Read You Like a Magazine (1/6) [for shrdmdnssftw]
Title: Read You Like a Magazine
Recipient: shrdmdnssftw
Rating: R
Word Count: 42.3k
Warning(s): crack
Summary: You know where idols that wind up as train wrecks go? Back to school, that's where.
A/N: I'm sorry, shrdmdnssftw, I tried.
part one | two | three | four | five | six
At first Jinyoung thinks it's a trick of light. On any normal day, he wouldn't be awake enough at eight AM to even register anything beyond trudging towards the seat nearest to the door in his required general education subject for the semester -- which, in retrospect, probably explains just why he hasn't noticed this until three weeks into the subject. He could have gone through the rest of the school year coasting along, blissfully ignorant of the other half of the room, but Jinyoung's life is a tragicomedy waiting to happen and, really, this is just the icing on the tip of the metaphorical cake.
He has Yugyeom to blame for waking up earlier than usual, what with how the kid had called him in the midst of a mental breakdown that's been waiting to happen since the beginning of his senior year and the impending doom of college entrance applications and exams. Instead of staying in bed with a pillow suffocating him in his sleep, he'd had to talk Yugyeom out of the panic attack he'd had at four in the morning when no decent college student should be awake, ever.
("I'm going to fail," Yugyeom had wailed. "I'm going to fail and dad will kill me and mom will disown me and Bambam is going to steal all my stuff when I end up homeless and starving in a gutter, hyung."
Jinyoung would have made fun of how wet his voice sounded if he had the presence of mind to do so. "Mmfgrgh," he'd said instead, ever the epitome of an intelligent and respectable human being.
"You're not helpful," said Yugyeom.
"Call me again at this hour," said Jinyoung, "and I'll kill you dead.")
He considers himself to be a good hyung, threats of murder aside; otherwise, he would never have suffered through an extended hour of Yugyeom not-crying into the phone about going into military service and hoping to never come back to Seoul if he didn't get into SKY, as if he hadn't applied to five hundred other schools abroad with the privilege of coming from an AB household. (Jinyoung tries not to be bitter about a lot of things, but without a fortifying cup of tea and food in his stomach, he's a lost cause.) Good hyungs, even the non-blood related ones, are supposed to get rewarded for their suffering and sacrifices, and Jinyoung doesn't claim to be a religious person but he sure as hell believes in karma.
So what, he wonders, is the bane of his existence doing in his - here he has to double check his schedule -- Media and Contemporary Society class?
"Jackson," he says, clinging onto the other boy's shirt sleeve with the vice grip of an anaconda about to swallow its prey. "Jackson, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
Jackson shoots him an irritated glance, speed reading his way into the required chapter ten minutes before the professor arrives. "What," Jackson says drily, "is it an asshole that won't let me skim this in peace?" He shoves at Jinyoung's arm, but Jinyoung keeps his grasp tight and almost bruising. Mark might have a few things to say about that, but Jinyoung is too distracted by his life falling apart in front of him to think too much about it.
"This is a disaster," says Jinyoung. "Why do I feel like I signed up for Intro to Greek Tragedy? I think I can hear a chorus in the background."
Jackson looks as done with Jinyoung as Jinyoung feels about the world. "Why did I say yes when you said this was going to be an easy A," he mourns, already throwing his book aside. It lands uselessly with a pathetic flop over his bag. "Go back to Hong Kong for registration week and this shit happens. I should have known better than to let you choose my classes for me."
"Jackson," Jinyoung keeps whimpering, "is it too late to change classes?"
"What the hell is wrong with you anyway?" Jackson moves to turn to the direction Jinyoung is looking at, only Jinyoung stops him with a yelp and a hand shoving his face onto his arm chair. "Fucking ow, Jinyoung, that hurts!"
"Don't look," Jinyoung hisses. "He's gonna see us!"
"Is this one of your exes that we always said was imaginary," says Jackson, muffled through the plastic surface. "I'm sorry we never believed you all along. Please stop suffocating me in my seat."
"Oh for the love of," Jinyoung cuts himself off, and pushes Jackson's face further into his seat. Jackson makes an unhappy sound at the back of his throat in response, disgruntled. "This is worse than an angry ex, okay? Why didn't you tell me about him?"
Jackson sits up, glaring at Jinyoung. "You're making as much sense as Mark-hyung does in Korean class," says Jackson, "which, you know, doesn't really help me at all."
"Middle row, farthest column," Jinyoung spits out.
Jackson inclines his head towards the other end of the room (Jinyoung dies a little inside with how obvious he stretches in his seat and yawns), and turns back to Jinyoung with a blank face. He keeps looking at Jinyoung like he's batshit insane, which would be disquieting if it didn't happen on a regular basis. "Please explain to me what I'm supposed to be gawking at with the indignation of a thousand fiery suns," he says.
Jinyoung makes a strangled noise in his throat.
"Given how speechless you are right now, I was almost expecting PSY," says Jackson. "Or Jay Chou, but you can't have it all, can you?"
"It's Im fucking Jaebum," Jinyoung does. Not. Yell.
To his mortification, Jaebum looks up from his phone and turns to look at their direction. He doesn't look too pleased at the noise, but he's not angry, either. He stares at Jinyoung for a long, measured moment, lips quirking upwards only when Jinyoung sinks into his seat and covers his eyes with his arm, pressing deeper until he can see white spots behind his eyelids.
"Please kill me," says Jinyoung, despondently. His insides can't stop churning; Jaebum's small smirk is still seared into his brain. "Oh god, is he still looking?"
"No, he's not staring at your crazy anymore," says Jackson, bored.
Jinyoung peeks from behind his arm and, true enough, Jaebum is back to playing a game on his phone. Jinyoung huffs, except it comes out as a relieved sigh instead.
"Uh," says Jackson, squinting. "Am I supposed to know who that dude is? You say his name like he's a mass murderer or something." He squirms in his seat. "Is he a mass murderer? Does SNU even do background checks on its students?"
"He's worse," Jinyoung despairs. "He's a teen idol."
"Oh," says Jackson. "Huh. So that's why everyone and their mother wanted to switch classes with me."
"Who are these people and when can I trade places with them?"
"You're not bailing out on me, man," says Jackson, still trying to pry Jinyoung's fingers off of his sleeve. "If I didn't give in to Jimin bribing me with 200,000 won, what makes you think I'd let you do it first?" He yanks Jinyoung's hand off, white knuckled and sweating. "Suck it up."
"If I ignore him long enough, do you think he'll go away and cut class forever?" Jinyoung sobs into his the cover of his planner. "He looks like an irresponsible student anyway, right?"
Jackson pretends to think about it for a second, then proceeds to ruin the rest of Jinyoung's life. "I think I should ask him to be our study buddy for next time."
It's practically a curse when Jackson gleefully trots over to where Jaebum is sitting and manages to make friends with him within the few minutes before the professor walks in. Forget Jaebum. Jinyoung fucking hates Jackson so much.
It's not that Jinyoung's hatred is irrational and unfounded. Economics has taught him to be a rational decision-maker, but Jackson's claims that Jinyoung should shift into drama like the "over-acting asshat he is" might have some basis.
Because the reality is, in an unspecified point in time that Jinyoung keeps trying to suppress from memory, Jinyoung once harbored big dreams of entering one of the big three entertainment agencies instead of university, hoping against hope that Lee Soo Man, Yang Hyun-suk or even his own namesake would deem him worthy of a life of synchronized dancing, uninformed fashion choices, and perfectly timed lip syncing. He'd been so idealistic in his auditions, then, sitting in the waiting room and chatting nervously to the bored-looking boy beside him, the one with the perpetually furrowed brow and lazy slouch that never said a word to him for the three hours that they were waiting in line.
He didn't even look like he had half the ambition and drive that Jinyoung did, and Jinyoung had almost written him off as a lost cause, not even worthy of being a competitor. Because surely only hard workers wound up winning in the end, right? This kid wasn’t gonna last long, not with how much of a mess he was compared to Jinyoung's semi-formal clothes, his pressed shirt, his leather shoes shining even without the bright lighting of the waiting room.
Then Jinyoung heard him sing, and he was crushed.
"Childhood trauma, how interesting," Yugyeom comments, dryly. "Tell me more." He flips a page, then squints at an equation. "Or not."
"Who the hell even stands a chance when in the same line with that guy anyway?" Jinyoung groans into a throw pillow. He's trying to suffocate himself, or at least mold his body into Yugyeom's couch. Regrettably, even the couch is failing him at the moment. "Anyone would be relegated to second place after that audition."
"Youngjae-hyung does," Yugyeom grumbles, not looking up from his practice sheets. One down, eternity to go. Jinyoung should probably feel sorry for him, but he's too busy wallowing to spare Yugyeom some comforting words. "At least he doesn't sing off-key."
"Youngjae is a vocal major, he's supposed to sing on point all the time."
"Well, now we know why you never went into music, right," says Yugyeom, snidely. For a guy that was an emotional mess not a few days ago, Yugyeom is strangely calm. Jinyoung throws a paperweight at him and misses.
"I hate you so much, you have no idea," says Jinyoung, levelly. "And you missed a negative sign in number 26."
