ROUND 9: when we were kings (Team Future)
Title: when we were kings
Team: future
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2,862
Fandom: big bang
Pairing: g-top
Summary: jiyong, fashionista to failboat.
Author's Note: super thanks to jessica.
Two months ago: a million dollar haute couture company bright enough to blind all the models on the catwalk, fan girls from his Big Bang days packed around him in public, an invitation to fashion week in Milan; he stays up until 1AM making all the important calls.
Two days ago: stock markets crash, and welcome, Kwon Jiyong, to bottom of the social ladder.
Seunghyun lives a simple life: the afternoon shift at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, mornings and nights spent at his friend’s underground recording studio, Saturdays at Daesung’s place with all his best friends, Sundays with Youngbae’s family in church repenting for what he did on Saturday. Sometimes, Seungri calls him up for a round of mini-golf.
It’s relatively boring compared to the sleepless days of fame, but he can call in sick to work if he wants to sleep in past noon one day. He doesn’t have to dress nice when he goes out. He can actually go out, for that matter. Normality is his new best friend.
Admittedly he has Big Bang’s entire discography and magazine shoots stashed under his bed. When he gets lonely, he grabs a beer and spills the contents of that cardboard box all over the living room carpet. He puts on their first single. He laughs at the Hilary Clinton doll he had to wear around his neck. He wishes he could call Jiyong and hear his smile without having to set up a meeting time.
It’s been five years, he tells himself, it’s okay, things change.
Then he gets a call at work. He sneaks into the bathroom and wipes his hands on his apron before picking up. "Hello? I’m still on my shift so if this could wait an hour or so, that would be-"
"Seunghyun, it’s me.” The clattering of plates and pots and pans in the kitchen fade into the sound of Jiyong’s breathing down the line. Jiyong gives him an address. Seunghyun tells his manager that it’s a family emergency and rushes out to his car. He grits his teeth, grips the wheel, laughs to himself that it's still the same.
A beat up sedan clunks into the convenience store parking lot. Jiyong piles into the passenger seat and remembers the smell of leather and Calvin Klein cologne, and the hum of the engine under his seat from five years ago.
"A fire,” Seunghyun repeats, still in his pajamas and house slippers. "Really." His eyes are laden with sleep.
"Yes,” Jiyong says and buckles his seatbelt. "Smoke everywhere, children crying, the works. Had to jump from my penthouse on the twentieth floor to save myself.”
"Don’t you know being broke is all the rage nowadays. I got to hang with the cool kids down by the high school because I didn’t make last month’s rent on time,” Seunghyun says. "Maybe being able to play baseball in your living room will be the new style for the winter catalogues.” When this only elicits a weak laugh from Jiyong, Seunghyun closes his mouth and takes the car back onto the main road.
At a red light, Jiyong turns to him and says, "I tried to save a puppy, you know. But the dumb thing wouldn’t come out from under the bed.”
Seunghyun absently flips through the radio stations for a good song to accompany the sentiment. He nods, yes, I’ll bet you did and I’m not going to mention that pets aren’t allowed in your apartment tower, or that you live on the fiftieth floor. Hey Jude comes on.
They walk up three flights of stairs to Seunghyun’s place. It’s the same place he had found after the band’s break up years and years ago, except with more equipment cramping into every nook and cranny. The ceiling paint is peeling. Seunghyun digs out a set of oversized pajamas from the dryer for Jiyong.
"The couch already has pillows and blankets. Make sure Jaejoong’s not sleeping there before you hop to it,” he says, looking for a spare toothbrush.
Jiyong frowns and crosses his arms. "You let aliens sleep on your couch.”
"But to me, you’ll always be my only Superman,” says Seunghyun from within one of his bathroom cabinets as if that makes the situation better.
"Superman is a smurf,” Jiyong points out, sullen. "And Batman wears a plastic six pack.”
When Jiyong wakes up, it’s a little past noon. Seunghyun’s gone and left a note on the kitchen table that says he’ll be home by five. Lunch is peanut butter on a dinner roll and black coffee, because the refrigerator is otherwise empty and all the pots and pans are piled in the sink. He has to open the window to air out the smell. Typical bachelor, Jiyong clicks his tongue and shuts off all the lights Seunghyun left on in his rush to work.
