Infinite - Shoot the Wounded
Title: Shoot the Wounded
Fandom: Infinite
Genre: Gen
Pairings: Sungyeol, Sungjong
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Written for the SYCJ Habagat fundraiser at the request of eogiyadiya. Infinite debuts as five. Sungyeol and Sungjong get even.
Wordcount: 2928
Sungjong recognizes Sungyeol the moment he walks in through the front door of the cafe. He looks good. He doesn’t even bother to remove his shades. Is he already a big-shot celebrity like the rest? Or is he only pretending at fame and stardom?
His coworker, an impressionable teenager by the name of Jaeho, is ogling him and letting soapy water drip down onto his shoes. “Don’t stare at the customers,” Sungjong whispers, even though he himself is watching. Sungyeol takes a seat down at the far end of the cafe, and eventually catches Jaeho’s eye. He snaps his fingers, and beckons at Sungjong standing behind the counter. Jaeho tugs on Sungjong’s sleeve.
“He’s asking for you,” he says. Sungjong looks up. You want him? Jaeho mouths, and Sungyeol nods. Sungjong smiles and waves. “If he wants me, he can come up to the counter himself,” he says.
“Hey, do you think I should get his autograph?” Jaeho asks. “He’s probably, like, somebody important.” Sungjong rolls his eyes, but if this is a trick, then Sungyeol’s pretense is remarkably solid.
“If he’s so important,” Sungjong says, “you go talk to him,” and he pushes Jaeho around the counter to the front. He watches Sungyeol order; it’s a complete romance, if Jaeho’s shy smile is any indication.
“Well?” He asks. Jaeho leans over the counter, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“Cafe mocha. He wants you to bring it over,” he says.
“Uh huh. How much did he tip you?”
“Tip?” Jaeho asks blankly. Sungjong laughs and drops the rag back into its bucket of sanitizer. He wipes his hands dry. When the order is ready, he puts it on a tray and walks out to the front. Sungyeol points at his order.
“Hey, can I get that on the house? Since I know you, and all-” are the first words out of his mouth. Sungjong sets down his order and puts his hands on his hips. “Okay, or I can get you something,” Sungyeol says, and grins.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
Sungyeol rips a packet of sugar open with unsteady fingers and tap-tap-taps its contents into his cup. “Pretty good. Are you busy?”
Sungjong looks back. Jaeho and his manager are giving him a thumbs up. He sits. Sungyeol is silent, inhaling the steam straight from his mug. It’s another game of his, although he doesn’t seem to be in a playful mood. Perplexing behavior.
“Well?” Sungjong asks.
Sungyeol smirks, a puffed-up, little twitch of his lips. “I’ve been talking with my aunt’s friends, and I think I got a lead,” he says slowly, and unfurls the words like a banner.
“Really?” Sungjong asks. Sungyeol is smiling, but from the way he drawls, and the hunch of his shoulders, Sungjong can tell that something is lacking.
Printed out an extra copy, too,” Sungyeol says, and points at a piece of paper with a long and crooked finger. “In case you’re interested.”
Sungjong blinks. “Congratulations,” he says. “I’m happy for you. Really, hyung. Good luck.” He glances back at Jaeho and raises an eyebrow. “You’re a lot better at acting when no one’s watching.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sungyeol says. “I think my acting’s been pretty brilliant so far.” Sungjong waits, but Sungyeol only stirs his spoon into his coffee mug again and lays it to rest on the saucer. “You in?”
Sungjong should have known. He looks around at the coffee shop, at the preoccupied patrons and the brisk sweep of Jaeho’s broom. Does he not look happy here? He wonders if Sungyeol pities him. Why else would he ask? Sungyeol knows a lot more people than he does, and Sungjong’s all but written himself off anyway. He doesn’t want to get into an argument about this, with Sungyeol of all people. He doesn’t want to have to explain that he’s moved on. Instead he says, “I’m a student at Myongji University.”
And Sungyeol lets it go at that. Sungjong nearly cringes at his own sense of relief. “Really?” Sungyeol asks. He sounds happy, but not surprised. “What are you studying?”
