(no subject)
Title: Tomorrow Is A Long Time (2/2)
Authors:butterflyweb and rawthornewrites
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:GDTOP
Summary:What could've been, what might've been, what should've been, and what is.
1-2 weeks later
He's not sure why he keeps going back. It's just painful routine at this point. Go to class, come home, go to the club. Lather, rinse, repeat. Seunghyun sighs as he leans against the brick wall outside, line inching forward every so often, but not nearly fast enough for his tastes. High voices and too much cologne are an oppressive cloud around him and he's half-tempted to just go home.
The drinks aren't that good and the sick slide of strangers grinding into him on the dance floor has lost its appeal. But he has nowhere else to be and no one else to be with, so he shifts from one foot to the other, examining the amber end of his cigarette.
By the time he gets inside, he's more tired than he used to be after a full night, heading straight for the bar and ordering a line of shots. Might as well get right to the point. He might end up enjoying himself more.
He scans the crowd for familiar faces, hoping there's someone there who won't be gunning for sex the second he opens his mouth. Not that he can't give a blowjob, but the last thing he feels like doing is gagging around some guy's dick.
Snorting in disgust, he turns back to pick up he first shot, raising it to his lips when someone knocks into his shoulder hard, nearly spilling it down the front of him. "Son of a--"
"Seunghyun?"
The sound of his name catches him off-guard, the swear dying in his throat.
"Hi. Oh, did I do that? Sorry." There's no sarcasm to the question, just genuine surprise and soon he has an armful of thin fashionista, the other man bumping into him again because of the mad rush of dancers reaching the bar to place an order until another song starts and the mating ritual can resume.
Jiyong--and he doesn't linger long on the fact that he remembers his name--laughs, steadying himself and Seunghyun a bit. "Sorry! It's kind of a mad house in here tonight. How've you been?"
"Peachy keen," he replies, helpless against a smile. This time, Jiyong is sporting leopard print and leather pants. The worst thing is that it suits him.
"You wanna dance?" Jiyong asks, almost shouting over the crowd. He looks well into his evening, bright-cheeked and eyes dark. The song changes, a hard and fast beat booming through the bass and a bony fingers clutch his wrists.
"Come on, this is a great song!"
"What about my drinks?" Seunghyun calls over the music, nodding to the neat line of shot glasses, all filled to the brim.
Jiyong grins. "I can help you finish them."
"Yah, you're paying for half then," he retorts, but not unkindly, picking up his glass once again, making sure to stay a bit closer to the bar this time. Jiyong mimics him, raising one and knocking it back just as fast.
"Fuck," he laughs, making a face at the taste and reaching for the next. "Too much of a man for chasers?"
Seunghyun hands him another glass, because if he's getting pissed drunk, then so is Jiyong and tilts his head back. Ignores his question in favor of another. "Where's the boyfriend?"
Something shifts almost imperceptibly in Jiyong's expression, smile clicking down a notch. "He couldn't make it tonight," he replies, follows the words with another shot.
"Shame," Seunghyun drawls, considering his options. "What, he's working overtime so you two can buy that nice little house with the picket fence?" It betrays a little too much bitterness, so Seunghyun downs another glass, no longer feeling the taste or the burn or the warmth of Jiyong's body at his side.
The other man tenses, his shoulders a straight line, looking down at the next glass. Picks it up and knocks it back, turning toward the floor. "Fuck you," he mutters, under his breath and almsot lost to the surrounding din.
He has a brief flash of recollection. Sees himself with shoulders tight and anxiety and hatred in his bones. It's not a happy thought, so Seunghyun turns to weapons he learned to use when he realized the hypocrisy of many and the arrogance of some. Slides up off the stool and takes Jiyong by the waist.
"Later. Let's dance."
Jiyong's head snaps up and he almost expects the other man to tell him where to shove it. White teeth bite into a full lower lip, almost viciously, and the other man nods, starting out to the floor like he expects Seunghyun to follow. This time, at least, he's right.
