Cheekbones and cheap fun - for yoghurts
Title: cheekbones and cheap fun
For: yoghurts
Pairing: Chen/Xiumin
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,677
Summary: tyra banks, chinese fonzie, tarzan and huang zitao (because he needs no introduction) take jongdae out on a boy’s night. what they don’t plan for, however, is the appearance of a boy they didn’t plan to include and the fact that lemon juice in the eye causes a nasty temporary blindness, just when there’s something to see.
Kim Jongdae led a monochrome life. When he laid down to sleep, he didn’t see rainbows and he didn’t see paradise; he saw bold numbers against a white screen, he heard the tapping of keyboards and the incessant ringing of phones. There was no room for compromise or variation from the rules, just sharp, absolutist convention that poked through his childhood dreams and turned them into an unruly combination of ambition and burnout.">
Occasionally, he would run his thumbs over the worn leather of his photo album, examining the photographs of his hometown so carefully that his vision would blur and refocus, letting him recall the way that each flower blew in the breeze. He craved that freedom now, wished he was floating in the breeze like a petal instead of being so firmly rooted to the ground. In New York, there may have been skyscrapers, designer stores bigger than his entire apartment block, but there weren’t warm family-run farm shops quite like there were back home, and there wasn’t his family with their arms open and the scent of home-cooked food to welcome him through the door.
He put the photo album back on the top of his bookcase, taking particular care to blow the layer of dust away and watching it settle to the floor with his nose turned up in disgust. A morning spent listening to a lecture and furiously taking notes followed by an afternoon in the office picking up coffee orders and learning the trade bit by excruciating bit had left him entirely ready for bed. Except for the fact that it was nine o’clock on a Friday and Jongdae was staring at his own magnolia walls.
He didn’t mind, he told himself repeatedly, stretching out on his couch and poking at some food that appeared to be edible on the coffee table. He was fine like this - a natural introvert, a wallflower, a shy person from birth, serious even, with a penchant for work and not for pleasure. He liked his life to be simple, liked relaxing rather than partying it up. In fact, he could think of so many reasons why he hadn’t gone out of his apartment on a weekend in two months that he wasn’t sure who he was convincing anymore. The memory of arriving at home penniless again after barely batting an eyelid when a homeless man on the subway gave him a gentle pat on the butt made itself very known for a split second, and he shook it off to focus his attention on the crappy comedy on the TV instead.
Television shows always displayed half-idyllic panoramic shots of the city skyline, taken from a helicopter or somewhere with a breathtaking view. The bustling New York daytime he dreamt of when he was younger, with the crowds of rushing people in various shades of grey and scents of bagels or hot dogs or something equally cliché, was nothing compared to the city that was right outside his door, threatening to burst through his window. The neon lights and music, the nightlife, the clack of spindly stiletto soles against the sidewalk, lurked behind his blackout curtains, larger than life.
Sunday, Monday, crappy days. Tuesday, Wednesday, crappy days. Thursday, Friday… Another Friday, a week since the young intern had flicked through his photo album and idly reminisced. There he was again, sprawled on his couch, blue tie still in a perfect knot, tucked neatly under his crisp collar. A stack of papers glared at him from the low wooden table, and he batted a hand at them nonchalantly, eyelids heavier than the weight of the work to do.
The insistent ringing of his phone burst through the silence that lingered around the room, and roused Jongdae from his almost slumber; his slender fingers fumbled for the small handset as he blinked away persistent sleep.
“Jongdick,” the deep voice boomed to greet his ears from the other end of the line. He rolled his eyes so hard he was slightly nervous that they were going to turn a full 360.
“Kris, what do you want? It’s late.”
“It’s nine. Get dressed, we’re going out.”
“I’m not going out,” came the incredulous reply, spat as if the Chinese idiot had told him they were going to twerk for tips in a dodgy neighbourhood.
“You are. We’ll be round in half an hour. Look decent.”
In a messy apartment in Queens, a group of five young men gathered around the table to discuss the night’s plans over a cheap pizza.
“I haven’t seen him in a month or so,” Tao shrugged his shoulders, poking out his tongue to catch the string of mozzarella that hung between him and his slice.
“He’s got the best GPA I’ve ever seen,” Baekhyun blinked up, picking off the pepperoni idly before shoving the meatless slice in the direction of his boyfriend.
“But he never leaves the office or his house unless he’s in class,” said boyfriend Chanyeol took the slice gratefully and started to nibble.
“He’s coming out whether he likes it or not.”
“Where are we going to take him?”
“To smoke hookah.”
“To a strip club.”
“To get a hooker with hookah from a strip club.”
“You guys are stupid,” Sehun scrunched his nose at their suggestions. “He’s never gonna go for that - the moment you push him anywhere with loud music and alcohol he’s clearly going to run in the other direction. Plus why the fuck would he want a hooker? Get one for your own desperate asses.”
“Well, where are we going to take him then?”
“Maybe he has more refined taste than you.”