“Broadcast journalism,” he says. Sungyeol laughs, easy and satisfied. Embarrassed, Sungjong smiles. The jig is up, the mystery revealed. He feels a little more diminished now, but it’s honest work, and a steady, reliable job. And he doesn’t have to work so hard. Nothing was harder than his trainee days. In a way, Sungyeol’s enthusiasm pleases him-it’s a rare change from the disappointment he usually encounters.
“I knew it,” he said. “Going to do girl dances with the weather report?”
“Ha,” Sungjong says, and Sungyeol smiles at him ruefully. His mug is no longer steaming.
They look up when they hear a very familiar drum beat followed by an electronic squeal of music. Sunggyu’s voice floats down through the speakers, warring with the coffee machine for dominance. In the acoustics of the cafe, Infinite sounds tinny and thin, like a crumpled aluminum can.
“Do you buy their CDs?” Sungyeol asks him. Listening to them now, it’s hard not to feel robbed, but Sungjong can’t begrudge them; he buys each one.
“I-yeah.” It’s a while before he returns the question: “What about you? Do you ever talk to them?”
Sungyeol shrugs. It’s easy enough to guess: less and less. It’s Sunggyu’s nature to be totally invested in whatever he’s doing. Dongwoo and Woohyun probably keep in touch. Sungjong knows that Myungsoo still cares, even if he doesn’t ever make contact. And Hoya still texts Sungjong. But mostly, it’s over.
“No,” Sungyeol says. “I try not to keep in touch.”
“I don’t believe that.” Sungyeol takes off his glasses and folds them onto the table. He doesn’t look Sungjong in the eye, but the quirk is back in his smile. He waits until the end of the song before speaking.
“Some people would like to move on,” he says. Sungjong should have been the one to say it first, and now at least he should nod, smile and agree, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. Sungyeol makes moving on sound like the wrong thing to do.
“I’ve always thought it was weird. You were there the longest out of all of us. That’s one thing I wanted to ask Sajangnim. What is it that you lacked, that they didn’t?”
Sungjong grips the edges of his chair. It’s an honest question. He knows Sungyeol’s just asking. He’s settled with everyone else, so it’s only fair.
“Ask him that,” he says. Even now, he can’t fully stifle the resentment in his tone. He’s better than that-he could be, if people would stop bringing it up.
“I know you’re still angry,” he says. Sungjong stares at the wood grain on the tabletop. He thinks he has nothing left to say, but Sungyeol draws it out of him every time, with his waiting silence and steepled hands.
“Six years,” Sungjong mutters, and tries to shrug it off. “How would you feel?”
Sungyeol leans forward and he’s all slick and easy now, no nervous laughter or bluntness. “You’re good, Sungjong. You have the talent, but you can’t just try once in a while and hope you get lucky. You have to keep putting yourself out there.”
Aha, Sungjong thinks. Here it is, finally. The trap has been set, and Sungyeol is waiting for it to spring. It’s too bad. Sungjong hates rejection, it’s true, but he hates being played even more. And Sungyeol sounds like the rest of them now, a mere peddler of dreams, and Sungjong can’t help but feel disappointed and insulted that if Sungyeol hadn’t thought he’d bite, that there would have been no reason to visit at all. That a friend’s success was no pretext for celebration, nothing more than a hook.
“Stop trying to be Woohyun,” Sungjong says. He doesn’t mean it harshly. That’s just how it slips out. Sungyeol’s mouth puckers.
“Okay,” he says. “I don’t believe you, though. If you really gave up, you would have gone home.”
“I told you. I’m a student here.” Sungyeol doesn’t press further. He scrawls down his phone number on the piece of paper and stands up.
“If you ever feel like proving him wrong,” he says. Sungjong looks down at the piece of paper in his hands. He knows that he should keep it, if only to stay in touch. But he’s not sure he wants to do that anymore. He looks up at Sungyeol.