They weave between dancing couples--and sometimes dancing threesomes-- to somewhere vaguely central where the lights meet and jump away from so the dance floor is darker than anywhere else in the club.
Jiyong presses against him, back to his chest, practically sitting in his lap and starts to move. Seunghyun takes the cue, sliding an arm around his waist to keep him there and moving in time to the music.
It's not really dancing, more like fucking with clothes on, but the other man is too absent-minded to make this truly enjoyable. He brushes against Seunghyun's hips, leaning his head back against his shoulder.
Seunghyun's hand slides down to rest on his thighs, maybe pushing, maybe not. He's not done this often as anything other than a prelude to sex. His other hand stays firm on Jiyong's stomach, moving him in lieu of moving with him.
Distantly, he knows that what he said was wrong and maybe a little mean, but he's not supposed to give a damn about the people he meets here so why should he care about that?
Jiyong reaches back a hand that curls around his nape, black nail polish cold on his fingertips. Nails scratch over his skin, just barely, and Seunghyun wonders what the other man wants with him tonight. Drown his sorrows? Pay back his boyfriend for one too many missed dinners? It's all a bit complicated just to have a fuck and still he stays, hand slipping up under cotton.
"Wanna head to the backrooms?" he breathes against the curve of his ear, brushing his lips against the lobe very intentionally.
He expects a moan, expects Jiyong to press back against him with a breathy little 'yes'. He expects to find himself buried to the hilt inside him in a dark, seedy room with used condoms on the floor and the scent of sweat in the air.
What he doesn't see coming is the other man pulling out of his arms, shoving his shoulder roughly.
"I told you I'm with somebody. Jesus, is sex the only thing in your head?"
He stumbles back in surprise, nearly tripping over other dancers. It's a first and the shock of rejection is neatly offset by the insult of the question. His pride bristles at that because of course he's not ruled by his lust, but he figured. He assumed.
He didn't give a shit and still doesn't. The reminder comes at an opportune time.
"Whatever," he shrugs. "You're getting boring anyway."
It hits the other man like a slap, visible on his stunned, then angry, features. Jiyong takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Boring? You want to see boring? How about the club rat who has nothing better to do with his time than get people drunk and fuck them? Who has to use his looks and his dick because fuck all if there's a personality to find!" His chest is heaving, shouting to be heard over the music. "Who relies on one night stands and tells himself he doesn't want a relationship because guess what, no one's interested! Look in the mirror, asshole."
Jiyong's face is red with his anger, shaking slightly as he steps back, then turns into the crowd, quickly becoming lost in the writhing bodies.
If anyone else heard, Seunghyun isn't sure. It dawns on him that it's very possible and being left behind to swallow those words is about as pleasant as swallowing cum. The bitter taste turns his stomach and he tries to brush it aside with anger.
Who does the kid think he is? He's nobody, he's just another sore ego because Seunghyun isn't interested in his little sob story. They're not together, they're not even friends. Why should he bother to keep track of what Jiyong does in his spare time? When they're here and dancing and drinking and fucking, that's the only reality.
Jiyong doesn't exist outside of that. Or maybe Seunghyun doesn't.
He shoves past grinding bodies, a few moments too late and breaks out into the cold night air with a mind to give the kid a good beating. Or at least tell him off. All he finds is smoke and cigarette butts under his soles.
Seunghyun inhales sharply, the cold air stinging his throat. He wants to hit something, preferably a smug little fashion victim who can't keep his legs closed or mouth shut. Fuck him. He doesn't have to take that shit anymore, from anyone. He's better than that, not some tenth grade loser who doesn't even have the guts to fight back.
He clenches his hands around the rage, trying to hold onto it lest it slip and become something else. He hasn't felt shame in a while.
14-21 days later
There's a special kind of smell in the subway. It's warm air, recycled with every fast train that passes him by. He's supposed to be meeting someone, but said someone is making them both late for class and isn't that predictable. This is why he doesn't work with other people unless he has to. You can't count on others.
