes up the next morning, his sheets are indecently crumpled, and his hangover is bone-deep. There's his hoodie on the floor, there's his T-shirt, his scrunched-up jeans, one sock, his briefs (Kyungsoo blushes)--a zigzag trail of discarded clothing leading from the front door to the foot of his bed. He still has the other sock on underneath his blanket, and he's alone.
Later, after he's had a hot shower and a bowl of limp soup, Kyungsoo empties out the trash. That's how he finds the used rubber, knotted expertly at the top.
"You had a one night stand?!" Baekhyun screams.
"We should take you out more often!" Jongdae exclaims.
"Shut up," Kyungsoo groans. "Why do you have to be so loud in the morning?"
"It's three o'clock!" his friends cry out at the same time.
"Shut up." Kyungsoo buries his head in his arms. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."
They're at the novelty diner near Kyungsoo's apartment. It's a retro place they frequent on Sundays, thick with the smells of bacon and coffee. A pleasant, middle-aged waitress replenishes their mugs from a stainless steel pitcher. Behind her, on the counter, there's a small television set playing a KBS program.
"You dark horse," Jongdae says, his tone admiring. "I didn't know you had it in you."
Baekhyun is nodding along in amazement. "How long's it been? Two years?"
"Two and a half," Jongdae corrects him. "It was fall when he broke up with the last guy."
"How do you even know that?" Kyungsoo wails. He shakes his head, keeping the movement tiny. "I don't care. Just please, please, shut up."
The two lower their voices to stage whispers. Jongdae says, "I'm pretty sure this was his first one night stand. Like, in his life."
"Right?" Baekhyun hisses. "Did you see who it was?"
Jongdae bugs out his eyes. "How? We were with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb all night!"
"You're Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb," Kyungsoo mutters lamely. "You look so stupid when you dance. Ugh."
"Don't be rude," Baekhyun tells him blithely. "Besides, those girls were totally into it."
"Now tell us about your sexcapade," Jongdae whines. "This never happens."
Kyungsoo grunts. The soreness in his head has spread out to the rest of his body; the combined effect of the heavy drinking and…what came afterwards. "I don't know--I was really plastered. Like, I got lost, and then I sat down, and he kissed me and suddenly we were in my apartment, and then we…you know."
"Boned?" Baekhyun supplies helpfully.
"Got up in it?" Jongdae busts out a complementary body roll.
"Guys," Kyungsoo sighs.
"What's his name?" Jongdae pries Kyungsoo's phone from his fingers. "Did you get his number?"
"Jongin." Kyungsoo finally straightens up, scratching at an eyebrow. "And no, I didn't."
"Whaaat." Baekhyun wears the expression of a disappointed father. "Did he get yours?"
"Like I told you earlier, he was gone when I woke up."
Jongdae clucks his tongue. "That's not cool. I would have at least said thank you."
"I'm not a prostitute," Kyungsoo grits out in monotone.
"You're just a whore," Baekhyun quips, wiggling his eyebrows. When Kyungsoo retaliates with a smack to his crown, the jokester relents. "Kidding, kidding! Geez. Can you at least tell us what he looks like?"
Complete silence. Crickets, really.
Baekhyun pouts. "Aw, come on, Soo, it was just a joke." He prods his friend in the arm, like a puppy begging for food.
But Kyungsoo isn't angry--he's distracted. His eyes have glued themselves to the TV, round as saucers, so every bit of white shows.
"What are you looking at?" Baekhyun swivels around in his seat to see for himself.
Jongdae cranes his neck and squints. "Kai Kim?"
It is, in fact, the actor, Kai Kim, being interviewed amidst a mob on Guerilla Date. In Ray-Bans, a striped pullover, and dark denims, he's as dapper as any top star in civilian mode gets. The field of people presses in, smartphones set to record--but it seems Kai Kim isn't claustrophobic. He looks comfortable and unperturbed, hands clasped behind his back as he trades jokes with the male host.
"You know who he is?" Baekhyun directs to Kyungsoo, looking doubtful. "You don't watch TV, much less go to the movies."
"Who cares," Jongdae cuts in. "Spill about this Jongin already."
The truth dawns on Kyungsoo incrementally, jamming in his throat before dripping down, down, down, into the pit of his stomach. He scalds his tongue on his coffee. "Shit," he says. "That's him!"
Four train stops away, near one of Seoul's historic palaces, there's a small bookstore slotted in between a pottery studio and shop that sells parasols. This is where Kyungsoo works. In fact, he owns the place.