“I don’t think you should come here again,” he says. He doesn’t want this to end on a bad note, so he goes back to the counter to get another drink to go. “This one’s on the house,” he says with a wink. By the time he comes back, Sungyeol is gone.
~*~
He is cleaning tables, when somebody grabs his arm. He jumps, and something hot and damp splashes against his shirt. “Ouch!”
“Does this mean I get free refills?” Sungyeol asks. Sungjong turns around to face him.
“You,” he says.
“Me,” Sungyeol repeats. He’s not wearing his shades this time, but he’s flushed and he has another steaming cup in his hands. Sungjong is about to launch into a whispered tirade about harassment, but he can see his manager out of the corner of his eye. His face melts back into indifference as smoothly as wax.
“Welcome to Kopikana Cafe, how may I help you?”
“The cafe mocha. It’s bitter,” Sungyeol says, and makes a face. Sungjong tosses two sugar packets down on the table.
“And…”
Sungjong pushes his hair out of his face. “And?”
“You can help me,” Sungyeol continues, “By ditching this place and coming with me right now.”
“What?”
Sungyeol rolls his eyes, and Sungjong realizes how annoying the expression must look on his own face. “I scheduled a private audition downtown in twenty minutes, you want to go?”
He’s not really asking.
“What happened to that lead you had?” Sungjong asks, if only to be mean. Sungyeol waves his hand.
“Old news,” he said. “If we take the bus stop at the end of the block we can make it.”
“Sorry,” Sungjong said. “I told you. I’m done with that.” He hates how shaky he sounds. He’s rehearsed all the reasons he’s ever said no, but now they’re jumbled up in his head like pieces of confetti. It was never about the work-he could have handled it if it was just the work, but six years of having to watch his back and defend his territory, six years of being told that he was good, but not right.
He picks up an empty tray and loads it with dirty napkins, mugs, and used teabags. Sungyeol dogs him from from table to table, and Sungjong can tell that he’s driving Sungjong towards the entrance of the cafe. He heads in the opposite direction.
“Get out,” he says.
“I’m a paying customer,” Sungyeol says, and raises his cup to his lips.
“Enjoy your coffee then,” he says, and walks to the trashcan. Sungyeol grabs the string of his apron. Sungjong stops abruptly. The jolt of his movement causes a teacup to overturn, and the last dregs of tea and cream spill onto his tray. He adjusts his grip to avoid the liquid from dripping onto his uniform.
“What are we,” he asks. “Ten?”
“No,” Sungyeol says, and tugs again. Sungjong lets himself be reeled in, and turns around to face Sungyeol.
“You have less than twenty minutes to get downtown,” he says.
Sungyeol steps back and puts his cup down on the table. “Okay,” he says, and his grin is pitiless. “We can do this the easy way,” his fingers dance in the air, “or the hard way.” People are staring now, and Jaeho’s mouth hangs open.
“This isn’t a game,” Sungjong hisses, and puts his tray down. Sungyeol feints and he dodges, but he bumps into the tray with his hip. Shattered porcelain, puddles of liquid, and napkins tumble over like Niagara falls. Sungyeol grabs Sungjong’s arm and drags him towards the entrance, not unlike a jealous boyfriend. “Let go of me!”
“No turning back now,” Sungyeol says.
“Yah! Lee Sungjong!” His manager runs to the front, rag in hand. Sungjong steps back and stumbles into Sungyeol’s arms.
“It wasn’t me,” he stutters. “I can explain-”
“No he can’t!”
“Clean up this mess right now!”
“Sorry, you’re going to have to get him to do it,” Sungyeol says, and points at Jaeho. “Sungjong’s taken.”
“Let go of me! My shift-” Sungjong says.
“Forget your shift, forget your job,” Sungyeol yells, and pushes the door wide open. “This is the rest of your life!” he announces. He steps out onto the street, heralded by the ringing of the entrance bell.
The rest of your life, Jaeho mouths, wide-eyed, and watches Sungyeol drag Sungjong out the door.
~*~
Sungjong lashes out with his foot but Sungyeol pulls him off balance and he stumbles. “Let go of me!” Sungjong says.