Fisting the strap on his bookbag, he leans against a pillar, playing idly with his phone. It doesn't make time pass any quicker so he turns to people watching.
A couple stands not too far from him, holding hands and way too close for comfort, the girl flirting demurely, a finger twirling her hair into curls as she looks up through fake laughs. Her boyfriend says something and she hits his arm with a pout, moving even closer.
It's sickening.
He watches them over the edge of his phone, scrolling through his painfully short contact list over and over again, brows furrowed in disgust. It seems like the whole day has been planned to mock him with words a week old.
Another train arrives and they get on, weaving through the crowds disembarking with the ease of people not-in love. The girl presses into the boyfriend and Seunghyun rolls his eyes because the virgin sex kitten act got old sometime in the nineties and it doesn't look any better if she does it wearing garters.
The doors slide shut with a hiss and a warning from the disembodied female voice that rules the world of the underground, leaving behind countless passengers desperate to get out and above ground.
Then there's the usual straggler, running through the crowd with careless excuses and pardon me's, tripping over his own feet as he rushes towards the train. But it's too late and the sound of wheels turning or engines revving or whatever makes the subway work taunts him just before taking off.
Seunghyun extends no sympathy for the guy. Watches as he drops his bag off of his shoulder in the frustrated disappointment of the left behind, and turns to head back to the benches and the schedule printed high on the wall. He watches until he sees a stranger's features become all too familiar and nearly turns his face before he remembers he doesn't hide from people anymore.
He's got as much right to be here as anyone.
Jiyong, in his frustration, doesn't notice him at once. He all but brushes by him, features schooled in displeasure, before raising his eyes from the floor. It's like it's the first time he's taking in his surroundings, like he's never been here before and he almost doesn't notice Seunghyun. Almost but as Murphy's Law would have it, not quite.
The other man's features still, chin lifting slightly even as his shoulders sag.
"Hi," Jiyong gets out after a moment of silence, as if there's nothing to keep his mouth shut, as if he hadn't humiliated Seunghyun---humiliated himself just a week ago in the middle of a crowded nightclub.
"Hi," Seunghyun fires back because he can't keep his mouth shut any better. Because he wants to and he owes the kid a majestic put down. "Looks like you missed your train." He doesn't even bother hiding the sarcasm.
"Yeah, looks like." Jiyong shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking remarkably....normal, considering how Seunghyun has seen him before. No gel in his hair, no kohl around his eyes. Just jeans and a bright t-shirt. It's almost...disconcerting.
His attention snaps back when he realizes the kid is talking again, body tensing as he prepares to give him what for, when he clues into the words behind said.
"--so look, I'm sorry, okay? It was just a shitty night and I took it out on you. It was an asshole thing to do."
Apologies make not listening regrettable. Seunghyun holds up a hand - the one still clutching the phone - to shush him. "Wait, what? Say that again."
Jiyong glares. "Now who's being the asshole? I said I'm sorry." He kicks his own backpack weakly and shrugs. "Haven't seen you at the club much since."
Seunghyun snorts, never one to let grudges go quickly. "What do you care? You've got your boytoy--who needs me to make the evening boring?" he shoots back, heavy on the sarcasm.
Watches Jiyong flinch.
"We're not....he's not..." Jiyong shuffles his feet, looking a few years younger. "We're not together anymore." It's the diplomatic thing to say, sure, but if he's not crying and his eyes aren't red, Seunghyun assumes he's the one who did the dumping.
"Too many missed dinners?"
"Something like that," Jiyong replies quietly, pushing a hand through his hair. A weak smile crosses his lips. "He fit the person I was trying to be. But that only lasts so long."
Sounds nice and philosophic and Seunghyun wonders if the other man picked it up on Oprah. Or maybe on some TV drama. He doesn't ask, though, because he doesn't really care either way.
"So who're you with now?" he throws, taking a stab at the kid's comments the last time they spoke. If Seunghyun doesn't have anyone, it's because he doesn't need anyone. Jiyong can't say the same, can he?
"No one." Jiyong turns slightly, not looking at him. "It's only been a couple days, for Christ's sake."