He spends the day in his pajamas, listening to classic Disney songs off a cassette already in the tape player and googling hobbies on Seunghyun’s dusty Mac desktop from two decades ago. Over the sound of traffic outside, he thinks that today is his first day awake.
Seunghyun makes a beeline for the kitchen the moment he opens the front door, but trips into his couch where his couch shouldn’t be. He decides that whatever he has to deal with next, he needs a beer first.
He finds Jiyong on the floor in front of the television (where also isn’t where it’s been since Daesung put it there helping him move in).
"What did you do to my place?” Seunghyun asks, poking at Jiyong’s side with his toe.
"I’ve picked up feng shui,” Jiyong says. He opens his eyes and chews on his lower lip, contemplative. "Do you mind moving that loveseat a couple feet to the left? It’s ruining my chi.”
Seunghyun reluctantly nudges at said piece of furniture with his hip. It moves a little in the wrong direction. "This is a temporary thing,” he tells himself.
"Maybe. Could you defenestrate that painting hanging on the wall above the shoe rack? The colors clash with everything else in the room,” Jiyong shifts a little so he’s in the center of the circle of all of Seunghyun’s worldly possessions.
"But it’s my mother’s favorite.”
"Well, what’s a mother supposed to say when her son brings back his masterpiece from kindergarten?”
Indignantly Seunghyun sets his beer down in front of the couch, props his dirty shoes up on the coffee table, and turns the television on to the five o’clock news. There’s a police chase going on that kind of drowns out Jiyong’s voice. But then it goes back to the female anchor, who’s face Seunghyun can’t even enjoy anymore because Jiyong’s face is suddenly two-and-a-half feet too deep into his three foot personal bubble.
"I need this to put my life back on track,” Jiyong whines.
"What you need is a job,” Seunghyun replies and fakes a grin.
Like all good friends do in times of crisis, they all make time to help Jiyong sort out his issues over shots of tequila and too much whiskey. Jiyong decides at this moment that his life mirrors one too many sitcoms.
"I propose we first stone Jiyong out of his mind,” Daesung drawls. They’re at the bar next to the bakery that has the best bread in town, crowded into a booth where Daesung’s taking up most of the breathing room. Jiyong needs ibuprofen, a lot of it; his chi is all sorts of fucked up, squished between Youngbae and Seungri.
Seunghyun puts his drink down, looking completely serious. "What should the optimal weight of the rock we throw at his head be?”
"That won't be necessary,” says Jiyong and orders another Cosmopolitan.
"Did Lady Gaga switch stylists? I heard her new look is all about the brows, which isn’t your thing. And there were those horns I know you wouldn't have allowed out in public over your dead body,” Seungri asks. Jiyong stares at him like he’s grown boobs. "Stephanie Germanotta doesn’t have to be your life,” he insists.
"No, she isn’t,” Jiyong agrees.
Youngbae thumbs through a self-help book and suggests the halfway house.
Late afternoon shifts at the kind of fancy restaurant by the subway and Seunghyun are two pieces from different puzzles. Seunghyun would rather be sleeping. And late afternoon shifts at the kind of fancy restaurant by the subway would rather the fan girls stay at home, and he stop dropping wine glasses. He serves the back corner of the restaurant from noon to eight with heavy eyes and feet.
Sometimes, he thinks about what to eat for dinner. Sometimes, he thinks about calling Daesung up for a drink after work at the bar they frequented as celebrities in wigs and sunglasses too wide for their faces.
These afternoons, his mind is filled with screenshots of the way Jiyong used to look at him; smiles, frowns, smirks, the way he scrunched his nose up at things he didn’t like. But mostly, Seunghyun thinks about what patterns his furniture will be arranged in today.
Over a cup of burnt coffee, Jiyong peruses the packet of papers Seunghyun had come home with. The font is too small, too classic Times New Roman, and he pushes it aside to stir more sugar into his coffee. Seunghyun looks at him expectantly.
"There’s a bit of tomato sauce on your collar,” Jiyong points out absently.
Seunghyun leans back in his chair, sighing. "You've never filled out a job application before."
"Why don’t you go buy me a carton of pistachio almond ice cream and some plastic spoons from the convenience store downstairs and I’ll try my best to fill out this thing.” Jiyong picks up the application again and the corners of his mouth lift just enough to convince Seunghyun he’ll be okay for ten minutes without supervision. "I’ll just put my name in the name slot, no biggie.”