"What are you talking about, I did not - never mind," Yugyeom sighs and picks up his eraser, furiously rubbing and frowning at his mistake. "Look, hyung," he says, "just because your childhood dreams were destroyed-"
"I was robbed."
"-doesn't mean you have to take it out on the entire world," Yugyeom finishes with a raised eyebrow. "Like, if I never become a doctor in the future, that doesn't mean that I'm gonna hate everything and everyone in the medical field."
"Yeah, because your mom would have killed you and hidden your body by then."
Yugyeom pales at the reminder. "That too. But you're more than welcome to conduct your pity party somewhere else, you know."
"I'm hungry and no one's home to feed me," says Jinyoung, sadly.
"This is why your mom doesn't trust you enough to live by yourself," Yugyeom sighs. He puts his pen down and heads into the kitchen for a few minutes as Jinyoung reacquaints himself with counting the number of stains on the rug. When he comes back, he has a tray of drinks and a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand, courtesy of a mother that loves Jinyoung with the affection of a hundred doting sisters. This is the only reason Jinyoung puts up with Yugyeom's shit so much.
"It's not like I just hate him for getting through the auditions and I didn't," says Jinyoung, irritably. He glares at Yugyeom as he pops a cookie into his mouth. The bread crumbs detract his attempt to come off as menacing. He rubs his hand at his cheek.
"Oh really?" Yugyeom says, handing him a mug of hot tea. "Are you finally admitting that you're jealous?"
"No," says Jinyoung. He chews with as much viciousness as he has resentment for Im Jaebum. "I'm angry because he had a chance and he fucked everything up like an idiot in one go."
"He's twenty one, hyung," says Yugyeom, patiently. "I think he's entitled to make some mistakes."
"Not if it's an irresponsible one," Jinyoung spits out. "He's coasted along training with a half-hearted attitude towards practice, and then he screws up his image like he doesn't think about the consequences." He bites his lip. "You know how I feel about people like that."
"Says the guy who takes forever to finish anything," says Yugyeom. "But his image? Since when did he have a bad one?"
"Are you kidding me?" Jinyoung groans. "Seriously?"
"I'm not obsessed, hyung."
Jinyoung ignores the thinly-veiled insult. "Remember when we went to Jeju with Bambam and when we came back my sister was having a heart attack over feeling like a pedophile preying on someone my age? And then I was mentally scarred for life because there are just some things we should never know about our older siblings?"
"Oh, that Jeju trip," says Yugyeom. He strokes his chin. "I think I remember this one, considering how you wouldn't shut up about it more than noona did." He opens his laptop and types Im Jaebum Maxim scandal, and not a few seconds later, HQ pictures of Jaebum's infamous photoshoot pop up in all its sordid glory. The internet never, ever forgets. "Huh. He has a really nice upper body. And are these pecs real?"
Trust Yugyeom to get his priorities screwed up. "Who cares about his muscles?" Jinyoung wails. "If I were his manager, I would never have let him go through with that nude photoshoot, rebellious phase or not. Korea is not ready for underage exposure and indecency!"
"I'm pretty sure he was eighteen here," says Yugyeom, wincing at Jinyoung's loud yell of HE WAS SEVENTEEN AND A HALF. He's speaking slowly now, in that patronizing way that makes Jinyoung want to keep him in a headlock if only the damn kid weren't so tall, or if Yugyeom didn't have a tendency to retaliate with his own punches. "Also, if you're telling me you didn't fap to this at some point, I'm calling you out on your filthy lies."
"Not the point," Jinyoung snaps. "We're not dragging my dick into this."
"Well, if we're dragging anything --"
"Augh, you're hopeless. Aren't we supposed to be focusing on my internal angst?"
"Yes, your inner torments and demons, how could we forget," says Yugyeom, already bored. "Here, have another cookie."
Jinyoung opens his mouth and almost tears up at the tang of chocolate in his tongue, not because crumbs are most likely blocking his wind pipe. "It's not fair that he got the chance and shot his career to hell. We're not living in America, so what was he expecting?"
"Isn't that a sign of bravery, though?" Yugyeom asks. "He was taking a risk, even if it didn't end well for him." He shrugs and opens his palms upwards. "I don't think you can say the same for half the kids in the industry."
"That's called being stupid, not brave," Jinyoung mutters. Yugyeom rolls his eyes.
"Wow, what a very positive vote of confidence," says Yugyeom. "You are the future of South Korea. Why do I feel depressed?"
"What's depressing is that I could have lived my entire life forgetting about how he showed me up one time, but then he had to do this and it's the worst." He turns back to sulking in the couch, already feeling queasy from the combined pangs of bloating and frustration. "Idols are supposed to be clean before military service corrupts them, not making their foray into a life of over-sexualization and notoriety."
Yugyeom shakes his head and continues idly going through Jaebum's descent into debauchery. Jinyoung can't see Yugyeom's face with his back against him, but from the laptop screen, he thinks he can see Yugyeom's frown. "I think you have unrealistic expectations of idols, hyung."
"Tell that to the rest of Seoul," Jinyoung scoffs, "then we can talk."
Jackson laughs in his face when Jinyoung shows him the pictures in an effort to show him the light and dissuade him from careening further down into an endless spire of regret and humiliation.
Well, first he laughs. Then he slaps Jinyoung's thigh with the tenacity of a doped up frat boy, which he kind of is. Then he makes it a point to jump up and down the couch in his hysteria. Jinyoung sometimes questions why he ever tells Jackson anything because nothing good ever comes out of it. He hopes that suffocation via extreme bouts of laughter is a thing.
"Oh my god," says Jackson, claiming he's recovered enough despite braying like a hyena in the face of the large DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging by the wall in his dorm's common room. Jinyoung pokes at his salad, imagining he's stabbing Jackson with his chopsticks instead. "This is hilarious, wait until I shove this in JB's face."
Jinyoung tries to hide into his seat, hoping it will swallow him up with how embarrassing Jackson sounds. He's glad that there's barely anyone in the dorms this weekend, at least; most of the residents have lives outside of SNU, preferring to go to out of the campus and into Myeongdong. Jackson's supposed to be at the indoor gym, but apparently an out of town coach and a team captain nursing a hangover is the key combination to cancelled practices, and Jackson had whined and wheedled at Jinyoung to keep him company.
It's only after a few seconds of sulking that he realizes what Jackson's just said. "JB?" Jinyoung repeats, aghast. "You call him by his stage name now?"
"Hell yeah," says Jackson, pulling out his phone. "We're friends, Jinyoung. It helps that I'm a very personable and charismatic person." He pauses. "Also, I'm not a stalker fan or an anti, so there's that."
"I can't believe this," says Jinyoung. "And he's, like, one batch higher than us. He's in Mark-hyung's year."
"So?" Jackson asks. "He's cool with it."
So is Mark-hyung but you're too weird about him to drop it around me, Jinyoung thinks. He opts to scowl at Jackson instead.
"When I'm rolling in dough and preening over all the gifts my celebrity friends give me, will you believe it?" Jackson muses. "You realize social climbing is part of being an athlete, right?"
Jinyoung stares at the ceiling. It doesn't provide him with any answers on why he's friends with Jackson, but the white paint helps him reevaluate his life choices. Jinyoung is of the firm opinion that university is for actual studying. Jackson, on the other hand, thinks of school as one big social club with the downside of having to crack open books periodically. Only one of them is not barely coasting along, and Jinyoung isn't laughing at the irony gods. "I thought it was about sweaty sportswear and overconfidence?"
"Well, that too, but we gotta feed ourselves by kissing our sponsors' asses," says Jackson, shrugging. Sometimes he forgets how ruthless and pragmatic Jackson can be, which is most likely part of the reason he appealed to him to begin with. They're ambitious, backstabbing brats without loyalty. He'd feel more proud except the betrayal just stings.
"You traitor," Jinyoung hisses.
"Oh please." Jackson waves him off, as if his opinion doesn't matter. Rude. "You know, in Hong Kong, we're a bit more liberal than you ahjussis with your panties in a bunch, so this isn't really too bad considering all the shit other idols do."
"Because of course you're the symbol of innocence yourself," Jinyoung snarks back.
Jackson pauses in his texting -- HAHA DIDN'T KNOW YOU KPOP KIDS HAD ACTUAL EXCITING LIVES, I'M SO PROUD, it reads - and raises his eyebrow at him. "Why are you so traumatized about seeing his dick? I thought you would be overjoyed to see anyone's cock hanging out."
"It's not his dick," says Jinyoung, flushing when a passing junior gapes at them. "It's him. I didn't enlist for this class just so I could meet my eternal rival and wish death on him on a daily basis."
"One, he doesn't even know you exist," Jackson ticks off. "Two, you don't even talk to him. Three, are you sure it's not about his dick, because I feel like you have some fucked up and misplaced sexual tension going on."
Jinyoung's sure he's as red as the cherry tomatoes on his plate. Maybe redder. At the rate he's going, he's gonna be purple with anger and rage, hopefully the same shade as Jackson's neck while he's strangling him. "I do not have sexual feelings for Im Jaebum!"
Jackson leans over to pat his arm soothingly, the action belying his words. "You don't have feelings. You're incapable of feelings. What you have is a raging hard-on for Jaebum's huge, thick, bulging -"
"Oh my god."