“You can’t ignore the call of freedom, Sungjong,” he crows, but he lets go. Sungjong shoves him away.
“Don’t come around here again, I’m warning you.”
“Or what?” Sungyeol goads. He’s walking backwards now, arms akimbo.
“Or so help me,” Sungjong says. “You’ll wish we never even met.” He wishes that he had grabbed Jaeho’s broom. He could still strangle Sungyeol with his apron if he tried.
“Is that your wish? That we’d never met?” Sungyeol yells. “Do you regret everything? Even being a trainee?” He throws up his hands. One open palm, and a thumbs-up. “Six years!”
“Shut up!” Sungjong yells. The crowds are parting for them, two boys yelling on the sidewalk. Why he hasn’t been picked up yet by another company, Sungjong will never know; Sungyeol brings drama with him everywhere. Sungjong loses sight of him for a second, and quickens his step. When Sungyeol reappears, he’s laughing.
“What’s so funny?” He asks.
“You’re following me,” he says, and Sungjong turns white at the knuckles. “The bus stop is in that direction, by the way-”
Sungjong turns on his heel. His manager will be pissed, but he might not fire him. Sungjong’s going to keep his head down and work hard and stay in line, and he’s not going to beg.
“Oh-for the love of-COME ON,” Sungyeol yells. “What are you going to tell your kids, huh?” And then: “You’re walking away from your dreams.”
Is this what it means to have a dream? To be eternally torn between safety and promise? Sungjong doesn’t know how he does it: churns and filters and slogs through script after script, trusting to fate that somewhere, there is a stage waiting for him. He hates to throw away everything like this. Again.
“Where are you going?”
“Away,” Sungjong yells. Sungyeol isn’t following him, but he isn’t walking away, either.
“Sajangnim wouldn’t have wanted you to give up.”
“I don’t care what Sajangnim thinks-”
“Yes you do, that’s why you quit.”
It guts him. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t feel it.
Sungjong can admit that he was stupid. He stayed too long. He got complacent. He should have jumped ship a long time ago. He turns around again, right into a blooming cloud of exhaust. He splutters.
Sungyeol is staring at the ad printed on the back of the bus. It’s Infinite again. The ad is very flashy, although the editing is sloppy. The bus coasts into a stop at the end of the block, and the brakes squeak.
Sungjong hates the noise of buses and trucks. He likes those silent moments that exist inside raindrops: myopically peaceful and still. He still doesn’t know what to say, but he walks up to Sungyeol anyway. They stare at the stylized infinity sign and decode the English. Infinite. A mathematical property that means ‘without bound’. Limitless.
“I miss them. I miss being with them,” Sungyeol says. His eyes are wide. “I-you don’t want to know what I had to do to get this interview,” he admits. Sungjong reaches out for his hand.
“I know,” he says. A tiny stream of passengers disembark. Nobody boards. The bus levels itself and the engine starts with a groan.
“That’s the bus,” Sungyeol says. Their eyes meet, but Sungyeol’s gaze is skittish. Sungjong watches him kick at the ground. The broad line of his back seems to say: that’s it, I’m done. Last straw. No more cosmic jokes, please. For the first time, Sungjong recognizes the shape of defeat, and he wonders if it’s what Sungyeol has been seeing in him all this time.
“Hyung,” he says, and squeezes Sungyeol’s hand. “That’s our bus.” He takes one step forward. One more. Then another. Left, right. Keep going. He’s done this so many times before, he hesitates to do it again. Sungyeol drags behind, but Sungjong doesn’t let him go. “Come on! We have to catch it!” He breaks into a run.
“Yah, Sungjong!” Sungyeol says. In between his laughs, he’s panting and wheezing. “What are you doing?” He shrieks.
“Run faster! We can catch it at the next stop!”
Sungjong knows he’s going to regret this, chasing the image of his friends plastered on the back of a bus, and dragging Sungyeol along to boot. He’s said no, so many times before, and he doesn’t think he can bear to hear it again. This next audition might break them for good.
Is this your dream? Sungjong asks himself. And the answer is yes.