It’s not until Seunghyun’s at the cash register, rifling through his pockets for money, that he realizes that he’s buying pistachio almond ice cream instead of butter pecan at one in the fucking morning. The cashier hands him his change. Seunghyun stomps up the stairs to his bachelor pad only to find that Jiyong’s rearranging the furniture again. He’s filled out the application in pencil. The coins in Seunghyun’s pocket giggle, "oh you silly goose!” like sixteen year old girls.
Jiyong gets a trucking job. Seunghyun tries to not laugh at the thought of Jiyong not being able to take a shower in three days and being stuck in a sixteen-wheeler carrying nothing but tons of grapes.
He stops laughing when he comes back from the convenience store with ice cream for the second time that day and finds that his painting from kindergarten is no longer hanging above his shoe rack. "What did you do with it?” he asks, thin-lipped and paper-hearted.
Jiyong weakly smiles. "The art critics took it to jail?”
That night, Seunghyun’s childhood curls up in the dumpster with coffee grinds and half-eaten sandwiches, laughing at Jiyong who has to sleep on a park bench.
It used to be easy to call Youngbae and crash on his couch at any time of day. This time Jiyong doesn’t expect it to be any different. The call was more of a warning anyway since Jiyong was already on his doorstep by the time he picks up the phone.
"Jiyong, it’s almost midnight,” Youngbae says the moment he opens the door.
"Nice house. Can I come in?” Jiyong says, grinning, and gives him a wave like it’s still ten years ago and they haven’t been out of each other’s loops for most of that time. Youngbae crookedly smiles before stepping outside still in his pajamas and invites Jiyong to sit on the bench. The first thing Jiyong notices is how quiet it is. There is no traffic or ambulances running through the streets, and the city lights are missing.
"You know we’re old news now. All of us,” Youngbae says, his voice loud and crisp and familiar. "I have a family. Seungri’s manages a firm. Daesung’s dating Hyori, did you know that? He’s dating Lee Hyori. And Seunghyun waits tables.”
"I know,” Jiyong mumbles.
"Did you and Seunghyun have a big fight?” Youngbae finally asks.
Jiyong scoffs, "He called me a brat. A fucking petulant child, and that I didn’t even ask him before I started invading his living space and his personal bubble. The guy has a personal bubble! What kind of thirty something bachelor still has a-"
"Well, did you ask him?” Youngbae interrupts. Jiyong looks bewildered. "To live with him, I mean.”
"He was the only one who still had the same phone number,” Jiyong says in a tiny voice.
Youngbae leans into the bench with a sigh, still with that ever-crooked smile, and rubs Jiyong’s shoulder. "You can crash on the couch, but you have to be gone before Jihyun and the kids wake up.”
Until six o’clock, Jiyong lays awake thinking on the leather sofa.
At seven thirty, Seungri walks into his kitchen to find Jiyong making coffee in his kitchen. There’s a plate of bacon and eggs on the dining table arranged in the shape of a smiley face. He doesn’t know whether to scream or just leave for work and pretend it didn’t happen.
"Do you like your coffee strong or regular?” Jiyong asks, not looking up from grinding the coffee beans.
"Today, it should be strong. What are you doing in my kitchen and wearing my shirt?” Seungri sets his tie and suit jacket on the back of his chair.
"You gave me the key,” Jiyong replies, trying to get all the pleats in the coffee filter fit in the coffee machine. "So I’m making you breakfast, because I am a nice, caring, friendly hyung who takes care of his dongsaeng.”
Seungri grabs Jiyong by the shoulders and moves him away from the coffee machine. "You’ve never made coffee in your life. I don’t even know how you made eggs and bacon without setting off the fire alarms.” Jiyong starts running the water to do the dishes, but Seungri reaches over to shut it off. "I can’t risk you breaking my glass bowls. They’re like ten bucks a piece.”
"I’m washing dishes,” Jiyong emphasizes and turns on the water again. Seungri shuts it off. Jiyong scowls and turns it on again. Seungri escorts him out of the kitchen.
"Is this about Seunghyun?”
Jiyong growls, "No.”