"Biceps, what the hell did you think I was gonna say?" Jackson smirks. With his free hand, he picks up the magazine that Jinyoung definitely pilfered from his older sister's stash and did not buy from the nearest bookstore selling back issues, thank you very much. Jackson whistles under his breath. "What kind of workout did this guy do to get these muscles anyway?"
"Why don't you ask your friend?" Jinyoung grouses, yanking his arm away from Jackson. "Maybe you could trade secrets on how to be assholes."
"If we're assholes, at least we're sexy," says Jackson, sagely. "I don't mind being lumped with that." Jinyoung covers his face and tries not to sob into his hands. Jackson continues, oblivious to his struggle. "Come on, you have to admit he looks really good in this. You'd have to be blind to not want to jump his jailbait ass."
Jinyoung closes his eyes and thinks of Jaebum reclining on a chaise lounge with a sheet swathed around the tangle of his limbs, thumb swiping across his lower lip and eyes hooded at the camera. The definition of muscle across his back that actually-seventeen-but-skirting-the-legal-age year olds didn't deserve to have, not when they're supposed to look like ungainly twigs still uncomfortable in their skin. Then he wishes he hadn't thought of it at all, because it just makes him feel worse. He reaches out to swat at Jackson blindly for the reminder.
"Wow, so manly," Jackson scoffs, neatly ducking away. "If you're attracted to him, you don't have to flagellate yourself. I'm pretty sure you're not in that kind of cult."
"Not a masochist, sorry."
"Could have fooled me, but you're so repressed I'm kinda proud you even know the word," Jackson coos, and goes back to making fun of Jaebum on KKT.
Jinyoung whimpers and rests his head on the table. Jinyoung's been doing a lot of that lately, sighing and glaring at hard surfaces. No one in the world understands him.
"You are a bad, disgusting person," Jinyoung informs him. "I hope that when you die, you remember how much pain you inflicted on me for existing."
"Whatever," says Jackson, rolling his eyes in disdain, "I'm not gonna stop being friends with him just because you have a problem with showing a little skin."
True, but Jackson is also an exhibitionist himself, if his dorm mates' complaints are a barometer for it. "I'm so glad none of my other friends have your taste," Jinyoung shoots back, "because you have the worst in the world."
Apparently, he's also wrong about that.
He's ranting about Jackson and Jaebum's ill-formed friendship to Youngjae while they're sorting out the returned books in the library. Well, Jinyoung is; Youngjae's too distracted with his composition to do anything more than hold things for Jinyoung. It's not really Youngjae's job, but this is the only break he has and Jinyoung's shift as a student assistant at the library is in a perpetual state of flux.
"Oh, JB-hyung?" Youngjae says, fingertips drumming an inaudible beat into the spine of his book. "He's cool."
Jinyoung almost falls off the ladder with how fast he turns to gape at Youngjae.
"What?" Youngjae asks, perplexed. "He was in my music theory class last year. He was pretty good, for an idol."
For an idol. Sometimes Jinyoung remembers exactly how elitist the Music majors are when it comes to news about people in the entertainment industry breaking into the academic circle, tight-fisted and grudging. Jinyoung really likes the Music department's pettiness.
"Did he write cheesy pop lyrics and pass it off as his magnum opus?" Jinyoung asks, genuinely curious. He squints at the label on the hardbound copy Youngjae passes to him, quickly scanning the shelf for the code nearest D256.7. "How many times did he say baby, love, and girl?"
"Uh, zero?" Youngjae says, wrinkling his nose. "We were actually really surprised with how decent he was. I think our professor didn't even think he could read music."
Jinyoung chalks it up as yet another thing Jaebum can do better than he does. Jinyoung can't even stare at a sheet of music without wanting to throw up, too familiar with learning things by ear (thank you, reruns of Korean Idol and X Factor). If I wanted to read, he'd told Youngjae when the younger boy had tried to teach him, I'd pick up Tolstoy, not this.
"He had to learn it at some point," says Jinyoung, still not impressed. "I'd be ashamed of myself if I made millions of won out of pop songs and I couldn't even differentiate a treble clef from a bass."
"You don't even know what those are," Youngjae teases. He steadies the ladder Jinyoung's on when Jinyoung smacks his shoulder. "Hey, quit it, hyung!"
"Not until you see the light," says Jinyoung. He hits him again, for good measure. "I didn't raise you to collude with my enemies and stab me in the back like Jackson."
"My parents raised me, not you," says Youngjae, scoffing. "You're mistaking me for Yugyeom."
"Another traitor," says Jinyoung.
"Give me that," says Youngjae, wrestling the battered paperback of Julius Caesar away. "And Jaebum-hyung is a really nice guy, I don't know why you're so hung up about his life as a teenage wet dream."
Jinyoung splutters and gets down from the ladder. "He is a walking pile of hormones," says Jinyoung, "and he might have improved, but he was in rock bottom before. There's no possible way to go but up."
"What?" Youngjae has the gall to laugh, and he wheezes when he inhales dust instead of air. "Is this about that naked photoshoot thing?"
"No," says Jinyoung, horrified.
"Jackson-hyung warned me about this," says Youngjae. The bastard still sounds amused. "He wasn't even completely naked, you know. At least there were bedsheets."
Jinyoung makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat.
"Hyung, if a can of soup can become a pop icon, why not consider the human body as high art?" Youngjae suggests, touching his shoulder with fake solemnity. Jinyoung has no idea what Youngjae is talking about, but he's not uncultured, fuck you.
"I sat in for your aesthetics class, don't you think I know that," Jinyoung snaps, yanking Youngjae's hand off his shoulder. "Keep shelving."
"Wow, okay, no wonder he also said you were repressed," Youngjae mutters.
"It's not repression if my hatred is utterly justified, Youngjae-ah."
"I feel like I'd believe that you're a logical person with a sound mind more if you didn't spend most of your time dreaming up ways to set Jackson-hyung on fire with your mind."
"He deserves it," says Jinyoung, sulking. "I'll have to deprioritize Jackson, though. Jaebum deserves it more."
"Hypothetically, other than exposing himself to the media, what other complaints do you have about hyung that would even rationalize that?" Youngjae challenges.
Jinyoung mentally goes through the barely-touched and omnipresent shelf called reasons why I fucking hate Im Jaebum. It's admittedly not a very coherent list, and Jinyoung does not do well under pressure. "Well, he was also really hot-tempered in press conferences and lost his shit in public more times than anyone in his age range," Jinyoung tries weakly. "Doesn't that count for something?"
"He debuted at fourteen, hyung," says Youngjae, sounding exasperated. "Can you imagine having to be a public figure at that age and being expected to control your emotions every time someone attacked you about one of your quirks?" He rubs at his sides, shivering. "I'd be scared as fuck in his place. I'm proud he turned up decent considering how many assholes are in the industry."
There's some truth in that, but Jinyoung's loathing is so all-encompassing that it physically pains him to accede. "It's the money," says Jinyoung, grimly. "It's all about the money."
Youngjae gapes at him. "You're really invested in this, huh?"
Jinyoung feels the back of his neck flush and his cheeks turn warm, so hot the air-conditioning does nothing to mask the temperature. Youngjae's mask of confusion cracks and he ends up bent over the trolley of books, trying to keep his hysterical laughter as quiet as he can in the library. Jinyoung doesn't think he has any shame left to feel in his body with how much his pride has been trampled by everyone in the past few days.
"I'm not invested," Jinyoung protests. "I'm not. I just don't think he's a person of good moral character that's fit to represent the school everywhere he goes."
Youngjae's still fanning himself as he tries to recover, but he can't keep the teasing lilt out of his words. "Really? Are you that concerned about the deteriorating standards of the academe? Because that's just bullshit, hyung."
"He's a failed idol," says Jinyoung, sniffing. "You know where idols that wind up as train wrecks go? Back to school, that's where."
Youngjae shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. "As opposed to failed trainees?"
"Oh fuck you," says Jinyoung. He sincerely regrets letting Yugyeom, Bambam and Youngjae ever meet, because Yugyeom is a dirty secret teller and a tattle tale and Jinyoung hopes he bombs all his entrance exams. He wonders how much time he has left before Jackson gets a hold of this information.
Youngjae sniggers behind a copy of Silence of the Lambs. Jinyoung wants to gut him. "So he's living a life of obscurity now, so what? Why does that bother you so much?"
"He's invading my life of obscurity!" Jinyoung groans. He grabs the book and stacks it on top of the rest of the pile, sneezing when the dust motes reach his nose. "How did he even get into SNU anyway? Did they have to dumb it down to add more people to the alumni page?" He glares at the shelf in front of him. "What the hell is his major, even?"
"He's not in the music department, that's for sure," says Youngjae. "Probably in dance, maybe? He used to be a b-boy, right?"
"Dance," Jinyoung repeats skeptically. He honestly has no idea what on earth a b-boy is. "We don't have a dance faculty, Youngjae." He shakes his head and grabs onto the trolley filled with books, and waits for Youngjae to inspect the contents and give him the go signal before they move to the next section.