“He doesn’t have refined taste, he’s just a pussy. We’re not backing out now and letting him stay in his apartment the whole weekend again.”
“You’re approaching this all wrong,” the youngest of the five shook his head as if he was surrounded by village idiots, taking a sip of the diet soda to his right. “You need to be more subtle.”
“Subtle isn’t really in Kris’ vocabulary,” Baekhyun shrugged.
“How are we supposed to be subtle? Maybe we could take him to a jazz club first. He likes that shit, right? Let’s take him out to eat. Or maybe a no-nipples show before we go for the full…”
“You’re overthinking it. Again.”
“Well, what do you suggest, Einstein Jr?”
“Spike his drink with vodka before you even get him out the door, morons.”
Jongdae could hear them before he could see them. His ear could pick out the individual voices before they were even too close, Kris and Chanyeol’s baritones with Baekhyun and Tao layered underneath. There was a moment of silence that made even the one in his own apartment stop in his tracks, until he craned his head to hear a mumble of a voice so quiet it was like no one was even speaking. He figured that Sehun was there too.
For a moment, he had believed that Kris honestly just wanted to come over and watch a few films, maybe order some good Italian food before watching a sitcom. The whole ‘night out’ thing would have been a set-up, and it was really just an excuse to get his food through the threshold. Besides, the business major was tired. Didn’t these young whippersnappers understand what it was like to work anymore? It meant that Saturdays were for errands and Sundays were spent doing paperwork in preparation for Monday, and so should have been spent sober. These kids.
“Chen, open the door,” Tao was the one rapping his knuckles against it now, and the nickname made Jongdae feel a pang of nostalgia for when the two of them used to be inseparable. Back in the days where he thought he was going to double major in Mandarin and performing arts, and the world was his oyster. Back when he met a shy exchange student with a dumb laugh that looked like he was going to kick the shit out of anyone who crossed his path. Before Tao dropped out and he transferred to Stern, and suddenly there seemed to be more than a subway line between the two of them.
He walked forward to twist his key and let them in, and was greeted by five faces so disappointed he could have sworn they were expecting Spike Lee riding in on a unicorn.
“What are you wearing?”
“Did we interrupt you on your way to the office?”
“Don’t tell me you’re fetching coffee and making copies at this time of night.”
“So being an intern really is a 24 hour job.”
“Dear God, he hasn’t even taken off his tie,” Baekhyun’s judging eyes drifted to the bright blue silk underneath Jongdae’s icy white collar.
“It’s not even that nice of a tie,” Sehun made his first contribution to the ‘let’s all judge Jongdae’s style choices’ extravaganza.
“Hey, this is a nice tie,” he tried to respond, in a way that sounded much more ‘my mum bought it for me’ than ‘I will fuck you up’.
“It’s a horrible tie.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s right with it?”
“More importantly, why the hell are you still wearing a suit at nine o’clock in the evening on a Friday night? Did we not specifically tell you to get dressed before we came?”
“I did get dressed.”
“I’m not talking about this morning,” Baekhyun sighed. “You’re wearing a shirt, tie, pants.”
“Italian leather shoes,” Sehun mumbled the only somewhat-approving thing.
“Seriously, I got changed a little bit. I was reading some articles about how you should be able to transition your outfit from day to night with just a feature piece or a change in accessories.”
“Have you been reading women’s magazines?” Chanyeol quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that was in Cosmo. Julia was telling me about that article this morning,” Baekhyun nodded.
Jongdae chuckled nervously.
“I didn’t know they’d been running the same articles as Men’s Health,” he stuttered out. Silence passed.
“Dude, reconsider your choices.”
“Cosmo…”’
“Hey, hey, no need for the gender roles, boys. Would you want your children to grow up in a world where they can’t choose their own reading material -“
“Alright, Martin Luther King, where do we sign your petition?” Chanyeol slapped him on the back playfully - if ‘playfully’ meant ‘hard enough to make one cough up a lung’.
“What did you even change from the office, if you’ve changed from your day clothes?” Baekhyun asked, frowning in concern. Jongdae blinked quietly, as if it was obvious, but was greeted with nothing but a questioning expression urging him to speak.
“I changed my pants,” he explained matter-of-factly, gesturing to them.
“They’re pants. You’re wearing pants.”
“Different pants.”
“They’re still… Jongdae…” Baek put a hand on the other’s shoulder like he was staging an intervention. “You’re wearing black slacks.”
“Black pinstripe slacks,” Jongdae mumbled like a sulky child.
“Pinstripes!”
“Oh dear God, not the pinstripes.”
“Did you hear that, Yeol? He said he was wearing pinstripes.”
“You go easy now.”
“You don’t want to break something with all this living on the edge, all those wild decisions, you crazy bastard.”
“You’re not coming out with us wearing pinstripe slacks and a shirt and tie, you imbecile.”
“Well, what a shame,” the first few words fell out of Jongdae’s mouth before he could stop them, soon followed by a whole host of others. “I’ll have to stay in and watch The Vow, I mean, if it’s on tonight…”
“He has it on DVD,” Baekhyun whispered to Sehun, who nodded understandingly.