"Do I need to bring out the hard liquor already? I think eight in the morning is a record,” Seungri points out, pressing his lips into a thin line. Jiyong buries his head into his arms. A beep from the kitchen keeps Seungri from saying anything more than, "Coffee’s ready.”
"Shouldn’t you apologize to Seunghyun before you embark on your epic grape delivery in, like, an hour?”
Jiyong raises his brows at Daesung as if he’s crazy. "It’s grocery store produce. Not just grapes, okay? I’ll be back in a few days and by then, he’ll have calmed down and it will be like it never happened.”
"You threw away his future family heirloom,” Daesung points out.
"I have to go drive some very important celery four hundred miles south,” Jiyong says, and takes his leave.
Three guys and a sixteen wheeler on a nonstop journey down the interstate for a week. The journey there is long, delivery goes by too fast, and on the way back, they get a flat tire. Murphy and his unfortunate circumstances are definitely trailing Jiyong, and the other two drivers are just collateral damage.
Jiyong is still wearing the plaid shirt he stole from Seungri’s closet and walks into a trucker stop, hair greasy as French fries and eyes sunken in more than usual from no sleep. He thinks about how all the people he used to know, even the ones he’d known since he’d been a toddler, and how they’d changed, grown up; he thinks about consistency. There’s a pay phone, and he has three quarters.
He makes a call, and swallows the years of uncertainty and selfishness and crosses his fingers.
"You smell like ass,” Seunghyun says when he opens the door for Jiyong on Monday morning. It’s not even nine o’clock, but he’s already shaved, put a bit of mousse in his usually untamed hair and dressed like he’s going out. He looks like he’s slept for the first time.
"Thanks. I missed you a lot too,” Jiyong retorts, crinkling up his nose. "For years actually.”
Seunghyun laughs, breath warm and smelling of mint, and grabs Jiyong’s by the wrists and pulls him close until their lips ghost past each other when they speak. "I know. Your fifteen minutes of fame are over. And now you’ve got the simple life with me and feng shui in this apartment, so it’s okay.” His aftershave smells sweet, sharp.
"Sorry about your painting,” Jiyong mumbles.
"You can still rearrange my furniture if you want,” Seunghyun says and closes the door to push Jiyong up against it.
"You enjoy it,” Jiyong breathes and opens his eyes.
Team: future
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2,862
Fandom: big bang
Pairing: g-top
Summary: jiyong, fashionista to failboat.
Author's Note: super thanks to jessica.
Two months ago: a million dollar haute couture company bright enough to blind all the models on the catwalk, fan girls from his Big Bang days packed around him in public, an invitation to fashion week in Milan; he stays up until 1AM making all the important calls.
Two days ago: stock markets crash, and welcome, Kwon Jiyong, to bottom of the social ladder.
Seunghyun lives a simple life: the afternoon shift at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, mornings and nights spent at his friend’s underground recording studio, Saturdays at Daesung’s place with all his best friends, Sundays with Youngbae’s family in church repenting for what he did on Saturday. Sometimes, Seungri calls him up for a round of mini-golf.
It’s relatively boring compared to the sleepless days of fame, but he can call in sick to work if he wants to sleep in past noon one day. He doesn’t have to dress nice when he goes out. He can actually go out, for that matter. Normality is his new best friend.
Admittedly he has Big Bang’s entire discography and magazine shoots stashed under his bed. When he gets lonely, he grabs a beer and spills the contents of that cardboard box all over the living room carpet. He puts on their first single. He laughs at the Hilary Clinton doll he had to wear around his neck. He wishes he could call Jiyong and hear his smile without having to set up a meeting time.
It’s been five years, he tells himself, it’s okay, things change.
Then he gets a call at work. He sneaks into the bathroom and wipes his hands on his apron before picking up. "Hello? I’m still on my shift so if this could wait an hour or so, that would be-"
"Seunghyun, it’s me.” The clattering of plates and pots and pans in the kitchen fade into the sound of Jiyong’s breathing down the line. Jiyong gives him an address. Seunghyun tells his manager that it’s a family emergency and rushes out to his car. He grits his teeth, grips the wheel, laughs to himself that it's still the same.
A beat up sedan clunks into the convenience store parking lot. Jiyong piles into the passenger seat and remembers the smell of leather and Calvin Klein cologne, and the hum of the engine under his seat from five years ago.
"A fire,” Seunghyun repeats, still in his pajamas and house slippers. "Really." His eyes are laden with sleep.