"Or maybe he's doing some stuff on acting. You know these idols, always picking up drama roles left and right," says Youngjae, fixing his hat as they stroll past the glass windows. "Come to think of it, he'd make a really good-looking lead, with the whole bad boy thing going for him."
"He's definitely no Gu Jun-pyo," Jinyoung snorts. "He's tall, but he's not that tall."
"You're roughly the same height."
"I wasn't the idol, was I?"
"Yes," says Youngjae, deadpan. "Because unlike you, Jaebum-hyung actually has a fallback if the uni thing doesn't work out for him."
Jinyoung tries not to let that comment take another stab at his pride, so he does what he does best: deflecting. "Is he for real?" He sneers. "Is he going to try to break into show business again? He'd have better luck hiring a better PR firm to handle his account the second time around. That or actually getting into a university that offers more performing arts courses."
"You know what, hyung?" Youngjae sighs. "You can't always judge a book by -"
"Finish that sentence and I will ram this copy of Heywood into your face," says Jinyoung, cheerfully brandishing a textbook.
Youngjae, wisely, keeps his mouth shut, and they finish shelving without talking about Im Jaebum in peace, even if Jinyoung has the sneaking suspicion that Youngjae doesn't stop judging him for the rest of the day.
More like, for the rest of his life, but whatever. He has more important things to focus on, like, say: figuring out how to make people spontaneously combust with the power of his mind.
"Stop staring at me before I think you're in love with me," says Jackson, disgusted. He lets his bag hit the back of Jinyoung's head, whose face breaks into a scowl as he stops drilling holes into Jackson's side profile.
"I'm not staring at you," Jinyoung says. "I'm just looking at the door. Because, you know. We have class. Soon. I think."
"Sure," Jackson scoffs, and makes sure to take the seat farthest from the door.
Jinyoung doesn't see Jaebum in his next class - not that he spends an entire minute peeking inside the room suspiciously and praying to god no one wonders why he's sneaking around so much. The Communication department is probably used to so many undergrads stalking people left and right, it's not even a novelty to see people like him skulking about.
"You're so creepy," says Jackson, rolling his eyes as Jinyoung cagily checks the back row. "He's not coming today, so you can get that stick out of your ass."
Jinyoung finally sinks into his seat with visible relief. "You couldn't have told me that earlier?"
"It was pretty fun watching you act like an idiot," says Jackson. "It happens a lot but today was the best. A++, you'd fit right in with the Theater majors, drama queens and weirdos and all."
Jinyoung doesn't even have time to flash him a very refined middle finger before the professor arrives and begins his lecture. It's one of the stress-free classes he has considering it's not even his major, and the requirements are easy as hell (or so the unofficial forums claim). The only thing that could shoot his concentration to hell is absent for the day, but Jinyoung figures that he could work it out over the next few weeks. He's gone through how many sessions not noticing Jaebum's existence anyway. How bad could it be, right?
From the way Jackson is snoring softly beside him, definitely not bad at all.
Miraculously, no one notices Jackson's exhibition as a fine and upstanding student, and by the time the professor dismisses them, Jinyoung shoves Jackson's seat so hard he topples over in surprise.
"Wake up, loser," says Jinyoung with as much cheer as he could muster.
Jackson scowls at him from where he's sprawled on the floor. "Fuck, I'm never getting a class with you again," Jackson curses, getting to his feet.
"Good luck with that, Mister IR," says Jinyoung, blithely. "I'm pretty sure you need to take an econ subject at some point, and you'll be whining at me to help you study again."
"Haha," says Jackson, "I hope you end up not graduating on time."
Jinyoung keeps himslf busy drafting an email to a group mate while Jackson packs up his stuff and puts his seat back upright. This turns out to be a Bad Idea, because he doesn't notice the suspicious gleam in Jackson's eye and just lets himself be led away from the classroom and into the hallway, Jackson keeping him behind his shoulder against the throng of students.
"Do me a favor," Jackson says, looking at him with wide, not at all innocent eyes once they reach the stairs.
"No," says Jinyoung, automatically, not eve looking up from his phone.
Jackson doesn't stomp on his foot, but he looks pretty close to doing it. Jinyoung looks down at him - all the centimeters that even matter, ha -- and returns the frown.
"Come on," Jackson groans. "I forgot that I asked a friend to get something from me, but something came up."
"Just wait for him, then," says Jinyoung, ever the voice of reason. "It probably won't take long anyway."
"I gotta head over to the BA building," says Jackson, distractedly typing into his phone. He wets his lips nervously, squinting at the time. "You know how far it is from here."
"You don't have a business class," Jinyoung observes. He tries to fight the all-knowing grin off his face, he really does, but from Jackson's unimpressed stare, it's a bust. "Lunch date with Mark-hyung?"
"It's not a date," says Jackson, making a face, but he doesn't deny it further. "Don't be weird about this. I know you think you're being cute but that's just super creepy."
Jinyoung's not being weird about anything, because Jackson is a river in Egypt and Mark is just out of it half the time that there's never going to be a day Jinyoung won't be amused about everything. "Is it?" Jinyoung widens his smile.
"Whatever," Jackson grits out, shoving a pile of readings at Jinyoung's chest. Jinyoung's hands automatically scoop up the papers and he curses his reflex to rescue any and all traces of paper, damn it. "Just give this to my friend, okay?"
"You won't even tell me what he looks like," Jinyoung gripes at Jackson's retreating form.
"Don't worry," says Jackson, giving him a one-fingered salute, "you'll know him when you see him!"
The thing about Jackson is that Jinyoung should never let his guard down around him. It's so easy to get fooled into his casual body language or his rapid-quick words that he forgets exactly how devious the asshole is until he's stuck in that situation where he has to stifle the urge to have a panic attack. So when he sees Jaebum round the corner and wade through the hallway with a searching gaze, the sinking feeling in his stomach is the only thing he can register before thinking, faintly, I'm gonna kill Jackson.
"Hey," says Jaebum, the corner of his mouth tilting upward a bit when he catches sight of Jinyoung. Fuck, Jinyoung thinks with increasing panic, he recognizes me enough to associate me with the spawn of Satan at first glance. Definitely gonna kill him. "You're Jackson's friend, right?"
Jinyoung opens his mouth, and promptly closes it. In what universe does "I’ve seen you with your dick hanging out in paparazzi pictures and magazine centerfolds" constitute as polite? Does "I resent you and everything you stand for" sound equally inappropriate?
"Uh," says Jinyoung, displaying his above-average IQ and eloquence rather impressively for a guy that's contemplating murder, "hi?"
"Sorry for making you wait," says Jaebum, even if the bastard doesn't look apologetic at all. "I had to meet my adviser for something, and you know how it goes."
No, I don't know what it is humanities students do in their spare time, Jinyoung almost says. He keeps his mouth shut.
"Right," says Jaebum, awkwardly when he doesn't get a response. "Um, did Jackson give you anything?"
"Oh," says Jinyoung, looking down at the readings Jackson had pushed onto him without much aplomb. This is more than enough interaction with Jaebum than he can stand. At least he's not nake - okay he really has got to stop thinking about this before he digs himself into a deeper hole into hell. "Here you go."
"Thanks," says Jaebum, offering him a small smile. It's different from his "buy this toothpaste or regret never looking like me" commercial smile, or his "I'm an asshole with a heart of gold" smirk in dramas, or even the "don't blame me for looking so appealing and unattainable" grin from his music videos. Fuck. Jinyoung's categorized it all with a burning passion of hatred. "You're the guy with the same name as JYP, right?"
At Jinyoung's slow, dumb nod that hopefully reeks of go away go away oh my god WHY AREN'T YOU LEAVING YET levels of desperation, Jaebum lets out a sharp bark of laughter. His eyes almost disappear from the force of his grin. "That's pretty cool. JYP would have gotten a kick out of that if you auditioned."
The sounds in the hallway fade into his ears like white noise. Jinyoung feels like someone doused him with a liter of ice and let a glacier fall on him on purpose. Jaebum is still fucking smiling. The glacier is now cracking into half and burying him under sleet and ice.
He's about to come up with a witty retort like up yours or so would your mom but his words get trapped in his throat when a girl bumps his side; Jaebum reaches out to steady him with a hand. "Careful," he says, narrowing his eyes at the other student.
KZZZZZZZZZZZT, goes Jinyoung's mind, fizzling out and failing him at rapid speed. His greatest enemy, touching him! Jinyoung would like to die now. There is no merciful god in this world.
"Um," Jinyoung says, eyes wide even as Jaebum releases him with, absently.
He's still struggling to formulate a more rational and intelligent emotional response to the roller coaster of ill feelings he's experiencing, but Jaebum is already shoving the stacks of readings in his bag and giving him a short nod not a few seconds later. Jackass, Jinyoung thinks, sourly. Couldn't even let me get a word in?
It's a bit of an unfair thought, but Jaebum doesn't seem to notice Jinyoung's internal struggle at all - definitely insensitive. "See you in class, Jinyoung-sshi," says Jaebum, waving at him. "Thanks again for this."
It takes a while before Jinyoung realizes he's waving back. The tips of his fingers and the inside of his wrist still tingle from where Jaebum had touched him. It makes something in his stomach flop uncontrollably, restless and dissatisfied.