“Do not!”
“You do too.”
“Anyway, if you guys are so desperate to go out and I don’t fit the bill, then it’s perfectly okay for me to stay in and you guys just enjoy yourself, I mean, don’t cancel it on account of me.”
“Oh please.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“We’ll just have to redress you.”
Jongdae quaked in his leather shoes.
“Redress me?” his voice came, as a squeak rather than the smooth and sexy tenor tone he liked to imagine it was most of the time.
“How hard can it be?”
“He’s wearing pinstripe slacks, Baek.”
“I do love a challenge.”
“Who would have known that you had this in your closet? You look great.”
“Not everybody has a male, Korean Tyra Banks to style them into America’s Next Top Model,” Jongdae smoothed down his skinny fit pants with an unimpressed expression hanging grimly upon his face, examining the others.
“You needed me like oxygen, Jongdae.”
“What would the guys at the office say?” Tao slurred his teasing, stealing Kris’ drink whilst he wasn’t looking.
“Are you drunk?” the office guy himself examined with horror.
“You’re drunk.”
“Are we finally ready to go out? I’ve suffered through a whole shitload of classes today looking forward to getting wasted with this square,” Kris sighed, grasping around for his beer when he discovered the bottle perched between Tao’s lips. “Give me that, you little shit.”
“Square?!” Jongdae remarked in light offense. “Just because I’m not a bad Chinese rip off of Fonzie?”
The other five watched in surprise as Kris’ eyebrows rose almost past his hairline, and little fragments of words threatened to leave his lips before being cut short by his own bemusement.
“You - are you drunk already?”
“Not drunk, just smarter than you,” Jongdae remarked, grabbing the tallest’s jacket and slinging it over his own shoulder on his way to the door. “Now, can we leave already? If we hang around I’m gonna lose my momentum.”
His half-willing, half-unwilling cohort shuffled after him to the door, mumbling various accusations at Baekhyun, who was the only one entirely delighted with the new Jongdae evolution.
“You must have drugged him. What did you do, slip LSD into his drink?”
“LSD is a bit extreme,” Sehun glanced up from his phone screen to critique Chanyeol’s narcotic choices, before looking back down.
“Roofies. Or…! Weed brownies!”
“Now you’re on the money,” the youngest affirmed, not even bothering to look up.
Nightclubs are dark for a reason. Nothing would be as fun if the partygoers were losing themselves in the light, and darkness adds mystery, anonymity. Smoke drifts, swirls in the air and tangles itself around the dancers, leaving its mark in their hair, scent, a taste on their tongue. Limbs entwine themselves and drinks are poured, and the sounds are enticing, thick bass music and intoxicating melodies. But they cloak the real symphony of the place, the sleazy rust of it, the clinks of ice and pick up lines, stilettos on dirty floors and raucous laughs.
Jongdae shoved himself to the bar with sweaty palms, and when he went to wipe them awkwardly on his pants, he was horrified as he felt the leathery texture.
“Chill out, Elle Woods, you look fine.”
“Elle Woods went from partying to being a lawyer,” Jongdae turned up his nose at the sweaty bodies crowding to get a drink.
“Then play your Legally Blonde DVD backwards and get turnt. Job done.”
“You seemed so into this when we were leaving your apartment…”
“I think I’ve contracted tetanus, Baekhyun!” Jongdae hissed. The flirty girl to his side grimaced as she shuffled away slightly.
“Listen. You look great. You feel great.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. That nervousness is just the HIV you caught from the guy pissing on the wall outside setting in.”
“That’s so scientifically inaccurate.”
“That’s what you think, Jongdouchebag. Let’s get you a drink,” Chanyeol did his back-slapping thing again, and Jongdae elbowed him in the ribs.
“I think he’s starting to loosen up.”
“I think he’s actually going to get HIV. Look at the way he’s grinding.”
“Chanyeol, I think we need to get you to a sex ed class.”
“Ooooh, can you be the teacher?”
“Can you bend me over a desk?”
“Can I get some extra credit?”
Sehun let his face morph into a disgusted expression.
“Can the two of you keep this for your own private time? Baekhyun, I had more faith in you. Chanyeol, the only extra credit you need is the literal kind. Shut up. We’re supposed to be focusing.”
“Ooooh, focusing.”
“Now that’s a sure fire way to have fun. You belong over there with Jongdae,” Baekhyun shooed.
“Where did Kris and Tao go?”
“Tao went to go dance with some weird girl with a pierced septum and Kris went off to sulk. I don’t know whether it’s because of septum girl or because he’s still bad that Jongdae called him a bad Chinese rip off of Fonzie.”
“If he’s mad about that, he should probably bin those jackets. And maybe style his hair differently.”
“Maybe he’s not mad about that part,” Chanyeol hypothesised, a philosophical look appearing on his face as he stared into the distance. “Maybe it was the bad Chinese rip off. Maybe he’s going for the real thing. The full monty. He wants to become Fonzie.”