"Yes,” Jiyong says and buckles his seatbelt. "Smoke everywhere, children crying, the works. Had to jump from my penthouse on the twentieth floor to save myself.”
"Don’t you know being broke is all the rage nowadays. I got to hang with the cool kids down by the high school because I didn’t make last month’s rent on time,” Seunghyun says. "Maybe being able to play baseball in your living room will be the new style for the winter catalogues.” When this only elicits a weak laugh from Jiyong, Seunghyun closes his mouth and takes the car back onto the main road.
At a red light, Jiyong turns to him and says, "I tried to save a puppy, you know. But the dumb thing wouldn’t come out from under the bed.”
Seunghyun absently flips through the radio stations for a good song to accompany the sentiment. He nods, yes, I’ll bet you did and I’m not going to mention that pets aren’t allowed in your apartment tower, or that you live on the fiftieth floor. Hey Jude comes on.
They walk up three flights of stairs to Seunghyun’s place. It’s the same place he had found after the band’s break up years and years ago, except with more equipment cramping into every nook and cranny. The ceiling paint is peeling. Seunghyun digs out a set of oversized pajamas from the dryer for Jiyong.
"The couch already has pillows and blankets. Make sure Jaejoong’s not sleeping there before you hop to it,” he says, looking for a spare toothbrush.
Jiyong frowns and crosses his arms. "You let aliens sleep on your couch.”
"But to me, you’ll always be my only Superman,” says Seunghyun from within one of his bathroom cabinets as if that makes the situation better.
"Superman is a smurf,” Jiyong points out, sullen. "And Batman wears a plastic six pack.”
When Jiyong wakes up, it’s a little past noon. Seunghyun’s gone and left a note on the kitchen table that says he’ll be home by five. Lunch is peanut butter on a dinner roll and black coffee, because the refrigerator is otherwise empty and all the pots and pans are piled in the sink. He has to open the window to air out the smell. Typical bachelor, Jiyong clicks his tongue and shuts off all the lights Seunghyun left on in his rush to work.
He spends the day in his pajamas, listening to classic Disney songs off a cassette already in the tape player and googling hobbies on Seunghyun’s dusty Mac desktop from two decades ago. Over the sound of traffic outside, he thinks that today is his first day awake.
Seunghyun makes a beeline for the kitchen the moment he opens the front door, but trips into his couch where his couch shouldn’t be. He decides that whatever he has to deal with next, he needs a beer first.
He finds Jiyong on the floor in front of the television (where also isn’t where it’s been since Daesung put it there helping him move in).
"What did you do to my place?” Seunghyun asks, poking at Jiyong’s side with his toe.
"I’ve picked up feng shui,” Jiyong says. He opens his eyes and chews on his lower lip, contemplative. "Do you mind moving that loveseat a couple feet to the left? It’s ruining my chi.”
Seunghyun reluctantly nudges at said piece of furniture with his hip. It moves a little in the wrong direction. "This is a temporary thing,” he tells himself.
"Maybe. Could you defenestrate that painting hanging on the wall above the shoe rack? The colors clash with everything else in the room,” Jiyong shifts a little so he’s in the center of the circle of all of Seunghyun’s worldly possessions.
"But it’s my mother’s favorite.”
"Well, what’s a mother supposed to say when her son brings back his masterpiece from kindergarten?”
Indignantly Seunghyun sets his beer down in front of the couch, props his dirty shoes up on the coffee table, and turns the television on to the five o’clock news. There’s a police chase going on that kind of drowns out Jiyong’s voice. But then it goes back to the female anchor, who’s face Seunghyun can’t even enjoy anymore because Jiyong’s face is suddenly two-and-a-half feet too deep into his three foot personal bubble.
"I need this to put my life back on track,” Jiyong whines.
"What you need is a job,” Seunghyun replies and fakes a grin.
Like all good friends do in times of crisis, they all make time to help Jiyong sort out his issues over shots of tequila and too much whiskey. Jiyong decides at this moment that his life mirrors one too many sitcoms.
"I propose we first stone Jiyong out of his mind,” Daesung drawls. They’re at the bar next to the bakery that has the best bread in town, crowded into a booth where Daesung’s taking up most of the breathing room. Jiyong needs ibuprofen, a lot of it; his chi is all sorts of fucked up, squished between Youngbae and Seungri.