"Idols," he mutters, pulling his hand back down and shoving it into his pocket to hide his shame.
part one | two | three | four | five | six
Recipient: shrdmdnssftw
Rating: R
Word Count: 42.3k
Warning(s): crack
Summary: You know where idols that wind up as train wrecks go? Back to school, that's where.
A/N: I'm sorry, shrdmdnssftw, I tried.
part one | two | three | four | five | six
At first Jinyoung thinks it's a trick of light. On any normal day, he wouldn't be awake enough at eight AM to even register anything beyond trudging towards the seat nearest to the door in his required general education subject for the semester -- which, in retrospect, probably explains just why he hasn't noticed this until three weeks into the subject. He could have gone through the rest of the school year coasting along, blissfully ignorant of the other half of the room, but Jinyoung's life is a tragicomedy waiting to happen and, really, this is just the icing on the tip of the metaphorical cake.
He has Yugyeom to blame for waking up earlier than usual, what with how the kid had called him in the midst of a mental breakdown that's been waiting to happen since the beginning of his senior year and the impending doom of college entrance applications and exams. Instead of staying in bed with a pillow suffocating him in his sleep, he'd had to talk Yugyeom out of the panic attack he'd had at four in the morning when no decent college student should be awake, ever.
("I'm going to fail," Yugyeom had wailed. "I'm going to fail and dad will kill me and mom will disown me and Bambam is going to steal all my stuff when I end up homeless and starving in a gutter, hyung."
Jinyoung would have made fun of how wet his voice sounded if he had the presence of mind to do so. "Mmfgrgh," he'd said instead, ever the epitome of an intelligent and respectable human being.
"You're not helpful," said Yugyeom.
"Call me again at this hour," said Jinyoung, "and I'll kill you dead.")
He considers himself to be a good hyung, threats of murder aside; otherwise, he would never have suffered through an extended hour of Yugyeom not-crying into the phone about going into military service and hoping to never come back to Seoul if he didn't get into SKY, as if he hadn't applied to five hundred other schools abroad with the privilege of coming from an AB household. (Jinyoung tries not to be bitter about a lot of things, but without a fortifying cup of tea and food in his stomach, he's a lost cause.) Good hyungs, even the non-blood related ones, are supposed to get rewarded for their suffering and sacrifices, and Jinyoung doesn't claim to be a religious person but he sure as hell believes in karma.
So what, he wonders, is the bane of his existence doing in his - here he has to double check his schedule -- Media and Contemporary Society class?
"Jackson," he says, clinging onto the other boy's shirt sleeve with the vice grip of an anaconda about to swallow its prey. "Jackson, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"
Jackson shoots him an irritated glance, speed reading his way into the required chapter ten minutes before the professor arrives. "What," Jackson says drily, "is it an asshole that won't let me skim this in peace?" He shoves at Jinyoung's arm, but Jinyoung keeps his grasp tight and almost bruising. Mark might have a few things to say about that, but Jinyoung is too distracted by his life falling apart in front of him to think too much about it.
"This is a disaster," says Jinyoung. "Why do I feel like I signed up for Intro to Greek Tragedy? I think I can hear a chorus in the background."
Jackson looks as done with Jinyoung as Jinyoung feels about the world. "Why did I say yes when you said this was going to be an easy A," he mourns, already throwing his book aside. It lands uselessly with a pathetic flop over his bag. "Go back to Hong Kong for registration week and this shit happens. I should have known better than to let you choose my classes for me."
"Jackson," Jinyoung keeps whimpering, "is it too late to change classes?"
"What the hell is wrong with you anyway?" Jackson moves to turn to the direction Jinyoung is looking at, only Jinyoung stops him with a yelp and a hand shoving his face onto his arm chair. "Fucking ow, Jinyoung, that hurts!"
"Don't look," Jinyoung hisses. "He's gonna see us!"
"Is this one of your exes that we always said was imaginary," says Jackson, muffled through the plastic surface. "I'm sorry we never believed you all along. Please stop suffocating me in my seat."
"Oh for the love of," Jinyoung cuts himself off, and pushes Jackson's face further into his seat. Jackson makes an unhappy sound at the back of his throat in response, disgruntled. "This is worse than an angry ex, okay? Why didn't you tell me about him?"
Jackson sits up, glaring at Jinyoung. "You're making as much sense as Mark-hyung does in Korean class," says Jackson, "which, you know, doesn't really help me at all."
"Middle row, farthest column," Jinyoung spits out.
Jackson inclines his head towards the other end of the room (Jinyoung dies a little inside with how obvious he stretches in his seat and yawns), and turns back to Jinyoung with a blank face. He keeps looking at Jinyoung like he's batshit insane, which would be disquieting if it didn't happen on a regular basis. "Please explain to me what I'm supposed to be gawking at with the indignation of a thousand fiery suns," he says.
Jinyoung makes a strangled noise in his throat.
"Given how speechless you are right now, I was almost expecting PSY," says Jackson. "Or Jay Chou, but you can't have it all, can you?"
"It's Im fucking Jaebum," Jinyoung does. Not. Yell.
To his mortification, Jaebum looks up from his phone and turns to look at their direction. He doesn't look too pleased at the noise, but he's not angry, either. He stares at Jinyoung for a long, measured moment, lips quirking upwards only when Jinyoung sinks into his seat and covers his eyes with his arm, pressing deeper until he can see white spots behind his eyelids.
"Please kill me," says Jinyoung, despondently. His insides can't stop churning; Jaebum's small smirk is still seared into his brain. "Oh god, is he still looking?"
"No, he's not staring at your crazy anymore," says Jackson, bored.
Jinyoung peeks from behind his arm and, true enough, Jaebum is back to playing a game on his phone. Jinyoung huffs, except it comes out as a relieved sigh instead.
"Uh," says Jackson, squinting. "Am I supposed to know who that dude is? You say his name like he's a mass murderer or something." He squirms in his seat. "Is he a mass murderer? Does SNU even do background checks on its students?"
"He's worse," Jinyoung despairs. "He's a teen idol."
"Oh," says Jackson. "Huh. So that's why everyone and their mother wanted to switch classes with me."
"Who are these people and when can I trade places with them?"
"You're not bailing out on me, man," says Jackson, still trying to pry Jinyoung's fingers off of his sleeve. "If I didn't give in to Jimin bribing me with 200,000 won, what makes you think I'd let you do it first?" He yanks Jinyoung's hand off, white knuckled and sweating. "Suck it up."
"If I ignore him long enough, do you think he'll go away and cut class forever?" Jinyoung sobs into his the cover of his planner. "He looks like an irresponsible student anyway, right?"
Jackson pretends to think about it for a second, then proceeds to ruin the rest of Jinyoung's life. "I think I should ask him to be our study buddy for next time."
It's practically a curse when Jackson gleefully trots over to where Jaebum is sitting and manages to make friends with him within the few minutes before the professor walks in. Forget Jaebum. Jinyoung fucking hates Jackson so much.
It's not that Jinyoung's hatred is irrational and unfounded. Economics has taught him to be a rational decision-maker, but Jackson's claims that Jinyoung should shift into drama like the "over-acting asshat he is" might have some basis.
Because the reality is, in an unspecified point in time that Jinyoung keeps trying to suppress from memory, Jinyoung once harbored big dreams of entering one of the big three entertainment agencies instead of university, hoping against hope that Lee Soo Man, Yang Hyun-suk or even his own namesake would deem him worthy of a life of synchronized dancing, uninformed fashion choices, and perfectly timed lip syncing. He'd been so idealistic in his auditions, then, sitting in the waiting room and chatting nervously to the bored-looking boy beside him, the one with the perpetually furrowed brow and lazy slouch that never said a word to him for the three hours that they were waiting in line.
He didn't even look like he had half the ambition and drive that Jinyoung did, and Jinyoung had almost written him off as a lost cause, not even worthy of being a competitor. Because surely only hard workers wound up winning in the end, right? This kid wasn’t gonna last long, not with how much of a mess he was compared to Jinyoung's semi-formal clothes, his pressed shirt, his leather shoes shining even without the bright lighting of the waiting room.
Then Jinyoung heard him sing, and he was crushed.
"Childhood trauma, how interesting," Yugyeom comments, dryly. "Tell me more." He flips a page, then squints at an equation. "Or not."
"Who the hell even stands a chance when in the same line with that guy anyway?" Jinyoung groans into a throw pillow. He's trying to suffocate himself, or at least mold his body into Yugyeom's couch. Regrettably, even the couch is failing him at the moment. "Anyone would be relegated to second place after that audition."
"Youngjae-hyung does," Yugyeom grumbles, not looking up from his practice sheets. One down, eternity to go. Jinyoung should probably feel sorry for him, but he's too busy wallowing to spare Yugyeom some comforting words. "At least he doesn't sing off-key."
"Youngjae is a vocal major, he's supposed to sing on point all the time."
"Well, now we know why you never went into music, right," says Yugyeom, snidely. For a guy that was an emotional mess not a few days ago, Yugyeom is strangely calm. Jinyoung throws a paperweight at him and misses.
"I hate you so much, you have no idea," says Jinyoung, levelly. "And you missed a negative sign in number 26."