“Krisarelli.”
“Ay.”
Jongdae popped up like a Whack-a-Mole, all wide-eyed amidst the standing circle, clutching a bottle.
“I’m not feeling turnt yet.”
“What are you even drinking?”
“What is that?”
He gazed at his glass, then back to the taller group, shrugging.
“It’s Smirnoff Ice.”
“He drinks Smirnoff Ice.”
“You’re such a loser.”
“Down it and we’re getting you out of here. We’re going to have to go to Plan B.”
The music boomed from the speakers, and the low lights let the illuminated stage draw all of the attention. Poles rose imposingly from the stage, and women in material anyone with less experience would have assumed was too small to be sequined gyrated on them like they were the ones that were gonna throw bills. The beat was low and silky, and waitresses dressed in slightly more than the dancers pranced around the floor delivering drinks of choice to the lucky men in house.
If hostages were ever brought to strip clubs, Jongdae figured this was how it would be. Kris on one side, Chanyeol on the other, dragged in by his two arms, he found himself in an environment so foreign he wanted to crawl up in homesickness in the corner. What were those? Were those boobs? Why was he having to look at boobs and oh, oh God, lap dances, how the fuck was he going to survive - why was this happening -
“Quick question,” Sehun nudged Baekhyun, a frown playing across his forehead. “Why exactly are we bringing him to a strip club? We all know he doesn’t swing this way. Is this that ‘homosexuality therapy’ people are talking about nowadays?”
“No, you douche. We all know that he doesn’t swing this way. But we have ulterior motives.”
“I think that sounds even scarier than just bringing him here to get a lap dance.”
“You see the thing is,” Tao joined in the conversation, slinging an arm around Sehun’s shoulders, “this place is Jongdae’s idea of literal hell.”
“And that’s gonna get him in the mood.”
“Nah, but he’s gonna get so freaked by all the bouncing tits he’s gonna down tequila like it’s going out of style. We’re just gonna get him drunk.”
Sehun pulled a face of astonishment, eyes flittering between Tao and Baekhyun like a tennis match.
“You’re evil geniuses.”
“Better than spiking his drink with vodka before he even leaves, huh, big shot?”
“Let’s put this phase on double speed, Baek. I’m starting to sober up.”
Jongdae sat in a squishy chair at the foot of one of the legs of the stage, trying to focus more on the idea that the chair was comfortable rather than: a) what had been spilt on the leather upholstery, or b) the grinding stripper that was about two metres in front of him, giving him the occasional eye.
“I think she likes me, Yeol.”
“Why?”
“She’s giving me the look. I’m scared.”
“She wants your money, not your dick.”
Tao slinked to the side, placing a cool shot of tequila in one of his hands, a lemon in the other.
“Drinks up, Jongdick. Make it fast and I just might let you lick the salt off of my-“
“That’s enough, Tao,” Sehun rolled his eyes lazily, one arm folded across his chest and the other presented to his eyes for them to nonchalantly check his nails.
“Yeah, enough,” Kris repeated, uncharacteristically sternly.
Jongdae glanced upwards towards the three towering men that stood before him. In a mild frenzy, he clocked the way that Sehun’s gaze flitted from his cuticles, to Tao, to Kris, back again. He saw how Kris looked back at Sehun, eyes only occasionally glancing to the gyrating women. He even spotted the glint in Tao’s eyes as he looked directly back at him, playful and dangerous. He grabbed the salt, shook it straight into his mouth frantically, squeezed the lemon over his face and shot back the tequila with enough speed to make the whole thing look efficient - if he hadn’t now got a face covered in juice, choking on the salt and the burn of the liquor.
“That’s how we do it,” Yeol clapped him on the back in that mock-helpful way of his.
“Again, again!” Baekhyun clapped his hands.
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Again?”
“No, seriously, again.”
“Y’know, I work for tips,” the waiter hinted unsubtly with a droning tone, placing the bottle of tequila in Tao’s grabby hands. Jongdae’s eyes wandered from the polished black shoes, the slacks, the pressed white shirt, to the thin black tie. Then, they journeyed so mindlessly to the chiselled jawline, the smooth curve of still-chubby cheeks.
“I didn’t know there was some tomboy shit going on here.”
“Shut up, Kris,” Jongdae let his hand flick to catch him between the legs, the music drowning out the Chinese boy’s cry of anguish.
“If you look that long, I’ma have to start charging,” Cheeks Guy let a quirky smirk play across his face, and Jongdae was half convinced that the right thing to do was start throwing $50 bills.
“What’s your name?”
“You can call me Xiumin. Now drink up. That stuff isn’t cheap.”
Author's note: i am sorry. a lot of stuff got in the way of my writing time and muse, and i found it hard to create something that you would enjoy. this is more of a... prelogue when i look at the length and then compare it to the length that i planned to write. it comes with a free promise that it will be continued, and a hearty apology. i hope you like this short little thing nonetheless, and rest assured that i will write you the completion to this beautiful prompt, when life isn’t shooting arrows up my ass.