"So you didn't leave him for someone else." He can't let it go, can't help himself. He wants to see the same shame he felt reproduced on the other man's face. It's only fair.
"No," Jiyong snaps, the retort hot and quick, his eyes finding Seunghyun's. "It had nothing to do with him. Or anybody else." The righteous anger fades as soon as it rises, his gaze slipping away again. "It was fine at the clubs, going out on dates...but I can't be that person all the time." A pause. "Can you?"
"What person is that?" he fires back, perplexed more than annoyed. Jiyong isn't rising up to the bait. Isn't giving him satisfaction.
"That person. The person you are at the club. Jesus, you don't think that's what I'm like all the time, do you? That I was like that in highschool?" He snorts. "You're a different person inside places like that. Everyone is. It's why we go."
"Not me," Seunghyun retorts, smirking. "I'm not that complicated." Why wouldn't he want to be that man all the time? That man who has everything and everyone he wants? That man that people want to fuck and kiss and dance with. "I don't know, what were you like in high school?"
Jiyong rolls his eyes a little. "Fine, you're the sole exception. Congrats." Smiles a little at the question, shoving his hands in his pockets--or trying to, too-tight jeans rendering the action useless.
"I was...quiet. Invisible. Played on the baseball team cause my dad knew the coach from college."
He has brief flashes of the baseball team at his old high school, but what he remembers most clearly is the thickness of their bats. The faces got washed away with time.
"So what, now you're making up for lost time? Is that what the get up's for?"
Another shrug, somewhat defensive and suggesting he's hit the nail a little too close on the head. "I guess. Hey, got you to fuck me, didn't it?" He won't make eye contact.
Seunghyun feels a little bad. "You're pretty cute under all that shit you put on, you know. Not like you gotta wear it." It's as close to a compliment as he's about to get, unless Jiyong offers to spread for him.
It gets him a smile, a genuine one, young and bright, no hints of arrogance or bravado around the edges. It makes him uncomfortable.
"Thanks."
"I'll tell you more if you let me do you," he offers with a snort, trying for humor because if this is about to get all earnest and shit, he's going to wait elsewhere.
Jiyong's face falls slightly. "Fucking--well, we know who you were in highschool, don't we?" He mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the pillar.
Seunghyun snorts, picking insolence over panic. Unless Jiyong is some stalker, he's got no clue what he's talking about. He wants to keep it that way. "Really? Who's that?"
Jiyong turns to face him, jaw set with stubbornness. "That asshole jock who made everyone feel like shit about themselves and kicked people when they were down. Right? Having money and being attractive wasn't enough, you had to stomp on people who didn't do anything to you."
"Right," he snaps, full of false bravado and taking ownership of a past--a life--not his. "That's me."
Jiyong looks on the cusp of a curse, teeth bared through parted lips. He mulls whatever he was going to say before opting to censor himself. Grabbing his bag off the dirty floor, he makes his way to the benches a few feet away, collapsing heavily onto red plastic.
Seunghyun rolls his eyes, but no one pays attention to him. No one gives a fuck. Fingers itching for a cigarette, he follows Jiyong.
"I lied," he confesses quietly.
"Lied about what?" the other man retorts, suspicion and false confidence in his eyes. Seunghyun recognizes it for the posturing it is. Sighs and chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to cover the bitter taste of the words he speaks.
"About that. About....being that guy. I wasn't. I was....nobody."
Jiyong throws him a measuring look, something in his brow showing how little he trusts anything he says. It does nothing to make this any easier.
"I was just another kid. Nothing special." A sideways glance. "We don't all have daddy issues."
It gets a snort in reply, the other man kicking the floor. "Could've fooled me with the commitment phobia."
"Why don't you steer clear of psychoanalyzing me and focus on your own issues, kid?" he snaps, because this is not turning into another bullshit conversation where he's always in the wrong.
The kind shakes his head, fingers curled around the edge of the bench. "Mind your own business? Really? Isn't that a little juvenile, hyung?" The word is sarcastic and empty and suddenly, painfully familiar.