"What are you talking about, I did not - never mind," Yugyeom sighs and picks up his eraser, furiously rubbing and frowning at his mistake. "Look, hyung," he says, "just because your childhood dreams were destroyed-"
"I was robbed."
"-doesn't mean you have to take it out on the entire world," Yugyeom finishes with a raised eyebrow. "Like, if I never become a doctor in the future, that doesn't mean that I'm gonna hate everything and everyone in the medical field."
"Yeah, because your mom would have killed you and hidden your body by then."
Yugyeom pales at the reminder. "That too. But you're more than welcome to conduct your pity party somewhere else, you know."
"I'm hungry and no one's home to feed me," says Jinyoung, sadly.
"This is why your mom doesn't trust you enough to live by yourself," Yugyeom sighs. He puts his pen down and heads into the kitchen for a few minutes as Jinyoung reacquaints himself with counting the number of stains on the rug. When he comes back, he has a tray of drinks and a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand, courtesy of a mother that loves Jinyoung with the affection of a hundred doting sisters. This is the only reason Jinyoung puts up with Yugyeom's shit so much.
"It's not like I just hate him for getting through the auditions and I didn't," says Jinyoung, irritably. He glares at Yugyeom as he pops a cookie into his mouth. The bread crumbs detract his attempt to come off as menacing. He rubs his hand at his cheek.
"Oh really?" Yugyeom says, handing him a mug of hot tea. "Are you finally admitting that you're jealous?"
"No," says Jinyoung. He chews with as much viciousness as he has resentment for Im Jaebum. "I'm angry because he had a chance and he fucked everything up like an idiot in one go."
"He's twenty one, hyung," says Yugyeom, patiently. "I think he's entitled to make some mistakes."
"Not if it's an irresponsible one," Jinyoung spits out. "He's coasted along training with a half-hearted attitude towards practice, and then he screws up his image like he doesn't think about the consequences." He bites his lip. "You know how I feel about people like that."
"Says the guy who takes forever to finish anything," says Yugyeom. "But his image? Since when did he have a bad one?"
"Are you kidding me?" Jinyoung groans. "Seriously?"
"I'm not obsessed, hyung."
Jinyoung ignores the thinly-veiled insult. "Remember when we went to Jeju with Bambam and when we came back my sister was having a heart attack over feeling like a pedophile preying on someone my age? And then I was mentally scarred for life because there are just some things we should never know about our older siblings?"
"Oh, that Jeju trip," says Yugyeom. He strokes his chin. "I think I remember this one, considering how you wouldn't shut up about it more than noona did." He opens his laptop and types Im Jaebum Maxim scandal, and not a few seconds later, HQ pictures of Jaebum's infamous photoshoot pop up in all its sordid glory. The internet never, ever forgets. "Huh. He has a really nice upper body. And are these pecs real?"
Trust Yugyeom to get his priorities screwed up. "Who cares about his muscles?" Jinyoung wails. "If I were his manager, I would never have let him go through with that nude photoshoot, rebellious phase or not. Korea is not ready for underage exposure and indecency!"
"I'm pretty sure he was eighteen here," says Yugyeom, wincing at Jinyoung's loud yell of HE WAS SEVENTEEN AND A HALF. He's speaking slowly now, in that patronizing way that makes Jinyoung want to keep him in a headlock if only the damn kid weren't so tall, or if Yugyeom didn't have a tendency to retaliate with his own punches. "Also, if you're telling me you didn't fap to this at some point, I'm calling you out on your filthy lies."
"Not the point," Jinyoung snaps. "We're not dragging my dick into this."
"Well, if we're dragging anything --"
"Augh, you're hopeless. Aren't we supposed to be focusing on my internal angst?"
"Yes, your inner torments and demons, how could we forget," says Yugyeom, already bored. "Here, have another cookie."
Jinyoung opens his mouth and almost tears up at the tang of chocolate in his tongue, not because crumbs are most likely blocking his wind pipe. "It's not fair that he got the chance and shot his career to hell. We're not living in America, so what was he expecting?"
"Isn't that a sign of bravery, though?" Yugyeom asks. "He was taking a risk, even if it didn't end well for him." He shrugs and opens his palms upwards. "I don't think you can say the same for half the kids in the industry."
"That's called being stupid, not brave," Jinyoung mutters. Yugyeom rolls his eyes.
"Wow, what a very positive vote of confidence," says Yugyeom. "You are the future of South Korea. Why do I feel depressed?"
"What's depressing is that I could have lived my entire life forgetting about how he showed me up one time, but then he had to do this and it's the worst." He turns back to sulking in the couch, already feeling queasy from the combined pangs of bloating and frustration. "Idols are supposed to be clean before military service corrupts them, not making their foray into a life of over-sexualization and notoriety."
Yugyeom shakes his head and continues idly going through Jaebum's descent into debauchery. Jinyoung can't see Yugyeom's face with his back against him, but from the laptop screen, he thinks he can see Yugyeom's frown. "I think you have unrealistic expectations of idols, hyung."
"Tell that to the rest of Seoul," Jinyoung scoffs, "then we can talk."
Jackson laughs in his face when Jinyoung shows him the pictures in an effort to show him the light and dissuade him from careening further down into an endless spire of regret and humiliation.
Well, first he laughs. Then he slaps Jinyoung's thigh with the tenacity of a doped up frat boy, which he kind of is. Then he makes it a point to jump up and down the couch in his hysteria. Jinyoung sometimes questions why he ever tells Jackson anything because nothing good ever comes out of it. He hopes that suffocation via extreme bouts of laughter is a thing.
"Oh my god," says Jackson, claiming he's recovered enough despite braying like a hyena in the face of the large DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging by the wall in his dorm's common room. Jinyoung pokes at his salad, imagining he's stabbing Jackson with his chopsticks instead. "This is hilarious, wait until I shove this in JB's face."
Jinyoung tries to hide into his seat, hoping it will swallow him up with how embarrassing Jackson sounds. He's glad that there's barely anyone in the dorms this weekend, at least; most of the residents have lives outside of SNU, preferring to go to out of the campus and into Myeongdong. Jackson's supposed to be at the indoor gym, but apparently an out of town coach and a team captain nursing a hangover is the key combination to cancelled practices, and Jackson had whined and wheedled at Jinyoung to keep him company.
It's only after a few seconds of sulking that he realizes what Jackson's just said. "JB?" Jinyoung repeats, aghast. "You call him by his stage name now?"
"Hell yeah," says Jackson, pulling out his phone. "We're friends, Jinyoung. It helps that I'm a very personable and charismatic person." He pauses. "Also, I'm not a stalker fan or an anti, so there's that."
"I can't believe this," says Jinyoung. "And he's, like, one batch higher than us. He's in Mark-hyung's year."
"So?" Jackson asks. "He's cool with it."
So is Mark-hyung but you're too weird about him to drop it around me, Jinyoung thinks. He opts to scowl at Jackson instead.
"When I'm rolling in dough and preening over all the gifts my celebrity friends give me, will you believe it?" Jackson muses. "You realize social climbing is part of being an athlete, right?"
Jinyoung stares at the ceiling. It doesn't provide him with any answers on why he's friends with Jackson, but the white paint helps him reevaluate his life choices. Jinyoung is of the firm opinion that university is for actual studying. Jackson, on the other hand, thinks of school as one big social club with the downside of having to crack open books periodically. Only one of them is not barely coasting along, and Jinyoung isn't laughing at the irony gods. "I thought it was about sweaty sportswear and overconfidence?"
"Well, that too, but we gotta feed ourselves by kissing our sponsors' asses," says Jackson, shrugging. Sometimes he forgets how ruthless and pragmatic Jackson can be, which is most likely part of the reason he appealed to him to begin with. They're ambitious, backstabbing brats without loyalty. He'd feel more proud except the betrayal just stings.
"You traitor," Jinyoung hisses.
"Oh please." Jackson waves him off, as if his opinion doesn't matter. Rude. "You know, in Hong Kong, we're a bit more liberal than you ahjussis with your panties in a bunch, so this isn't really too bad considering all the shit other idols do."
"Because of course you're the symbol of innocence yourself," Jinyoung snarks back.
Jackson pauses in his texting -- HAHA DIDN'T KNOW YOU KPOP KIDS HAD ACTUAL EXCITING LIVES, I'M SO PROUD, it reads - and raises his eyebrow at him. "Why are you so traumatized about seeing his dick? I thought you would be overjoyed to see anyone's cock hanging out."
"It's not his dick," says Jinyoung, flushing when a passing junior gapes at them. "It's him. I didn't enlist for this class just so I could meet my eternal rival and wish death on him on a daily basis."
"One, he doesn't even know you exist," Jackson ticks off. "Two, you don't even talk to him. Three, are you sure it's not about his dick, because I feel like you have some fucked up and misplaced sexual tension going on."
Jinyoung's sure he's as red as the cherry tomatoes on his plate. Maybe redder. At the rate he's going, he's gonna be purple with anger and rage, hopefully the same shade as Jackson's neck while he's strangling him. "I do not have sexual feelings for Im Jaebum!"
Jackson leans over to pat his arm soothingly, the action belying his words. "You don't have feelings. You're incapable of feelings. What you have is a raging hard-on for Jaebum's huge, thick, bulging -"
"Oh my god."