Seunghyun puts his drink down, looking completely serious. "What should the optimal weight of the rock we throw at his head be?”
"That won't be necessary,” says Jiyong and orders another Cosmopolitan.
"Did Lady Gaga switch stylists? I heard her new look is all about the brows, which isn’t your thing. And there were those horns I know you wouldn't have allowed out in public over your dead body,” Seungri asks. Jiyong stares at him like he’s grown boobs. "Stephanie Germanotta doesn’t have to be your life,” he insists.
"No, she isn’t,” Jiyong agrees.
Youngbae thumbs through a self-help book and suggests the halfway house.
Late afternoon shifts at the kind of fancy restaurant by the subway and Seunghyun are two pieces from different puzzles. Seunghyun would rather be sleeping. And late afternoon shifts at the kind of fancy restaurant by the subway would rather the fan girls stay at home, and he stop dropping wine glasses. He serves the back corner of the restaurant from noon to eight with heavy eyes and feet.
Sometimes, he thinks about what to eat for dinner. Sometimes, he thinks about calling Daesung up for a drink after work at the bar they frequented as celebrities in wigs and sunglasses too wide for their faces.
These afternoons, his mind is filled with screenshots of the way Jiyong used to look at him; smiles, frowns, smirks, the way he scrunched his nose up at things he didn’t like. But mostly, Seunghyun thinks about what patterns his furniture will be arranged in today.
Over a cup of burnt coffee, Jiyong peruses the packet of papers Seunghyun had come home with. The font is too small, too classic Times New Roman, and he pushes it aside to stir more sugar into his coffee. Seunghyun looks at him expectantly.
"There’s a bit of tomato sauce on your collar,” Jiyong points out absently.
Seunghyun leans back in his chair, sighing. "You've never filled out a job application before."
"Why don’t you go buy me a carton of pistachio almond ice cream and some plastic spoons from the convenience store downstairs and I’ll try my best to fill out this thing.” Jiyong picks up the application again and the corners of his mouth lift just enough to convince Seunghyun he’ll be okay for ten minutes without supervision. "I’ll just put my name in the name slot, no biggie.”
It’s not until Seunghyun’s at the cash register, rifling through his pockets for money, that he realizes that he’s buying pistachio almond ice cream instead of butter pecan at one in the fucking morning. The cashier hands him his change. Seunghyun stomps up the stairs to his bachelor pad only to find that Jiyong’s rearranging the furniture again. He’s filled out the application in pencil. The coins in Seunghyun’s pocket giggle, "oh you silly goose!” like sixteen year old girls.
Jiyong gets a trucking job. Seunghyun tries to not laugh at the thought of Jiyong not being able to take a shower in three days and being stuck in a sixteen-wheeler carrying nothing but tons of grapes.
He stops laughing when he comes back from the convenience store with ice cream for the second time that day and finds that his painting from kindergarten is no longer hanging above his shoe rack. "What did you do with it?” he asks, thin-lipped and paper-hearted.
Jiyong weakly smiles. "The art critics took it to jail?”
That night, Seunghyun’s childhood curls up in the dumpster with coffee grinds and half-eaten sandwiches, laughing at Jiyong who has to sleep on a park bench.
It used to be easy to call Youngbae and crash on his couch at any time of day. This time Jiyong doesn’t expect it to be any different. The call was more of a warning anyway since Jiyong was already on his doorstep by the time he picks up the phone.
"Jiyong, it’s almost midnight,” Youngbae says the moment he opens the door.
"Nice house. Can I come in?” Jiyong says, grinning, and gives him a wave like it’s still ten years ago and they haven’t been out of each other’s loops for most of that time. Youngbae crookedly smiles before stepping outside still in his pajamas and invites Jiyong to sit on the bench. The first thing Jiyong notices is how quiet it is. There is no traffic or ambulances running through the streets, and the city lights are missing.
"You know we’re old news now. All of us,” Youngbae says, his voice loud and crisp and familiar. "I have a family. Seungri’s manages a firm. Daesung’s dating Hyori, did you know that? He’s dating Lee Hyori. And Seunghyun waits tables.”
"I know,” Jiyong mumbles.
"Did you and Seunghyun have a big fight?” Youngbae finally asks.