For: yoghurts
Pairing: Chen/Xiumin
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3,677
Summary: tyra banks, chinese fonzie, tarzan and huang zitao (because he needs no introduction) take jongdae out on a boy’s night. what they don’t plan for, however, is the appearance of a boy they didn’t plan to include and the fact that lemon juice in the eye causes a nasty temporary blindness, just when there’s something to see.
Kim Jongdae led a monochrome life. When he laid down to sleep, he didn’t see rainbows and he didn’t see paradise; he saw bold numbers against a white screen, he heard the tapping of keyboards and the incessant ringing of phones. There was no room for compromise or variation from the rules, just sharp, absolutist convention that poked through his childhood dreams and turned them into an unruly combination of ambition and burnout.">
Occasionally, he would run his thumbs over the worn leather of his photo album, examining the photographs of his hometown so carefully that his vision would blur and refocus, letting him recall the way that each flower blew in the breeze. He craved that freedom now, wished he was floating in the breeze like a petal instead of being so firmly rooted to the ground. In New York, there may have been skyscrapers, designer stores bigger than his entire apartment block, but there weren’t warm family-run farm shops quite like there were back home, and there wasn’t his family with their arms open and the scent of home-cooked food to welcome him through the door.
He put the photo album back on the top of his bookcase, taking particular care to blow the layer of dust away and watching it settle to the floor with his nose turned up in disgust. A morning spent listening to a lecture and furiously taking notes followed by an afternoon in the office picking up coffee orders and learning the trade bit by excruciating bit had left him entirely ready for bed. Except for the fact that it was nine o’clock on a Friday and Jongdae was staring at his own magnolia walls.
He didn’t mind, he told himself repeatedly, stretching out on his couch and poking at some food that appeared to be edible on the coffee table. He was fine like this - a natural introvert, a wallflower, a shy person from birth, serious even, with a penchant for work and not for pleasure. He liked his life to be simple, liked relaxing rather than partying it up. In fact, he could think of so many reasons why he hadn’t gone out of his apartment on a weekend in two months that he wasn’t sure who he was convincing anymore. The memory of arriving at home penniless again after barely batting an eyelid when a homeless man on the subway gave him a gentle pat on the butt made itself very known for a split second, and he shook it off to focus his attention on the crappy comedy on the TV instead.
Television shows always displayed half-idyllic panoramic shots of the city skyline, taken from a helicopter or somewhere with a breathtaking view. The bustling New York daytime he dreamt of when he was younger, with the crowds of rushing people in various shades of grey and scents of bagels or hot dogs or something equally cliché, was nothing compared to the city that was right outside his door, threatening to burst through his window. The neon lights and music, the nightlife, the clack of spindly stiletto soles against the sidewalk, lurked behind his blackout curtains, larger than life.
Sunday, Monday, crappy days. Tuesday, Wednesday, crappy days. Thursday, Friday… Another Friday, a week since the young intern had flicked through his photo album and idly reminisced. There he was again, sprawled on his couch, blue tie still in a perfect knot, tucked neatly under his crisp collar. A stack of papers glared at him from the low wooden table, and he batted a hand at them nonchalantly, eyelids heavier than the weight of the work to do.
The insistent ringing of his phone burst through the silence that lingered around the room, and roused Jongdae from his almost slumber; his slender fingers fumbled for the small handset as he blinked away persistent sleep.
“Jongdick,” the deep voice boomed to greet his ears from the other end of the line. He rolled his eyes so hard he was slightly nervous that they were going to turn a full 360.
“Kris, what do you want? It’s late.”
“It’s nine. Get dressed, we’re going out.”
“I’m not going out,” came the incredulous reply, spat as if the Chinese idiot had told him they were going to twerk for tips in a dodgy neighbourhood.
“You are. We’ll be round in half an hour. Look decent.”
In a messy apartment in Queens, a group of five young men gathered around the table to discuss the night’s plans over a cheap pizza.
“I haven’t seen him in a month or so,” Tao shrugged his shoulders, poking out his tongue to catch the string of mozzarella that hung between him and his slice.
“He’s got the best GPA I’ve ever seen,” Baekhyun blinked up, picking off the pepperoni idly before shoving the meatless slice in the direction of his boyfriend.
“But he never leaves the office or his house unless he’s in class,” said boyfriend Chanyeol took the slice gratefully and started to nibble.
“He’s coming out whether he likes it or not.”
“Where are we going to take him?”
“To smoke hookah.”
“To a strip club.”
“To get a hooker with hookah from a strip club.”
“You guys are stupid,” Sehun scrunched his nose at their suggestions. “He’s never gonna go for that - the moment you push him anywhere with loud music and alcohol he’s clearly going to run in the other direction. Plus why the fuck would he want a hooker? Get one for your own desperate asses.”
“Well, where are we going to take him then?”
“Maybe he has more refined taste than you.”
“He doesn’t have refined taste, he’s just a pussy. We’re not backing out now and letting him stay in his apartment the whole weekend again.”