Do Specialty Books is painted a dusty blue on the outside, buttermilk white on the inside, with worn wooden floorboards and a large store window that takes up almost the entirety of its facade. It carries hardbound Korean translations of Western classics--Austen, Tolstoy, Hemingway, the Brontës, Shakespeare. Kyungsoo makes it a point to stock the most beautiful and unique covers available for each volume, so the buffed shelves look like they're displaying modern art.
He's not exactly rolling in dough, but business is steady, and every other walk-in becomes a return customer. Many of them are Korean bookworms who, like him, devour anything well-written. He's even got a niche market of foreigners (students, expats) who use these translated books to master the language; familiar plotlines surfacing in the rounded characters and clipped syllables of hangul.
It's not an exciting life, by any means. Kyungsoo can time exactly when the elderly couple with matching wire frames will arrive every Wednesday and buy one book together, after almost an hour of browsing. He recognizes the pack of giggling foreign girls who traipse in twice a month and rack up a few novels each ("For our lit class at Yonsei," the redhead once informed him). He knows the neighborhood residents who drop in on a daily basis by name; they small-talk about the weather and ask about his new shipments. Mr. Jang is fond of the American writers ("Straight to the point," he always tells Kyungsoo). Mrs. Woo prefers romance, and will shyly inquire if he has anything else like Pride and Prejudice.
His friends don't get it. They're all in their mid-twenties, and Baekhyun and Jongdae both work at a radio station as junior producers. In comparison to their work stories filled with idol run-ins and star-studded selcas, Kyungsoo's job just seems so boring. They can't understand why he's "shutting himself in a cave of ancient books" (Baekhyun) when he can work as a literary agent at one of Seoul's big publishing houses and "make a mountain of money out of his molehill of an English degree" (Jongdae). Especially since, according to Baekhyun, "Chicks dig cool jobs. I mean, dudes. Right?"
Their jibes fall on deaf ears, because Kyungsoo actually likes his quiet life. The predictability of the routine, the rareness and smallness of change, and the comfort of the bookstore's clean walls and lovely, papery scent are just right for him. The perfect fit.
Of course, when Kai Kim swans into Do Specialty Books, almost two weeks after their infamous liaison, it is not a perfect fit.
There is a movie star walking around Kyungsoo's tiny bookstore, lingering at the bestsellers table, practically haloed in the light from the window. Kyungsoo has always put more stock in books than in films, but this movie star is dismayingly handsome, and he's seen Kyungsoo without his clothes on, and vice versa.
Kyungsoo gets a murky flash of the stranger's rumpled hair descending below his hips, and he starts to sweat.
Kai Kim--Jongin, whoever--turns to him for the first time since entering. "Excuse me, do you have this book, Anna Kar…something?" His tone is celebrity-polite, his eyes inquiring. Nothing about him betrays any knowledge of who Kyungsoo is.
"Anna Karenina?" Kyungsoo answers slowly, grimacing when his voice cracks. He clears the cobwebs from his throat. "Is that what you're looking for?"
"By Leo Tolstoy?" The movie star pronounces the name with difficulty, tongue sluggish over the unfamiliar syllables.
"Yes, that's it." Kyungsoo slides out from behind the counter and walks to the bookshelf marked with a quaint wooden "T." All the authors are kept in alphabetical order this way. His fingers hover momentarily in front of the shelf before he spots the correct spine and pulls it out. The gentle sound of the cover scraping against the book in front of it does not calm him today the way it usually does.
"Here you go," he murmurs, handing the novel over.
"Great," says the movie star, cracking it open to a random page. "How much?"
The moment he's paid, and Kyungsoo has wrapped Anna Karenina in brown paper and a piece of twine, Kai Kim leaves.
The moment Kyungsoo sinks into his seat behind the counter in relief, Kai Kim is back.
"Um," he says tentatively, stalking up to the counter, and Kyungsoo just knows that he knows. "I've met you before."
"Oh," Kyungsoo replies.
"Yeah." The movie star observes him a moment before breaking into a cautious grin. "Do you remember me?"
Kyungsoo tries a poker face on for size. "You're Kai Kim," he offers up weakly.
"Yikes. Who told you that?" The other's expression turns curious. "I could've sworn you didn't know who I was when we met at the club."
Kyungsoo flushes painfully red, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck just as his head dips.