It's not something people use with him a lot, probably because he doesn't fit the mold and doesn't deserve the respect. But this time, it doesn't seem out of place.
"Say that again."
"I said it's juvenile," Jiyong repeats, annoyance written on his features.
Seunghyun hisses out a breath in frustration. Idiot kid. "No, the last bit."
"Hyung?"
"Yeah." It rings oddly familiar, like he's heard it before. From the same lips.
Jiyong frowns at him. "It's not an insult."
Seunghyun gives him a look. "I know that, you just..." He's heard it before. From those lips, in that voice and he doubts it was in the back of a club, buried in the other man and fucking him into delirium. Certainly not as long as they've known each other's names. Then from where?
"I just what?" Jiyong queries, lost between a glare and concern.
"You sound familiar." He shakes his head, trying to dispel the clouds gathering around his head.
He watches the other man tilt his head in curiosity, the gesture far too young, and suddenly it comes back to him. He knows him. From fucking high school, from that day... baseball, blood...watching as a skinny kid in the outfield played halfheartedly, out of some sense of gratitude...leaving before the game had ended and shutting the book on could've beens right then and there.
"Fuck," he croaks, still staring at him.
"If you're having a heart attack or something, I should tell you I don't know the number to the paramedics." The joke wrinkles the corners of his eyes even as his lips fail to follow suit, tension in his cheeks. He reaches forward.
Seunghyun inches back.
"I remember you," he tells him, the words accusatory because he has every right to be. He remembered, Jiyong didn't. It doesn't matter if it took how many meetings, if he fucked and discarded the other man in that time or if it was just chance in the first place. He needs to be proven right. People don't change. People aren't worth it.
Jiyong is looking at him in confusion. "Yeah, i remember you too....shit, are you having a stroke or something?
"No, you shit, from high school. I remember you from high school." From the shape of cracked cement under his hands and the soft smiles from someone who just wanted from him something the others didn't.
"Oh. I'm sorry, I don't..."
"Of course you don't," he snaps, standing suddenly, his face hot with his own embarrassment, quelling the voice that says he almost doesn't want Jiyong to remember. "All your big speeches about my ego and who forgot who, huh?" It's coming off more hurt than self-righteous and Seunghyung clenches his fists hard to still their shaking.
He doesn't want to be remembered as that weak, sorry little thing, afraid of his own shadow. He doesn't want to be remembered at all if it means being remember as how he used to be.
"I'm sorry," the kid repeats, bristling at the accusation. "What year were you in? I would've remembered--"
"Shut the fuck up," he hisses. "Just shut your fucking mouth."
Jiyong does, jaw closing with an audible click as he looks at him with guilt and bewilderment. This is the kid...this is the kid he fucking idealized? This kid, who was loud and obnoxious and let people fuck him in dirty clubs and couldn't stand him and--
"I have to go," Seunghyun bites out, turning one his heel and walking away as fast as he can. Fuck class. Fuck Jiyong. The whole point was to forget any of that ever happened.
He doesn't see Jiyong look after him like he's lost his mind. He doesn't see his hands clench around thin air when he wants to be clutching at his arms.
Doesn't see recognition finally dawn on him and his eyes widen in surprise. By then, Seunghyun is far gone and utterly lost.
7-8 days later
It hurts his pride to have to stand under the strobe lights, barely seeing any of it. This is supposed to be paradise. He's supposed to be happy here. Instead, the scent of stale sweat just turns his stomach, cologne poorly masking what used to get him hot once, not so long ago. He tosses back a drink, alcohol as a coping strategy proving ineffective.
The facade is broken. The lie he's told himself for years now that he's some completely different person. Someone important. Someone desired and longed for and unattainable. He's still the same, only the packaging has changed. Jiyong....Jiyong would say he's worse--he had no trouble pointing it out so contemptuously on this very floor.
It hurts the way things weren't supposed to hurt anymore, the way he swore to himself he wouldn't let them. It's not fair.