Fandom: Infinite
Genre: Gen
Pairings: Sungyeol, Sungjong
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Summary: Written for the SYCJ Habagat fundraiser at the request of eogiyadiya. Infinite debuts as five. Sungyeol and Sungjong get even.
Wordcount: 2928
Sungjong recognizes Sungyeol the moment he walks in through the front door of the cafe. He looks good. He doesn’t even bother to remove his shades. Is he already a big-shot celebrity like the rest? Or is he only pretending at fame and stardom?
His coworker, an impressionable teenager by the name of Jaeho, is ogling him and letting soapy water drip down onto his shoes. “Don’t stare at the customers,” Sungjong whispers, even though he himself is watching. Sungyeol takes a seat down at the far end of the cafe, and eventually catches Jaeho’s eye. He snaps his fingers, and beckons at Sungjong standing behind the counter. Jaeho tugs on Sungjong’s sleeve.
“He’s asking for you,” he says. Sungjong looks up. You want him? Jaeho mouths, and Sungyeol nods. Sungjong smiles and waves. “If he wants me, he can come up to the counter himself,” he says.
“Hey, do you think I should get his autograph?” Jaeho asks. “He’s probably, like, somebody important.” Sungjong rolls his eyes, but if this is a trick, then Sungyeol’s pretense is remarkably solid.
“If he’s so important,” Sungjong says, “you go talk to him,” and he pushes Jaeho around the counter to the front. He watches Sungyeol order; it’s a complete romance, if Jaeho’s shy smile is any indication.
“Well?” He asks. Jaeho leans over the counter, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“Cafe mocha. He wants you to bring it over,” he says.
“Uh huh. How much did he tip you?”
“Tip?” Jaeho asks blankly. Sungjong laughs and drops the rag back into its bucket of sanitizer. He wipes his hands dry. When the order is ready, he puts it on a tray and walks out to the front. Sungyeol points at his order.
“Hey, can I get that on the house? Since I know you, and all-” are the first words out of his mouth. Sungjong sets down his order and puts his hands on his hips. “Okay, or I can get you something,” Sungyeol says, and grins.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
Sungyeol rips a packet of sugar open with unsteady fingers and tap-tap-taps its contents into his cup. “Pretty good. Are you busy?”
Sungjong looks back. Jaeho and his manager are giving him a thumbs up. He sits. Sungyeol is silent, inhaling the steam straight from his mug. It’s another game of his, although he doesn’t seem to be in a playful mood. Perplexing behavior.
“Well?” Sungjong asks.
Sungyeol smirks, a puffed-up, little twitch of his lips. “I’ve been talking with my aunt’s friends, and I think I got a lead,” he says slowly, and unfurls the words like a banner.
“Really?” Sungjong asks. Sungyeol is smiling, but from the way he drawls, and the hunch of his shoulders, Sungjong can tell that something is lacking.
Printed out an extra copy, too,” Sungyeol says, and points at a piece of paper with a long and crooked finger. “In case you’re interested.”
Sungjong blinks. “Congratulations,” he says. “I’m happy for you. Really, hyung. Good luck.” He glances back at Jaeho and raises an eyebrow. “You’re a lot better at acting when no one’s watching.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sungyeol says. “I think my acting’s been pretty brilliant so far.” Sungjong waits, but Sungyeol only stirs his spoon into his coffee mug again and lays it to rest on the saucer. “You in?”
Sungjong should have known. He looks around at the coffee shop, at the preoccupied patrons and the brisk sweep of Jaeho’s broom. Does he not look happy here? He wonders if Sungyeol pities him. Why else would he ask? Sungyeol knows a lot more people than he does, and Sungjong’s all but written himself off anyway. He doesn’t want to get into an argument about this, with Sungyeol of all people. He doesn’t want to have to explain that he’s moved on. Instead he says, “I’m a student at Myongji University.”
And Sungyeol lets it go at that. Sungjong nearly cringes at his own sense of relief. “Really?” Sungyeol asks. He sounds happy, but not surprised. “What are you studying?”