"Biceps, what the hell did you think I was gonna say?" Jackson smirks. With his free hand, he picks up the magazine that Jinyoung definitely pilfered from his older sister's stash and did not buy from the nearest bookstore selling back issues, thank you very much. Jackson whistles under his breath. "What kind of workout did this guy do to get these muscles anyway?"
"Why don't you ask your friend?" Jinyoung grouses, yanking his arm away from Jackson. "Maybe you could trade secrets on how to be assholes."
"If we're assholes, at least we're sexy," says Jackson, sagely. "I don't mind being lumped with that." Jinyoung covers his face and tries not to sob into his hands. Jackson continues, oblivious to his struggle. "Come on, you have to admit he looks really good in this. You'd have to be blind to not want to jump his jailbait ass."
Jinyoung closes his eyes and thinks of Jaebum reclining on a chaise lounge with a sheet swathed around the tangle of his limbs, thumb swiping across his lower lip and eyes hooded at the camera. The definition of muscle across his back that actually-seventeen-but-skirting-the-legal-age year olds didn't deserve to have, not when they're supposed to look like ungainly twigs still uncomfortable in their skin. Then he wishes he hadn't thought of it at all, because it just makes him feel worse. He reaches out to swat at Jackson blindly for the reminder.
"Wow, so manly," Jackson scoffs, neatly ducking away. "If you're attracted to him, you don't have to flagellate yourself. I'm pretty sure you're not in that kind of cult."
"Not a masochist, sorry."
"Could have fooled me, but you're so repressed I'm kinda proud you even know the word," Jackson coos, and goes back to making fun of Jaebum on KKT.
Jinyoung whimpers and rests his head on the table. Jinyoung's been doing a lot of that lately, sighing and glaring at hard surfaces. No one in the world understands him.
"You are a bad, disgusting person," Jinyoung informs him. "I hope that when you die, you remember how much pain you inflicted on me for existing."
"Whatever," says Jackson, rolling his eyes in disdain, "I'm not gonna stop being friends with him just because you have a problem with showing a little skin."
True, but Jackson is also an exhibitionist himself, if his dorm mates' complaints are a barometer for it. "I'm so glad none of my other friends have your taste," Jinyoung shoots back, "because you have the worst in the world."
Apparently, he's also wrong about that.
He's ranting about Jackson and Jaebum's ill-formed friendship to Youngjae while they're sorting out the returned books in the library. Well, Jinyoung is; Youngjae's too distracted with his composition to do anything more than hold things for Jinyoung. It's not really Youngjae's job, but this is the only break he has and Jinyoung's shift as a student assistant at the library is in a perpetual state of flux.
"Oh, JB-hyung?" Youngjae says, fingertips drumming an inaudible beat into the spine of his book. "He's cool."
Jinyoung almost falls off the ladder with how fast he turns to gape at Youngjae.
"What?" Youngjae asks, perplexed. "He was in my music theory class last year. He was pretty good, for an idol."
For an idol. Sometimes Jinyoung remembers exactly how elitist the Music majors are when it comes to news about people in the entertainment industry breaking into the academic circle, tight-fisted and grudging. Jinyoung really likes the Music department's pettiness.
"Did he write cheesy pop lyrics and pass it off as his magnum opus?" Jinyoung asks, genuinely curious. He squints at the label on the hardbound copy Youngjae passes to him, quickly scanning the shelf for the code nearest D256.7. "How many times did he say baby, love, and girl?"
"Uh, zero?" Youngjae says, wrinkling his nose. "We were actually really surprised with how decent he was. I think our professor didn't even think he could read music."
Jinyoung chalks it up as yet another thing Jaebum can do better than he does. Jinyoung can't even stare at a sheet of music without wanting to throw up, too familiar with learning things by ear (thank you, reruns of Korean Idol and X Factor). If I wanted to read, he'd told Youngjae when the younger boy had tried to teach him, I'd pick up Tolstoy, not this.
"He had to learn it at some point," says Jinyoung, still not impressed. "I'd be ashamed of myself if I made millions of won out of pop songs and I couldn't even differentiate a treble clef from a bass."
"You don't even know what those are," Youngjae teases. He steadies the ladder Jinyoung's on when Jinyoung smacks his shoulder. "Hey, quit it, hyung!"
"Not until you see the light," says Jinyoung. He hits him again, for good measure. "I didn't raise you to collude with my enemies and stab me in the back like Jackson."
"My parents raised me, not you," says Youngjae, scoffing. "You're mistaking me for Yugyeom."
"Another traitor," says Jinyoung.
"Give me that," says Youngjae, wrestling the battered paperback of Julius Caesar away. "And Jaebum-hyung is a really nice guy, I don't know why you're so hung up about his life as a teenage wet dream."
Jinyoung splutters and gets down from the ladder. "He is a walking pile of hormones," says Jinyoung, "and he might have improved, but he was in rock bottom before. There's no possible way to go but up."
"What?" Youngjae has the gall to laugh, and he wheezes when he inhales dust instead of air. "Is this about that naked photoshoot thing?"
"No," says Jinyoung, horrified.
"Jackson-hyung warned me about this," says Youngjae. The bastard still sounds amused. "He wasn't even completely naked, you know. At least there were bedsheets."
Jinyoung makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat.
"Hyung, if a can of soup can become a pop icon, why not consider the human body as high art?" Youngjae suggests, touching his shoulder with fake solemnity. Jinyoung has no idea what Youngjae is talking about, but he's not uncultured, fuck you.
"I sat in for your aesthetics class, don't you think I know that," Jinyoung snaps, yanking Youngjae's hand off his shoulder. "Keep shelving."
"Wow, okay, no wonder he also said you were repressed," Youngjae mutters.
"It's not repression if my hatred is utterly justified, Youngjae-ah."
"I feel like I'd believe that you're a logical person with a sound mind more if you didn't spend most of your time dreaming up ways to set Jackson-hyung on fire with your mind."
"He deserves it," says Jinyoung, sulking. "I'll have to deprioritize Jackson, though. Jaebum deserves it more."
"Hypothetically, other than exposing himself to the media, what other complaints do you have about hyung that would even rationalize that?" Youngjae challenges.
Jinyoung mentally goes through the barely-touched and omnipresent shelf called reasons why I fucking hate Im Jaebum. It's admittedly not a very coherent list, and Jinyoung does not do well under pressure. "Well, he was also really hot-tempered in press conferences and lost his shit in public more times than anyone in his age range," Jinyoung tries weakly. "Doesn't that count for something?"
"He debuted at fourteen, hyung," says Youngjae, sounding exasperated. "Can you imagine having to be a public figure at that age and being expected to control your emotions every time someone attacked you about one of your quirks?" He rubs at his sides, shivering. "I'd be scared as fuck in his place. I'm proud he turned up decent considering how many assholes are in the industry."
There's some truth in that, but Jinyoung's loathing is so all-encompassing that it physically pains him to accede. "It's the money," says Jinyoung, grimly. "It's all about the money."
Youngjae gapes at him. "You're really invested in this, huh?"
Jinyoung feels the back of his neck flush and his cheeks turn warm, so hot the air-conditioning does nothing to mask the temperature. Youngjae's mask of confusion cracks and he ends up bent over the trolley of books, trying to keep his hysterical laughter as quiet as he can in the library. Jinyoung doesn't think he has any shame left to feel in his body with how much his pride has been trampled by everyone in the past few days.
"I'm not invested," Jinyoung protests. "I'm not. I just don't think he's a person of good moral character that's fit to represent the school everywhere he goes."
Youngjae's still fanning himself as he tries to recover, but he can't keep the teasing lilt out of his words. "Really? Are you that concerned about the deteriorating standards of the academe? Because that's just bullshit, hyung."
"He's a failed idol," says Jinyoung, sniffing. "You know where idols that wind up as train wrecks go? Back to school, that's where."
Youngjae shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. "As opposed to failed trainees?"
"Oh fuck you," says Jinyoung. He sincerely regrets letting Yugyeom, Bambam and Youngjae ever meet, because Yugyeom is a dirty secret teller and a tattle tale and Jinyoung hopes he bombs all his entrance exams. He wonders how much time he has left before Jackson gets a hold of this information.
Youngjae sniggers behind a copy of Silence of the Lambs. Jinyoung wants to gut him. "So he's living a life of obscurity now, so what? Why does that bother you so much?"
"He's invading my life of obscurity!" Jinyoung groans. He grabs the book and stacks it on top of the rest of the pile, sneezing when the dust motes reach his nose. "How did he even get into SNU anyway? Did they have to dumb it down to add more people to the alumni page?" He glares at the shelf in front of him. "What the hell is his major, even?"
"He's not in the music department, that's for sure," says Youngjae. "Probably in dance, maybe? He used to be a b-boy, right?"
"Dance," Jinyoung repeats skeptically. He honestly has no idea what on earth a b-boy is. "We don't have a dance faculty, Youngjae." He shakes his head and grabs onto the trolley filled with books, and waits for Youngjae to inspect the contents and give him the go signal before they move to the next section.
"Or maybe he's doing some stuff on acting. You know these idols, always picking up drama roles left and right," says Youngjae, fixing his hat as they stroll past the glass windows. "Come to think of it, he'd make a really good-looking lead, with the whole bad boy thing going for him."