Kai Kim laughs, like he's actually charmed. Leaning on his elbows over the counter, he peers into Kyungsoo's downturned face. "So you really didn't know! Don't be embarrassed." He pokes Kyungsoo in the arm until the latter flicks up his eyelids. "Call me Jongin, okay? That's my real name. Kim Jongin."
"Okay," Kyungsoo mumbles, the blood steeping in his cheeks.
Jongin licks the corner of his mouth, and Kyungoo realizes it's more of a habit than a come-on. "Listen, I'm sorry I left--you know, without saying goodbye." He scratches a point on his long, smooth neck, looking sheepish. "I was a bit overwhelmed. My boyfriend had just broken up with me. And I hadn't had a--" his voice drops, "--one-night stand. In a long, long time."
"Oh," Kyungsoo says, well-aware that he's just recycling his responses. He decides not to mention that that was the only one-night stand he's ever had. Ever.
"I hope you didn't think I was a douche. Although I wouldn't blame you." Jongin cocks his head to the side, fishing for an answer. "Did you think I was a douche?"
It's strange, how touched Kyungsoo feels, considering the circumstances. "No," he answers, determined to play it cool. "It was just sex, Jongin."
The way the movie star looks at him--surprised, almost impressed--makes Kyungsoo feel like he's won some sort of prize.
"You never actually told me your name," Jongin says casually.
"Kyungsoo," the bookstore owner tells him. "Do Kyungsoo."
By the time Jongin leaves the bookstore (for the second time), he's saved Kyungsoo's number into his smartphone and extracted a promise from the other to hang out sometime.
"I'm shooting a movie in Changdeokgung Palace. The Joseon version of Anna Karenina," he mentions. "So I'll be around here a lot."
It's only a few days later that Kyungsoo gets his very first text message from a movie star.
Hey! It's Jongin. We started filming in the palace today.
Nice, Kyungsoo sends back, the whole thing a little surreal.
His phone buzzes immediately with a response. You text exactly the way you talk.
What do you mean? Kyungsoo asks, intrigued.
The reply is only two words: Not enough.
Kyungsoo's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But as he formulates his next message--something equally calm and brief, to keep up appearances--his phone buzzes again.
Can I swing by the bookstore around closing? We're only filming until dinnertime today.
It takes an hour for Kyungsoo to reply to that--an hour spent thinking of what he's getting himself into. But when he finally presses send, the message reads: Sure, see you.
Jongin arrives at a quarter to nine. Kyungsoo has already flipped the sign on the door to read "Closed." When the bell at the entrance tinkles, he flutters with nerves.
"Hi," Jongin greets him with a smile. His face is bare, bangs damp and loose over his forehead, like he's just washed his makeup off. "Ready to eat?"
From behind the counter, Kyungsoo's smile is a tentative one. Even so, he's surprised at how he doesn't feel as awkward as the last time they spoke. "Just finishing up here."
While he waits, Jongin loiters around the bookstore, trailing his fingers over the hardbounds and regarding the neat shelves with appreciation. "I love this place," he murmurs.
"Thank you," Kyungsoo says with genuine pleasure. "But it must be a bit shabby compared to where you usually spend your time."
Jongin cocks his head in disagreement. "It's not shabby. It's simple. And elegant. Kind of like you."
The compliment is unexpected, and Kyungsoo glances up in wonder. But Jongin's already flipping through a book, distracted.
These actors, Kyungsoo thinks to himself. They sure know how to turn on the charm.
The movie star drives them both to a tiny pizzeria tucked somewhere in Apgujeong's maze of back alleys. But Jongin seems to come here a lot, since he automatically maneuvers into a nearby basement to park his luxury sedan. The restaurant is filled with foreign patrons, who look curiously in Jongin's direction but leave it at that. The graying Italian gentleman who owns the joint speaks in accented Korean and calls Jongin by his stage name.
"Long time no see, Kai-gun!"
"Table for two, please, Gianni."
They share a quattro formaggio and a margherita, washing down the slices with glasses of rosé. Not too many, though. Jongin actually jokes, "Remember what happened last time," and Kyungsoo has to remind himself that he's going for cool and casual, cool and casual, Kyungsoo. He tosses out a grin attached to a shrug and ignores the heat unfurling at his nape.
They sit and eat and talk until way past midnight. Jongin asks Kyungsoo about his family, his favorite authors, what kind of music he likes to listen to, and how he spends his free time. When they get to the subject of movies, and Kyungsoo bashfully tells him, "I haven't seen anything you're in," Jongin laughs wholeheartedly.