"Rum and coke," orders the man beside him and Seunghyun looks up, startled, apprehensive, only to find it's a dyed blond a few good inches too short. He looks nothing like Jiyong.
He settles back, caught between relief and regret. It's a matter of time before they meet again, he knows. That's the problem with having the same haunts, they tend to make the world smaller than an oyster.
It doesn't make it easier. It doesn't tell him what to do, how to act, who to be. Jiyong has lingered in his memory as the first person to like him for him, but there are too many years and too many mistakes between here and now. It's pointless.
He pays for his drink and stands, eyes averted so he doesn't end up being propositioned. With the mood he's in, he wouldn't even come up with a good enough rejection. While a good lay would've cured his angst in the past, he knows this is different. He doesn't feel able to trivialize it like he does everything else.
Outside, there's a line, but then when isn't there? Boys line up with men and hands find their ways under denim and leather, lips sometimes but not always following. Depends on how brave you get. He gets out, so someone else goes in and the line becomes one person shorter.
There's nothing left to do but go home. To an empty apartment, and empty bed and the shallow mockery he's made of his life.
He gets five feet before a voice calls out, near shouting over the music that throbs from the club like an open wound and the swarms of people ready to feed.
"I remember you."
He turns, jaw tight and swallowing hard and sees him standing there, eyes dark and clothing far too casual for him. For here.
"I remember you, Seunghyun," Jiyong repeats, his voice hot. "I wouldn't have forgotten."
His expression changes, from guarded to something vaguely reminiscent of the kid who said he tripped so the cool boy from another school wouldn't take him for an idiot. But they have an audience of several dozen, so it cannot last. It cannot mean all that much.
"Have fun tonight," he replies instead, taking the easier of all options available. He's always been something of a coward.
"Seunghyun..." Jiyong's voice cracks on his name. The other man bites his lip hard. "You said you were going to come. Why did you lie?"
"What's going on?" stage-whispers one man, older than them both, somewhere further down the line.
His date pokes him in the ribs. "Shh. I think they used to be together."
Seunghyun would glare but he has a hard time looking away. "Don't drink too much," he adds, as though Jiyong didn't speak up. As though there's nothing to say.
"I looked for you. After," Jiyong murmurs, as if they're having two entirely different conversations, as if he won't be ignored. "You weren't there. What did I do?"
He shrugs, because it doesn't matter anymore and he's not about to admit to feeling scared in front of strangers. He won't be judged and mocked again. But Jiyong doesn't leave it at that, stepping out of the line and into the street. Closer now to him than is strictly comfortable.
"What did I do? Was I that bad?" His voice is softer now, insecurity heavy in his tone and a thousand and one awful things run through Seunghyun's head that he could say and shut the other man down entirely, but he doesn't want to be that person either.
He grits his teeth, shaking his head. "What does it matter? Christ, Jiyong, it was five years ago." His voice isn't nearly as strong as he'd like it to be.
Jiyong shakes his head, anger writ on his face. "So? Five years, five months... Five days ago. You said you'd be there and you lied. Why did you lie?"
Why does he care so much?
"I didn't. I know you kicked our asses." He remembers the scoreboard, the frustrated shouts and the audience losing patience.
"The team," Jiyong corrects. "Not me."
"No, you sucked."
Jiyong's face flickers with hurt and against his will, something inside of Seunghyun twists a little. What is with this kid? Why does every word out of his mouth, every expression hit so damn hard? What does he owe him? He had his own shit to deal with.
He's about to open his mouth to say just that when something occurs to the other man. "Wait, how would you....you did come?"
Seunghyun swallows thickly. "Yeah. So?" Doesn't change anything. They don't know each other. The only times they haven't argued had been when they were kids or when they were fucking. It's not exactly the basis for a relationship.
But Jiyong grins like hearing that just made his day and Seunghyun doesn't get it. He still left.
The other man's smile quiets a little, but doesn't dim, taking a few steps forward until he can lower his voice enough not to give them a rapt audience. He looks up at Seunghyun, pushing dark hair out of his face.