"He's definitely no Gu Jun-pyo," Jinyoung snorts. "He's tall, but he's not that tall."
"You're roughly the same height."
"I wasn't the idol, was I?"
"Yes," says Youngjae, deadpan. "Because unlike you, Jaebum-hyung actually has a fallback if the uni thing doesn't work out for him."
Jinyoung tries not to let that comment take another stab at his pride, so he does what he does best: deflecting. "Is he for real?" He sneers. "Is he going to try to break into show business again? He'd have better luck hiring a better PR firm to handle his account the second time around. That or actually getting into a university that offers more performing arts courses."
"You know what, hyung?" Youngjae sighs. "You can't always judge a book by -"
"Finish that sentence and I will ram this copy of Heywood into your face," says Jinyoung, cheerfully brandishing a textbook.
Youngjae, wisely, keeps his mouth shut, and they finish shelving without talking about Im Jaebum in peace, even if Jinyoung has the sneaking suspicion that Youngjae doesn't stop judging him for the rest of the day.
More like, for the rest of his life, but whatever. He has more important things to focus on, like, say: figuring out how to make people spontaneously combust with the power of his mind.
"Stop staring at me before I think you're in love with me," says Jackson, disgusted. He lets his bag hit the back of Jinyoung's head, whose face breaks into a scowl as he stops drilling holes into Jackson's side profile.
"I'm not staring at you," Jinyoung says. "I'm just looking at the door. Because, you know. We have class. Soon. I think."
"Sure," Jackson scoffs, and makes sure to take the seat farthest from the door.
Jinyoung doesn't see Jaebum in his next class - not that he spends an entire minute peeking inside the room suspiciously and praying to god no one wonders why he's sneaking around so much. The Communication department is probably used to so many undergrads stalking people left and right, it's not even a novelty to see people like him skulking about.
"You're so creepy," says Jackson, rolling his eyes as Jinyoung cagily checks the back row. "He's not coming today, so you can get that stick out of your ass."
Jinyoung finally sinks into his seat with visible relief. "You couldn't have told me that earlier?"
"It was pretty fun watching you act like an idiot," says Jackson. "It happens a lot but today was the best. A++, you'd fit right in with the Theater majors, drama queens and weirdos and all."
Jinyoung doesn't even have time to flash him a very refined middle finger before the professor arrives and begins his lecture. It's one of the stress-free classes he has considering it's not even his major, and the requirements are easy as hell (or so the unofficial forums claim). The only thing that could shoot his concentration to hell is absent for the day, but Jinyoung figures that he could work it out over the next few weeks. He's gone through how many sessions not noticing Jaebum's existence anyway. How bad could it be, right?
From the way Jackson is snoring softly beside him, definitely not bad at all.
Miraculously, no one notices Jackson's exhibition as a fine and upstanding student, and by the time the professor dismisses them, Jinyoung shoves Jackson's seat so hard he topples over in surprise.
"Wake up, loser," says Jinyoung with as much cheer as he could muster.
Jackson scowls at him from where he's sprawled on the floor. "Fuck, I'm never getting a class with you again," Jackson curses, getting to his feet.
"Good luck with that, Mister IR," says Jinyoung, blithely. "I'm pretty sure you need to take an econ subject at some point, and you'll be whining at me to help you study again."
"Haha," says Jackson, "I hope you end up not graduating on time."
Jinyoung keeps himslf busy drafting an email to a group mate while Jackson packs up his stuff and puts his seat back upright. This turns out to be a Bad Idea, because he doesn't notice the suspicious gleam in Jackson's eye and just lets himself be led away from the classroom and into the hallway, Jackson keeping him behind his shoulder against the throng of students.
"Do me a favor," Jackson says, looking at him with wide, not at all innocent eyes once they reach the stairs.
"No," says Jinyoung, automatically, not eve looking up from his phone.
Jackson doesn't stomp on his foot, but he looks pretty close to doing it. Jinyoung looks down at him - all the centimeters that even matter, ha -- and returns the frown.
"Come on," Jackson groans. "I forgot that I asked a friend to get something from me, but something came up."
"Just wait for him, then," says Jinyoung, ever the voice of reason. "It probably won't take long anyway."
"I gotta head over to the BA building," says Jackson, distractedly typing into his phone. He wets his lips nervously, squinting at the time. "You know how far it is from here."
"You don't have a business class," Jinyoung observes. He tries to fight the all-knowing grin off his face, he really does, but from Jackson's unimpressed stare, it's a bust. "Lunch date with Mark-hyung?"
"It's not a date," says Jackson, making a face, but he doesn't deny it further. "Don't be weird about this. I know you think you're being cute but that's just super creepy."
Jinyoung's not being weird about anything, because Jackson is a river in Egypt and Mark is just out of it half the time that there's never going to be a day Jinyoung won't be amused about everything. "Is it?" Jinyoung widens his smile.
"Whatever," Jackson grits out, shoving a pile of readings at Jinyoung's chest. Jinyoung's hands automatically scoop up the papers and he curses his reflex to rescue any and all traces of paper, damn it. "Just give this to my friend, okay?"
"You won't even tell me what he looks like," Jinyoung gripes at Jackson's retreating form.
"Don't worry," says Jackson, giving him a one-fingered salute, "you'll know him when you see him!"
The thing about Jackson is that Jinyoung should never let his guard down around him. It's so easy to get fooled into his casual body language or his rapid-quick words that he forgets exactly how devious the asshole is until he's stuck in that situation where he has to stifle the urge to have a panic attack. So when he sees Jaebum round the corner and wade through the hallway with a searching gaze, the sinking feeling in his stomach is the only thing he can register before thinking, faintly, I'm gonna kill Jackson.
"Hey," says Jaebum, the corner of his mouth tilting upward a bit when he catches sight of Jinyoung. Fuck, Jinyoung thinks with increasing panic, he recognizes me enough to associate me with the spawn of Satan at first glance. Definitely gonna kill him. "You're Jackson's friend, right?"
Jinyoung opens his mouth, and promptly closes it. In what universe does "I’ve seen you with your dick hanging out in paparazzi pictures and magazine centerfolds" constitute as polite? Does "I resent you and everything you stand for" sound equally inappropriate?
"Uh," says Jinyoung, displaying his above-average IQ and eloquence rather impressively for a guy that's contemplating murder, "hi?"
"Sorry for making you wait," says Jaebum, even if the bastard doesn't look apologetic at all. "I had to meet my adviser for something, and you know how it goes."
No, I don't know what it is humanities students do in their spare time, Jinyoung almost says. He keeps his mouth shut.
"Right," says Jaebum, awkwardly when he doesn't get a response. "Um, did Jackson give you anything?"
"Oh," says Jinyoung, looking down at the readings Jackson had pushed onto him without much aplomb. This is more than enough interaction with Jaebum than he can stand. At least he's not nake - okay he really has got to stop thinking about this before he digs himself into a deeper hole into hell. "Here you go."
"Thanks," says Jaebum, offering him a small smile. It's different from his "buy this toothpaste or regret never looking like me" commercial smile, or his "I'm an asshole with a heart of gold" smirk in dramas, or even the "don't blame me for looking so appealing and unattainable" grin from his music videos. Fuck. Jinyoung's categorized it all with a burning passion of hatred. "You're the guy with the same name as JYP, right?"
At Jinyoung's slow, dumb nod that hopefully reeks of go away go away oh my god WHY AREN'T YOU LEAVING YET levels of desperation, Jaebum lets out a sharp bark of laughter. His eyes almost disappear from the force of his grin. "That's pretty cool. JYP would have gotten a kick out of that if you auditioned."
The sounds in the hallway fade into his ears like white noise. Jinyoung feels like someone doused him with a liter of ice and let a glacier fall on him on purpose. Jaebum is still fucking smiling. The glacier is now cracking into half and burying him under sleet and ice.
He's about to come up with a witty retort like up yours or so would your mom but his words get trapped in his throat when a girl bumps his side; Jaebum reaches out to steady him with a hand. "Careful," he says, narrowing his eyes at the other student.
KZZZZZZZZZZZT, goes Jinyoung's mind, fizzling out and failing him at rapid speed. His greatest enemy, touching him! Jinyoung would like to die now. There is no merciful god in this world.
"Um," Jinyoung says, eyes wide even as Jaebum releases him with, absently.
He's still struggling to formulate a more rational and intelligent emotional response to the roller coaster of ill feelings he's experiencing, but Jaebum is already shoving the stacks of readings in his bag and giving him a short nod not a few seconds later. Jackass, Jinyoung thinks, sourly. Couldn't even let me get a word in?
It's a bit of an unfair thought, but Jaebum doesn't seem to notice Jinyoung's internal struggle at all - definitely insensitive. "See you in class, Jinyoung-sshi," says Jaebum, waving at him. "Thanks again for this."
It takes a while before Jinyoung realizes he's waving back. The tips of his fingers and the inside of his wrist still tingle from where Jaebum had touched him. It makes something in his stomach flop uncontrollably, restless and dissatisfied.
"Idols," he mutters, pulling his hand back down and shoving it into his pocket to hide his shame.
part one | two | three | four | five | six