“Broadcast journalism,” he says. Sungyeol laughs, easy and satisfied. Embarrassed, Sungjong smiles. The jig is up, the mystery revealed. He feels a little more diminished now, but it’s honest work, and a steady, reliable job. And he doesn’t have to work so hard. Nothing was harder than his trainee days. In a way, Sungyeol’s enthusiasm pleases him-it’s a rare change from the disappointment he usually encounters.
“I knew it,” he said. “Going to do girl dances with the weather report?”
“Ha,” Sungjong says, and Sungyeol smiles at him ruefully. His mug is no longer steaming.
They look up when they hear a very familiar drum beat followed by an electronic squeal of music. Sunggyu’s voice floats down through the speakers, warring with the coffee machine for dominance. In the acoustics of the cafe, Infinite sounds tinny and thin, like a crumpled aluminum can.
“Do you buy their CDs?” Sungyeol asks him. Listening to them now, it’s hard not to feel robbed, but Sungjong can’t begrudge them; he buys each one.
“I-yeah.” It’s a while before he returns the question: “What about you? Do you ever talk to them?”
Sungyeol shrugs. It’s easy enough to guess: less and less. It’s Sunggyu’s nature to be totally invested in whatever he’s doing. Dongwoo and Woohyun probably keep in touch. Sungjong knows that Myungsoo still cares, even if he doesn’t ever make contact. And Hoya still texts Sungjong. But mostly, it’s over.
“No,” Sungyeol says. “I try not to keep in touch.”
“I don’t believe that.” Sungyeol takes off his glasses and folds them onto the table. He doesn’t look Sungjong in the eye, but the quirk is back in his smile. He waits until the end of the song before speaking.
“Some people would like to move on,” he says. Sungjong should have been the one to say it first, and now at least he should nod, smile and agree, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. Sungyeol makes moving on sound like the wrong thing to do.
“I’ve always thought it was weird. You were there the longest out of all of us. That’s one thing I wanted to ask Sajangnim. What is it that you lacked, that they didn’t?”
Sungjong grips the edges of his chair. It’s an honest question. He knows Sungyeol’s just asking. He’s settled with everyone else, so it’s only fair.
“Ask him that,” he says. Even now, he can’t fully stifle the resentment in his tone. He’s better than that-he could be, if people would stop bringing it up.
“I know you’re still angry,” he says. Sungjong stares at the wood grain on the tabletop. He thinks he has nothing left to say, but Sungyeol draws it out of him every time, with his waiting silence and steepled hands.
“Six years,” Sungjong mutters, and tries to shrug it off. “How would you feel?”
Sungyeol leans forward and he’s all slick and easy now, no nervous laughter or bluntness. “You’re good, Sungjong. You have the talent, but you can’t just try once in a while and hope you get lucky. You have to keep putting yourself out there.”
Aha, Sungjong thinks. Here it is, finally. The trap has been set, and Sungyeol is waiting for it to spring. It’s too bad. Sungjong hates rejection, it’s true, but he hates being played even more. And Sungyeol sounds like the rest of them now, a mere peddler of dreams, and Sungjong can’t help but feel disappointed and insulted that if Sungyeol hadn’t thought he’d bite, that there would have been no reason to visit at all. That a friend’s success was no pretext for celebration, nothing more than a hook.
“Stop trying to be Woohyun,” Sungjong says. He doesn’t mean it harshly. That’s just how it slips out. Sungyeol’s mouth puckers.
“Okay,” he says. “I don’t believe you, though. If you really gave up, you would have gone home.”
“I told you. I’m a student here.” Sungyeol doesn’t press further. He scrawls down his phone number on the piece of paper and stands up.
“If you ever feel like proving him wrong,” he says. Sungjong looks down at the piece of paper in his hands. He knows that he should keep it, if only to stay in touch. But he’s not sure he wants to do that anymore. He looks up at Sungyeol.
“I don’t think you should come here again,” he says. He doesn’t want this to end on a bad note, so he goes back to the counter to get another drink to go. “This one’s on the house,” he says with a wink. By the time he comes back, Sungyeol is gone.