"I figured," he says, popping a piece of crust into his mouth. "It's refreshing."
Through a few questions of his own, Kyungsoo discovers that Jongin is playing Count Vronsky in his new film--or, at least, the Joseon period counterpart of Count Vronsky. The role of Anna Karenina is being filled by Im Yoona, an actress so celebrated and inescapable in Korean advertising, even Kyungsoo knows who she is.
"Wow," he says, when Jongin mentions her name. "She's pretty."
"Yes, she is," Jongin replies, but there's something off in his tone.
"Is she nice?" Kyungsoo asks, trying to get to the bottom of it.
"She was." Jongin pauses to reconsider, but ends up spilling the truth. "We went out a few years ago. By the end of it, she wasn't so nice anymore."
"Maybe you broke her heart."
Jongin huffs at that. "No, actually. She started seeing the CEO of my agency a few weeks before we broke up. I found out on the news, days after. Same time the rest of the country did."
For once in his life, Kyungsoo wishes he kept abreast of celebrity gossip. "I'm sorry, I don't know anything about this stuff, I didn't realize--"
"No, no, it's fine." Jongin waves away his concern. He feeds Kyungsoo one of his screen idol smiles. "Don't mind me. I feel like I'm so used to people calling me some variation of a lothario. It just felt strange, hearing it from you."
Kyungsoo revs up another apology, but Jongin cuts him off by ruffling his hair.
"Want to know about my other scandals? They're pretty juicy." The actor wiggles his eyebrows. "After Yoona, I dated Krystal from f(x). She was really sweet, but her group went on tour a lot, so we kind of fizzled out. Then, after Krystal, there was Lee Taemin, the ballet dancer. He's still one of my good friends, even though we aren't fooling around anymore." He pauses for a split-second. "My last relationship was with this other actor, but judging by your track record, you probably wouldn't know him."
"Who was it?" Kyungsoo asks anyway.
"Lu Han. He's Chinese." Jongin searches his face for signs of recognition. "Messy breakup. But you already knew that."
"That's quite a lot of scandals," Kyungsoo says noncommittally.
"I know. But it's not like I jump from bed to bed, like all the tabloids say." The movie star's mouth sets in a determined line. "I date a lot, but I only sleep with the people I'm in a relationship with."
"Except me," Kyungsoo murmurs before he realizes that it's slipped out. He claps a hand over his mouth instantly, eyes the size of twin moons.
Jongin looks taken aback, but then he cackles. "You got me there." When the guy leans unapologetically into his personal space, Kyungsoo has to hold himself steady so he doesn't flinch. "For the record, you were my first drunken hook-up since high school."
"Right," Kyungsoo ekes out, biting down the urge to ask about the others. "My pleasure?"
"Mine, too," Jongin says, his tone matter-of-fact. It's almost platonic. He raises his wine glass in a cheerful toast, and Kyungsoo wonders if this means they're friends now.
Apparently, it does, because Jongin texts him every single day for the next month. It's usually a joke he's relaying from the set, or a complaint about the itchy costumes, or something silly like, Yoona smiled at a bunch of fans with kimchi in her teeth. LOL.
The actor also takes to dropping by Do Specialty Books when he's got a break from filming. Once, he waltzes in in the middle of the day and causes a downright stir along the length of street. Kyungsoo stays calm, even as a crowd pushes aggressively into his quiet store and knocks over a few novels. But he pretends he doesn't know the beautiful-famous-person, and only bows when an apologetic Kai Kim rights the fallen books.
Jongin wises up after that. He schedules his drop-ins for first thing in the morning, as Kyungsoo retracts the protective metal grills, or last thing in the evening, when Kyungsoo has just locked the register.
They go for more meals--at Gianni's, at other tiny, hidden gems scattered across Seoul.
"I like my privacy," Jongin explains the second time they forego Italian; this time, for Indian. The restaurant is even smaller than Kyungsoo's apartment, and they are the only Koreans in the place.
"I know," Kyungsoo replies. "Me, too."
He's gotten pretty comfortable around the movie star. There are times when he completely forgets the circumstances of their first meeting, the dormant heat that invaded his belly. Now, their rapport is easy and polite; somewhere between the lines of old college friends and new work acquaintances. Kyungsoo assumes that's why Jongin keeps coming to see him. It must be hard to make a real friend in show business.
When they pay for their food, he is no longer too shy to let Jongin foot the bill.