“You’re approaching this all wrong,” the youngest of the five shook his head as if he was surrounded by village idiots, taking a sip of the diet soda to his right. “You need to be more subtle.”
“Subtle isn’t really in Kris’ vocabulary,” Baekhyun shrugged.
“How are we supposed to be subtle? Maybe we could take him to a jazz club first. He likes that shit, right? Let’s take him out to eat. Or maybe a no-nipples show before we go for the full…”
“You’re overthinking it. Again.”
“Well, what do you suggest, Einstein Jr?”
“Spike his drink with vodka before you even get him out the door, morons.”
Jongdae could hear them before he could see them. His ear could pick out the individual voices before they were even too close, Kris and Chanyeol’s baritones with Baekhyun and Tao layered underneath. There was a moment of silence that made even the one in his own apartment stop in his tracks, until he craned his head to hear a mumble of a voice so quiet it was like no one was even speaking. He figured that Sehun was there too.
For a moment, he had believed that Kris honestly just wanted to come over and watch a few films, maybe order some good Italian food before watching a sitcom. The whole ‘night out’ thing would have been a set-up, and it was really just an excuse to get his food through the threshold. Besides, the business major was tired. Didn’t these young whippersnappers understand what it was like to work anymore? It meant that Saturdays were for errands and Sundays were spent doing paperwork in preparation for Monday, and so should have been spent sober. These kids.
“Chen, open the door,” Tao was the one rapping his knuckles against it now, and the nickname made Jongdae feel a pang of nostalgia for when the two of them used to be inseparable. Back in the days where he thought he was going to double major in Mandarin and performing arts, and the world was his oyster. Back when he met a shy exchange student with a dumb laugh that looked like he was going to kick the shit out of anyone who crossed his path. Before Tao dropped out and he transferred to Stern, and suddenly there seemed to be more than a subway line between the two of them.
He walked forward to twist his key and let them in, and was greeted by five faces so disappointed he could have sworn they were expecting Spike Lee riding in on a unicorn.
“What are you wearing?”
“Did we interrupt you on your way to the office?”
“Don’t tell me you’re fetching coffee and making copies at this time of night.”
“So being an intern really is a 24 hour job.”
“Dear God, he hasn’t even taken off his tie,” Baekhyun’s judging eyes drifted to the bright blue silk underneath Jongdae’s icy white collar.
“It’s not even that nice of a tie,” Sehun made his first contribution to the ‘let’s all judge Jongdae’s style choices’ extravaganza.
“Hey, this is a nice tie,” he tried to respond, in a way that sounded much more ‘my mum bought it for me’ than ‘I will fuck you up’.
“It’s a horrible tie.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s right with it?”
“More importantly, why the hell are you still wearing a suit at nine o’clock in the evening on a Friday night? Did we not specifically tell you to get dressed before we came?”
“I did get dressed.”
“I’m not talking about this morning,” Baekhyun sighed. “You’re wearing a shirt, tie, pants.”
“Italian leather shoes,” Sehun mumbled the only somewhat-approving thing.
“Seriously, I got changed a little bit. I was reading some articles about how you should be able to transition your outfit from day to night with just a feature piece or a change in accessories.”
“Have you been reading women’s magazines?” Chanyeol quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that was in Cosmo. Julia was telling me about that article this morning,” Baekhyun nodded.
Jongdae chuckled nervously.
“I didn’t know they’d been running the same articles as Men’s Health,” he stuttered out. Silence passed.
“Dude, reconsider your choices.”
“Cosmo…”’
“Hey, hey, no need for the gender roles, boys. Would you want your children to grow up in a world where they can’t choose their own reading material -“
“Alright, Martin Luther King, where do we sign your petition?” Chanyeol slapped him on the back playfully - if ‘playfully’ meant ‘hard enough to make one cough up a lung’.
“What did you even change from the office, if you’ve changed from your day clothes?” Baekhyun asked, frowning in concern. Jongdae blinked quietly, as if it was obvious, but was greeted with nothing but a questioning expression urging him to speak.
“I changed my pants,” he explained matter-of-factly, gesturing to them.
“They’re pants. You’re wearing pants.”
“Different pants.”
“They’re still… Jongdae…” Baek put a hand on the other’s shoulder like he was staging an intervention. “You’re wearing black slacks.”
“Black pinstripe slacks,” Jongdae mumbled like a sulky child.
“Pinstripes!”
“Oh dear God, not the pinstripes.”
“Did you hear that, Yeol? He said he was wearing pinstripes.”
“You go easy now.”
“You don’t want to break something with all this living on the edge, all those wild decisions, you crazy bastard.”
“You’re not coming out with us wearing pinstripe slacks and a shirt and tie, you imbecile.”
“Well, what a shame,” the first few words fell out of Jongdae’s mouth before he could stop them, soon followed by a whole host of others. “I’ll have to stay in and watch The Vow, I mean, if it’s on tonight…”
“He has it on DVD,” Baekhyun whispered to Sehun, who nodded understandingly.