~*~
He is cleaning tables, when somebody grabs his arm. He jumps, and something hot and damp splashes against his shirt. “Ouch!”
“Does this mean I get free refills?” Sungyeol asks. Sungjong turns around to face him.
“You,” he says.
“Me,” Sungyeol repeats. He’s not wearing his shades this time, but he’s flushed and he has another steaming cup in his hands. Sungjong is about to launch into a whispered tirade about harassment, but he can see his manager out of the corner of his eye. His face melts back into indifference as smoothly as wax.
“Welcome to Kopikana Cafe, how may I help you?”
“The cafe mocha. It’s bitter,” Sungyeol says, and makes a face. Sungjong tosses two sugar packets down on the table.
“And…”
Sungjong pushes his hair out of his face. “And?”
“You can help me,” Sungyeol continues, “By ditching this place and coming with me right now.”
“What?”
Sungyeol rolls his eyes, and Sungjong realizes how annoying the expression must look on his own face. “I scheduled a private audition downtown in twenty minutes, you want to go?”
He’s not really asking.
“What happened to that lead you had?” Sungjong asks, if only to be mean. Sungyeol waves his hand.
“Old news,” he said. “If we take the bus stop at the end of the block we can make it.”
“Sorry,” Sungjong said. “I told you. I’m done with that.” He hates how shaky he sounds. He’s rehearsed all the reasons he’s ever said no, but now they’re jumbled up in his head like pieces of confetti. It was never about the work-he could have handled it if it was just the work, but six years of having to watch his back and defend his territory, six years of being told that he was good, but not right.
He picks up an empty tray and loads it with dirty napkins, mugs, and used teabags. Sungyeol dogs him from from table to table, and Sungjong can tell that he’s driving Sungjong towards the entrance of the cafe. He heads in the opposite direction.
“Get out,” he says.
“I’m a paying customer,” Sungyeol says, and raises his cup to his lips.
“Enjoy your coffee then,” he says, and walks to the trashcan. Sungyeol grabs the string of his apron. Sungjong stops abruptly. The jolt of his movement causes a teacup to overturn, and the last dregs of tea and cream spill onto his tray. He adjusts his grip to avoid the liquid from dripping onto his uniform.
“What are we,” he asks. “Ten?”
“No,” Sungyeol says, and tugs again. Sungjong lets himself be reeled in, and turns around to face Sungyeol.
“You have less than twenty minutes to get downtown,” he says.
Sungyeol steps back and puts his cup down on the table. “Okay,” he says, and his grin is pitiless. “We can do this the easy way,” his fingers dance in the air, “or the hard way.” People are staring now, and Jaeho’s mouth hangs open.
“This isn’t a game,” Sungjong hisses, and puts his tray down. Sungyeol feints and he dodges, but he bumps into the tray with his hip. Shattered porcelain, puddles of liquid, and napkins tumble over like Niagara falls. Sungyeol grabs Sungjong’s arm and drags him towards the entrance, not unlike a jealous boyfriend. “Let go of me!”
“No turning back now,” Sungyeol says.
“Yah! Lee Sungjong!” His manager runs to the front, rag in hand. Sungjong steps back and stumbles into Sungyeol’s arms.
“It wasn’t me,” he stutters. “I can explain-”
“No he can’t!”
“Clean up this mess right now!”
“Sorry, you’re going to have to get him to do it,” Sungyeol says, and points at Jaeho. “Sungjong’s taken.”
“Let go of me! My shift-” Sungjong says.
“Forget your shift, forget your job,” Sungyeol yells, and pushes the door wide open. “This is the rest of your life!” he announces. He steps out onto the street, heralded by the ringing of the entrance bell.
The rest of your life, Jaeho mouths, wide-eyed, and watches Sungyeol drag Sungjong out the door.
~*~
Sungjong lashes out with his foot but Sungyeol pulls him off balance and he stumbles. “Let go of me!” Sungjong says.