Jiyong scoffs, "He called me a brat. A fucking petulant child, and that I didn’t even ask him before I started invading his living space and his personal bubble. The guy has a personal bubble! What kind of thirty something bachelor still has a-"
"Well, did you ask him?” Youngbae interrupts. Jiyong looks bewildered. "To live with him, I mean.”
"He was the only one who still had the same phone number,” Jiyong says in a tiny voice.
Youngbae leans into the bench with a sigh, still with that ever-crooked smile, and rubs Jiyong’s shoulder. "You can crash on the couch, but you have to be gone before Jihyun and the kids wake up.”
Until six o’clock, Jiyong lays awake thinking on the leather sofa.
At seven thirty, Seungri walks into his kitchen to find Jiyong making coffee in his kitchen. There’s a plate of bacon and eggs on the dining table arranged in the shape of a smiley face. He doesn’t know whether to scream or just leave for work and pretend it didn’t happen.
"Do you like your coffee strong or regular?” Jiyong asks, not looking up from grinding the coffee beans.
"Today, it should be strong. What are you doing in my kitchen and wearing my shirt?” Seungri sets his tie and suit jacket on the back of his chair.
"You gave me the key,” Jiyong replies, trying to get all the pleats in the coffee filter fit in the coffee machine. "So I’m making you breakfast, because I am a nice, caring, friendly hyung who takes care of his dongsaeng.”
Seungri grabs Jiyong by the shoulders and moves him away from the coffee machine. "You’ve never made coffee in your life. I don’t even know how you made eggs and bacon without setting off the fire alarms.” Jiyong starts running the water to do the dishes, but Seungri reaches over to shut it off. "I can’t risk you breaking my glass bowls. They’re like ten bucks a piece.”
"I’m washing dishes,” Jiyong emphasizes and turns on the water again. Seungri shuts it off. Jiyong scowls and turns it on again. Seungri escorts him out of the kitchen.
"Is this about Seunghyun?”
Jiyong growls, "No.”
"Do I need to bring out the hard liquor already? I think eight in the morning is a record,” Seungri points out, pressing his lips into a thin line. Jiyong buries his head into his arms. A beep from the kitchen keeps Seungri from saying anything more than, "Coffee’s ready.”
"Shouldn’t you apologize to Seunghyun before you embark on your epic grape delivery in, like, an hour?”
Jiyong raises his brows at Daesung as if he’s crazy. "It’s grocery store produce. Not just grapes, okay? I’ll be back in a few days and by then, he’ll have calmed down and it will be like it never happened.”
"You threw away his future family heirloom,” Daesung points out.
"I have to go drive some very important celery four hundred miles south,” Jiyong says, and takes his leave.
Three guys and a sixteen wheeler on a nonstop journey down the interstate for a week. The journey there is long, delivery goes by too fast, and on the way back, they get a flat tire. Murphy and his unfortunate circumstances are definitely trailing Jiyong, and the other two drivers are just collateral damage.
Jiyong is still wearing the plaid shirt he stole from Seungri’s closet and walks into a trucker stop, hair greasy as French fries and eyes sunken in more than usual from no sleep. He thinks about how all the people he used to know, even the ones he’d known since he’d been a toddler, and how they’d changed, grown up; he thinks about consistency. There’s a pay phone, and he has three quarters.
He makes a call, and swallows the years of uncertainty and selfishness and crosses his fingers.
"You smell like ass,” Seunghyun says when he opens the door for Jiyong on Monday morning. It’s not even nine o’clock, but he’s already shaved, put a bit of mousse in his usually untamed hair and dressed like he’s going out. He looks like he’s slept for the first time.
"Thanks. I missed you a lot too,” Jiyong retorts, crinkling up his nose. "For years actually.”
Seunghyun laughs, breath warm and smelling of mint, and grabs Jiyong’s by the wrists and pulls him close until their lips ghost past each other when they speak. "I know. Your fifteen minutes of fame are over. And now you’ve got the simple life with me and feng shui in this apartment, so it’s okay.” His aftershave smells sweet, sharp.
"Sorry about your painting,” Jiyong mumbles.
"You can still rearrange my furniture if you want,” Seunghyun says and closes the door to push Jiyong up against it.
"You enjoy it,” Jiyong breathes and opens his eyes.