"But I'm the one who invited you," the actor protests.
"It's not like this is a date," Kyungsoo reasons, already handing his cash to the Indian woman behind the counter. She smiles at him as she recites her spiel ("I've received 15,000 won"). She peers with interest at Jongin, who is still holding out his credit card. He doesn't say a word.
"Besides," Kyungsoo tacks on, "you forget I'm a successful businessman. I can pay for my own curry."
The restaurant is only a block from Kyungsoo's apartment, so he waves away Jongin's offer to drop him off. They say goodnight on the sidewalk, reeking of spices, the restaurant's facade a glow of magenta behind them.
Just as Kyungsoo spins on his heel, Jongin calls out, "Wanna come to a party with me next Saturday?" The actor breaks into an unsure smile. "I wish I could lie and say it's going to be a small, intimate thing, but it's not. You'd hate it."
"That's a weird way to invite someone to a party," Kyungsoo says.
Jongin chuckles, but he still looks less assured than usual. "It wouldn't be so bad if we went together."
"It wouldn't be so bad…for me? Or for you?"
"Both."
It's practically in Kyungsoo's DNA to stay in on weekends, to shy away from unfamiliar situations and strangers--what more a shiny crowd of celebrities. So he doesn't know what comes over him, or why his reliable heart skips a tiny, treacherous beat, when he says, "Okay, I'll come."
"Is this seat taken?"
Kyungsoo looks up from his phone and sees a tall, tall man leaning over him. Model, Kyungsoo thinks to himself, taking in the proud nose, jutting cheekbones, and dapper coif. Had it not been for the uncertainty in the stranger's face, Kyungsoo would have thought him haughty.
"Sorry to bother you." Mr. Model clears his throat. "It's just that I don't know anyone at this party, so I'm trying to make myself scarce."
"Join the club," Kyungsoo says, softening.
The newcomer beams. He plops down onto the two-seater sofa that Kyungsoo is occupying and immediately extends his hand.
"I'm Yifan."
"Kyungsoo."
"Nice to meet you. God, this place is insane." Yifan sweeps his gaze over their surroundings, exhaling in a quick stream.
Kyungsoo nods in agreement. They're in the mansion of a famous film director--white marble and European furniture, manicured lawns lit emerald green from the cathedral-worthy windows. There are chandeliers hanging over their heads, intimidating rugs beneath their feet, and everything in between speaks of luxury.
But that's not what makes this party "insane," as Yifan pegged it. No, it's the people. Actors, singers, TV hosts, comedians, supermodels, athletes--you name it, they're here. Everyone is beautiful or brawny or hysterical or scintillating, or a combination of the four. Everyone is talking at the same time, sloshing their drinks as they gesticulate, then tossing them back like they're numb to the burn. Everyone is bumping into servers or other famous people, the first nudge setting off a domino effect in the crowd. Everyone is screaming over each other's heads when they see their friends arrive. There is a lot of sloppy dancing. A lot of scandalous necking. A lot of stupefying noise.
Kyungsoo hasn't seen Jongin in an hour and a half.
It wasn't so bad when they first got here. Jongin had sat them both down by the windows, whispering secrets about the people coming in. It was just the way it was when they were on their own; Kyungsoo issuing soft laughter and Jongin trying for more. It was nice, actually, really nice. But then Jongin'd gone to the washroom, and it was like a spell had been broken.
The last time Kyungsoo had caught a glimpse of him, Jongin was deep in the jostling throng--the arm of a dark-haired guy slung around his waist as a gaggle of girls amused them with a story.
So Kyungsoo found this couch, half in shadows, its high back turned to the revelry. He'd been thinking of calling a cab when Yifan arrived and distracted him.
Almost abruptly, Kyungsoo asks, "What do you do?"
"I just started acting," Yifan replies, "but most days I'm a model." Kyungsoo ticks that invisible box in his head.
Mr. Model regards him curiously. "You're an idol?"
Kyungsoo wasn't expecting that, and he chuckles half-heartedly. "Nope."
"Actor, then?"
"Nope."
"Oh, I know, you're a--"
"Civilian," Kyungsoo finally supplies. "Just a nobody."
Yifan actually looks shocked. "Really?" He purses his lips and tugs self-consciously at his dirty-blonde hair. "I could have sworn you were in the business."
"Why?" Kyungsoo asks, astonished.
"You're so cute."
Kyungsoo doesn't laugh this time--only twists his mouth into the shape of disbelief and lets his eyebrows shoot into his bangs.