“You can’t ignore the call of freedom, Sungjong,” he crows, but he lets go. Sungjong shoves him away.
“Don’t come around here again, I’m warning you.”
“Or what?” Sungyeol goads. He’s walking backwards now, arms akimbo.
“Or so help me,” Sungjong says. “You’ll wish we never even met.” He wishes that he had grabbed Jaeho’s broom. He could still strangle Sungyeol with his apron if he tried.
“Is that your wish? That we’d never met?” Sungyeol yells. “Do you regret everything? Even being a trainee?” He throws up his hands. One open palm, and a thumbs-up. “Six years!”
“Shut up!” Sungjong yells. The crowds are parting for them, two boys yelling on the sidewalk. Why he hasn’t been picked up yet by another company, Sungjong will never know; Sungyeol brings drama with him everywhere. Sungjong loses sight of him for a second, and quickens his step. When Sungyeol reappears, he’s laughing.
“What’s so funny?” He asks.
“You’re following me,” he says, and Sungjong turns white at the knuckles. “The bus stop is in that direction, by the way-”
Sungjong turns on his heel. His manager will be pissed, but he might not fire him. Sungjong’s going to keep his head down and work hard and stay in line, and he’s not going to beg.
“Oh-for the love of-COME ON,” Sungyeol yells. “What are you going to tell your kids, huh?” And then: “You’re walking away from your dreams.”
Is this what it means to have a dream? To be eternally torn between safety and promise? Sungjong doesn’t know how he does it: churns and filters and slogs through script after script, trusting to fate that somewhere, there is a stage waiting for him. He hates to throw away everything like this. Again.
“Where are you going?”
“Away,” Sungjong yells. Sungyeol isn’t following him, but he isn’t walking away, either.
“Sajangnim wouldn’t have wanted you to give up.”
“I don’t care what Sajangnim thinks-”
“Yes you do, that’s why you quit.”
It guts him. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t feel it.
Sungjong can admit that he was stupid. He stayed too long. He got complacent. He should have jumped ship a long time ago. He turns around again, right into a blooming cloud of exhaust. He splutters.
Sungyeol is staring at the ad printed on the back of the bus. It’s Infinite again. The ad is very flashy, although the editing is sloppy. The bus coasts into a stop at the end of the block, and the brakes squeak.
Sungjong hates the noise of buses and trucks. He likes those silent moments that exist inside raindrops: myopically peaceful and still. He still doesn’t know what to say, but he walks up to Sungyeol anyway. They stare at the stylized infinity sign and decode the English. Infinite. A mathematical property that means ‘without bound’. Limitless.
“I miss them. I miss being with them,” Sungyeol says. His eyes are wide. “I-you don’t want to know what I had to do to get this interview,” he admits. Sungjong reaches out for his hand.
“I know,” he says. A tiny stream of passengers disembark. Nobody boards. The bus levels itself and the engine starts with a groan.
“That’s the bus,” Sungyeol says. Their eyes meet, but Sungyeol’s gaze is skittish. Sungjong watches him kick at the ground. The broad line of his back seems to say: that’s it, I’m done. Last straw. No more cosmic jokes, please. For the first time, Sungjong recognizes the shape of defeat, and he wonders if it’s what Sungyeol has been seeing in him all this time.
“Hyung,” he says, and squeezes Sungyeol’s hand. “That’s our bus.” He takes one step forward. One more. Then another. Left, right. Keep going. He’s done this so many times before, he hesitates to do it again. Sungyeol drags behind, but Sungjong doesn’t let him go. “Come on! We have to catch it!” He breaks into a run.
“Yah, Sungjong!” Sungyeol says. In between his laughs, he’s panting and wheezing. “What are you doing?” He shrieks.
“Run faster! We can catch it at the next stop!”
Sungjong knows he’s going to regret this, chasing the image of his friends plastered on the back of a bus, and dragging Sungyeol along to boot. He’s said no, so many times before, and he doesn’t think he can bear to hear it again. This next audition might break them for good.
Is this your dream? Sungjong asks himself. And the answer is yes.