“Do not!”
“You do too.”
“Anyway, if you guys are so desperate to go out and I don’t fit the bill, then it’s perfectly okay for me to stay in and you guys just enjoy yourself, I mean, don’t cancel it on account of me.”
“Oh please.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“We’ll just have to redress you.”
Jongdae quaked in his leather shoes.
“Redress me?” his voice came, as a squeak rather than the smooth and sexy tenor tone he liked to imagine it was most of the time.
“How hard can it be?”
“He’s wearing pinstripe slacks, Baek.”
“I do love a challenge.”
“Who would have known that you had this in your closet? You look great.”
“Not everybody has a male, Korean Tyra Banks to style them into America’s Next Top Model,” Jongdae smoothed down his skinny fit pants with an unimpressed expression hanging grimly upon his face, examining the others.
“You needed me like oxygen, Jongdae.”
“What would the guys at the office say?” Tao slurred his teasing, stealing Kris’ drink whilst he wasn’t looking.
“Are you drunk?” the office guy himself examined with horror.
“You’re drunk.”
“Are we finally ready to go out? I’ve suffered through a whole shitload of classes today looking forward to getting wasted with this square,” Kris sighed, grasping around for his beer when he discovered the bottle perched between Tao’s lips. “Give me that, you little shit.”
“Square?!” Jongdae remarked in light offense. “Just because I’m not a bad Chinese rip off of Fonzie?”
The other five watched in surprise as Kris’ eyebrows rose almost past his hairline, and little fragments of words threatened to leave his lips before being cut short by his own bemusement.
“You - are you drunk already?”
“Not drunk, just smarter than you,” Jongdae remarked, grabbing the tallest’s jacket and slinging it over his own shoulder on his way to the door. “Now, can we leave already? If we hang around I’m gonna lose my momentum.”
His half-willing, half-unwilling cohort shuffled after him to the door, mumbling various accusations at Baekhyun, who was the only one entirely delighted with the new Jongdae evolution.
“You must have drugged him. What did you do, slip LSD into his drink?”
“LSD is a bit extreme,” Sehun glanced up from his phone screen to critique Chanyeol’s narcotic choices, before looking back down.
“Roofies. Or…! Weed brownies!”
“Now you’re on the money,” the youngest affirmed, not even bothering to look up.
Nightclubs are dark for a reason. Nothing would be as fun if the partygoers were losing themselves in the light, and darkness adds mystery, anonymity. Smoke drifts, swirls in the air and tangles itself around the dancers, leaving its mark in their hair, scent, a taste on their tongue. Limbs entwine themselves and drinks are poured, and the sounds are enticing, thick bass music and intoxicating melodies. But they cloak the real symphony of the place, the sleazy rust of it, the clinks of ice and pick up lines, stilettos on dirty floors and raucous laughs.
Jongdae shoved himself to the bar with sweaty palms, and when he went to wipe them awkwardly on his pants, he was horrified as he felt the leathery texture.
“Chill out, Elle Woods, you look fine.”
“Elle Woods went from partying to being a lawyer,” Jongdae turned up his nose at the sweaty bodies crowding to get a drink.
“Then play your Legally Blonde DVD backwards and get turnt. Job done.”
“You seemed so into this when we were leaving your apartment…”
“I think I’ve contracted tetanus, Baekhyun!” Jongdae hissed. The flirty girl to his side grimaced as she shuffled away slightly.
“Listen. You look great. You feel great.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. That nervousness is just the HIV you caught from the guy pissing on the wall outside setting in.”
“That’s so scientifically inaccurate.”
“That’s what you think, Jongdouchebag. Let’s get you a drink,” Chanyeol did his back-slapping thing again, and Jongdae elbowed him in the ribs.
“I think he’s starting to loosen up.”
“I think he’s actually going to get HIV. Look at the way he’s grinding.”
“Chanyeol, I think we need to get you to a sex ed class.”
“Ooooh, can you be the teacher?”
“Can you bend me over a desk?”
“Can I get some extra credit?”
Sehun let his face morph into a disgusted expression.
“Can the two of you keep this for your own private time? Baekhyun, I had more faith in you. Chanyeol, the only extra credit you need is the literal kind. Shut up. We’re supposed to be focusing.”
“Ooooh, focusing.”
“Now that’s a sure fire way to have fun. You belong over there with Jongdae,” Baekhyun shooed.
“Where did Kris and Tao go?”
“Tao went to go dance with some weird girl with a pierced septum and Kris went off to sulk. I don’t know whether it’s because of septum girl or because he’s still bad that Jongdae called him a bad Chinese rip off of Fonzie.”
“If he’s mad about that, he should probably bin those jackets. And maybe style his hair differently.”
“Maybe he’s not mad about that part,” Chanyeol hypothesised, a philosophical look appearing on his face as he stared into the distance. “Maybe it was the bad Chinese rip off. Maybe he’s going for the real thing. The full monty. He wants to become Fonzie.”
“Krisarelli.”
“Ay.”