"I'm serious!" It's Yifan who cracks up now. "You look famous!"
"Thanks…I guess?"
"You're welcome. Please take it as a compliment." When Yifan smiles at him, Kyungsoo is side-tracked by the flirtation in it. "Are you here with anyone?"
"A friend," Kyungsoo tells him, as mildly as he can manage. "But I lost him, so I think I'm going to head out."
"Can I come?" Yifan asks, more endearing than anything else. "I don't really fit in here."
"Oh."
Yifan never gets his answer, though, because a guy comes out of nowhere and grabs him by the back of his shirt.
"There you are!"
The model practically jumps out of his loafers. "Shit, Joonmyun, you scared the crap out of me!"
"We're supposed to be networking for you here!" huffs the shorter man, hauling Yifan up and very quickly away. "What the hell are you doing, hiding in a corner?"
Kyungsoo just stares.
Somehow, Yifan manages to look over his shoulder and mouth the words sorry and manager and bye. Kyungsoo nods in understanding. "Bye," he replies aloud, with a loose wave.
And then.
"Kyungsoo."
He knows who it is, but he turns anyway. "Hey, Jongin."
"Found you."
Jongin's face is cloaked in worry and guilt. Something else, too--a little dark, a little injured.
"You found me," Kyungsoo bounces back, trying not to sound frustrated.
The actor's words come out in a rush. "I'm sorry I left you all alone. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to. I got ambushed by a few sunbaes on the way out of the bathroom, and that led to another and another and another, and by the time I got back to our spot you weren't there. I tried to--I looked everywhere. In here, out in the garden, I even went back to the car. Thought you might have left."
"I was about to," Kyungsoo murmurs.
"Were you?" Jongin shuts his eyes. "I'm really sorry."
"How'd you know I was here?"
Jongin opens his eyes. "I saw that guy's head peeking over the sofa." The look on his face is so peculiar. "I figured it was a good place for someone to hide. Not that you were hiding--"
"You got me," Kyungsoo interrupts. "I was definitely hiding."
"I'm really sorry," Jongin says again. "Are you angry?"
"No." I'm exhausted.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." No.
"That was Wu Yifan, wasn't it?"
"…What?"
"The guy who was just here." Jongin swallows, lowering his eyes. "That was Wu Yifan."
"I…think so? I didn't get his last name. Why?"
"No reason." Jongin's tone suddenly turns joking. "They say he's going to be the next Kim Woo Bin. My manager told me to watch out."
"I see."
Kyungsoo doesn't know who Kim Woo Bin is, or what it means for Yifan to be next in line to him, but he doesn't feel like asking. He puzzles over the expression on Jongin's face, which has never been there before--at least, not around him.
"What were you guys talking about?" Jongin asks, picking at the fabric of the sofa.
"Not much." Kyungsoo shrugs. "He said he felt like he didn't fit in. We had that in common."
Jongin voice is soft, undemanding. "Do you want to ditch this party?"
"Yes, please."
"Should we go to Gianni's?"
Kyungsoo shakes his head. "If it's okay with you, I'd just like to go home."
Jongin keeps his expression neutral, so Kyungsoo's not sure if he's disappointed. When the movie star says, "Of course. No problem," the bookstore owner just takes it at face value.
In Jongin's car, it's peaceful and dim, and Kyungsoo can feel his mind clearing at last. He rests his head against the window, the vibrations of the running machine like a lullaby.
"Jongin?"
"Hmm?"
"I saw you earlier with some people. Three blondes and a guy with black hair."
"Three blondes...what, you saw that? Why didn't you come over?"
"You were really far away," Kyungsoo excuses himself. "Are they your friends?"
Jongin sighs. "Two of those girls were love interests in my other movies, and one of them played my sister in a drama. And the guy…that was my ex."
"The ballet dancer?"
"Not Taemin," Jongin says. "That was Lu Han. The last one."
"Ah," Kyungsoo murmurs, his throat suddenly tight. "Did you guys patch things up?"
"What? Oh, we were just…" Jongin pauses. "The thing is…" He tries again. "Yes, we did. But it's not…it's complicated."
"That's good." The words you knew this was coming skate across Kyungsoo's tongue, unbidden. But he is cool and casual, like always. "Really, that's great."
"Kyungsoo." Jongin stares at him, and there's that look again--foreign and indecipherable.
"Yeah?"
"It's nothing."
Part 2