Jongdae popped up like a Whack-a-Mole, all wide-eyed amidst the standing circle, clutching a bottle.
“I’m not feeling turnt yet.”
“What are you even drinking?”
“What is that?”
He gazed at his glass, then back to the taller group, shrugging.
“It’s Smirnoff Ice.”
“He drinks Smirnoff Ice.”
“You’re such a loser.”
“Down it and we’re getting you out of here. We’re going to have to go to Plan B.”
The music boomed from the speakers, and the low lights let the illuminated stage draw all of the attention. Poles rose imposingly from the stage, and women in material anyone with less experience would have assumed was too small to be sequined gyrated on them like they were the ones that were gonna throw bills. The beat was low and silky, and waitresses dressed in slightly more than the dancers pranced around the floor delivering drinks of choice to the lucky men in house.
If hostages were ever brought to strip clubs, Jongdae figured this was how it would be. Kris on one side, Chanyeol on the other, dragged in by his two arms, he found himself in an environment so foreign he wanted to crawl up in homesickness in the corner. What were those? Were those boobs? Why was he having to look at boobs and oh, oh God, lap dances, how the fuck was he going to survive - why was this happening -
“Quick question,” Sehun nudged Baekhyun, a frown playing across his forehead. “Why exactly are we bringing him to a strip club? We all know he doesn’t swing this way. Is this that ‘homosexuality therapy’ people are talking about nowadays?”
“No, you douche. We all know that he doesn’t swing this way. But we have ulterior motives.”
“I think that sounds even scarier than just bringing him here to get a lap dance.”
“You see the thing is,” Tao joined in the conversation, slinging an arm around Sehun’s shoulders, “this place is Jongdae’s idea of literal hell.”
“And that’s gonna get him in the mood.”
“Nah, but he’s gonna get so freaked by all the bouncing tits he’s gonna down tequila like it’s going out of style. We’re just gonna get him drunk.”
Sehun pulled a face of astonishment, eyes flittering between Tao and Baekhyun like a tennis match.
“You’re evil geniuses.”
“Better than spiking his drink with vodka before he even leaves, huh, big shot?”
“Let’s put this phase on double speed, Baek. I’m starting to sober up.”
Jongdae sat in a squishy chair at the foot of one of the legs of the stage, trying to focus more on the idea that the chair was comfortable rather than: a) what had been spilt on the leather upholstery, or b) the grinding stripper that was about two metres in front of him, giving him the occasional eye.
“I think she likes me, Yeol.”
“Why?”
“She’s giving me the look. I’m scared.”
“She wants your money, not your dick.”
Tao slinked to the side, placing a cool shot of tequila in one of his hands, a lemon in the other.
“Drinks up, Jongdick. Make it fast and I just might let you lick the salt off of my-“
“That’s enough, Tao,” Sehun rolled his eyes lazily, one arm folded across his chest and the other presented to his eyes for them to nonchalantly check his nails.
“Yeah, enough,” Kris repeated, uncharacteristically sternly.
Jongdae glanced upwards towards the three towering men that stood before him. In a mild frenzy, he clocked the way that Sehun’s gaze flitted from his cuticles, to Tao, to Kris, back again. He saw how Kris looked back at Sehun, eyes only occasionally glancing to the gyrating women. He even spotted the glint in Tao’s eyes as he looked directly back at him, playful and dangerous. He grabbed the salt, shook it straight into his mouth frantically, squeezed the lemon over his face and shot back the tequila with enough speed to make the whole thing look efficient - if he hadn’t now got a face covered in juice, choking on the salt and the burn of the liquor.
“That’s how we do it,” Yeol clapped him on the back in that mock-helpful way of his.
“Again, again!” Baekhyun clapped his hands.
“Again?”
“Again.”
“Again?”
“No, seriously, again.”
“Y’know, I work for tips,” the waiter hinted unsubtly with a droning tone, placing the bottle of tequila in Tao’s grabby hands. Jongdae’s eyes wandered from the polished black shoes, the slacks, the pressed white shirt, to the thin black tie. Then, they journeyed so mindlessly to the chiselled jawline, the smooth curve of still-chubby cheeks.
“I didn’t know there was some tomboy shit going on here.”
“Shut up, Kris,” Jongdae let his hand flick to catch him between the legs, the music drowning out the Chinese boy’s cry of anguish.
“If you look that long, I’ma have to start charging,” Cheeks Guy let a quirky smirk play across his face, and Jongdae was half convinced that the right thing to do was start throwing $50 bills.
“What’s your name?”
“You can call me Xiumin. Now drink up. That stuff isn’t cheap.”
Author's note: i am sorry. a lot of stuff got in the way of my writing time and muse, and i found it hard to create something that you would enjoy. this is more of a... prelogue when i look at the length and then compare it to the length that i planned to write. it comes with a free promise that it will be continued, and a hearty apology. i hope you like this short little thing nonetheless, and rest assured that i will write you the completion to this beautiful prompt, when life isn’t shooting arrows up my ass.