"Where are you going?"
"Home," Seunghyun replies without thinking, feeling like he missed a step, like something fit into place for Jiyong while he's left twisting in the wind.
Jiyong's gaze meets his. "Can I come?"
Sure, why not. They can have a tea party and talk about Seunghyun's tragic past. Or, alternatively, they can christen corners of his flat that have yet to be christened. He picks the latter of two options and shrugs.
"Knock yourself out." He's pretty sure he has a bottle of soju stashed somewhere. It won't be enough to get them drunk, but liquid courage has never hurt.
The other man falls into step beside him, hovering close to his elbow. "It's so weird that we met like this, don't you think?"
Seunghyun shrugs, preoccupied with the novelty of actually leaving the club with someone. "Not really. I mean, we both come here, we were bound to run into each other."
Jiyong shakes his head, impatient. "No, I mean, meeting again after so long. It was chance the first time, what were the odds it would happen again five years later?" He smiles at Seunghyun. "Fuck, you look so different."
He can't hold back a smile at that, pride and ego wedging like a third person between them. He knows it, but it feels good to hear someone else say it for a change. He's nothing like that boy anymore.
"Thanks," he retorts, sinking a hand in Jiyong's back pocket. It's fairly innocent, for him. "So do you."
Jiyong walks that much closer, fitting into his side. Raises an eyebrow even as a smirk hovers around his lips. "Good different? Bad different? You're a little sketchy with the compliments, you know."
"Good different. Takes a little getting used to, but you've got your own style and you're not afraid to show it. Nothing wrong with that." Fingers tighten playfully in his flesh. "What's with the shit-eating grin?"
Jiyong shrugs, smile still in place as he pokes a finger into Seunghyun's ribs. "Nothing. It's just nice to see you again."
"You've got some memory," Seunghyun tells him, catching his hand before it can jab him again. "If we talked twenty minutes back then, it's probably too long." It's not like they're old friends. They know nothing about each other.
Jiyong shrugs a little, fitting their fingers together obnoxiously. Seunghyun feels something flip over in his stomach.
"You left an impression." It's quiet, but there, and in the next moment, Jiyong's shaking his head and letting go of his hand.
"I'm going to Sogang now. Not on a baseball scholarship or anything, I haven't even played since school, but yeah. I'm majoring in fashion design, which isn't gay, so don't even go there. I just like things that are...different, I guess."
He is gay, Seunghyun wants to point out, watching the curve of his cheek in the lamplight. The way he pouts. He pouts a lot and probably doesn't know he's doing it. It doesn't seem like artifice.
"Planning to start your own label?" he queries, surprising himself with his interest.
"Maybe." A cheeky smile. "Why, would you buy stuff from me?"
He squeezes his ass to shake off that infuriating little smirk. "Depends on the advertisement."
"Maybe I'll model for you sometime," the other man flirts.
"No, thanks. Think I like you better with the least possible of clothes on." It's second nature to trade innuendo in for compliments. He's lost the ability to say something nice without wanting something in return. Everything's a trade off now.
Jiyong snorts. "Shut up. I've just decided I like you again. Let me enjoy the high."
"Yeah?" Seunghyun squeezes at his ass again. "How much do you like me?" A blowjob's worth? A fuck? It's his measuring criteria these days.
The other man laughs a little. "I'm still deciding."
"Decide fast, my place is just up the street." He nods to a three story building caught between two taller ones, dwarfed by their height and their shiny windows. It's too far from the university and too far from anything worth seeing, but it's close to the club and that in itself makes it an attractive residence.
"Let me ask you a question," Jiyong murmurs, hip tight against Seunghyun's. "Is fucking all you're in it for? I mean, I should know so I know how soon to get my shit and get out, right?"
It's clingy shit, that's all. That's what he tells himself. He doesn't buy it. "What else? Why, what do you expect?"
Jiyong tenses in his hold, shrugging slightly. "I don't know. More than a one night stand. I'm sick of those. They're pointless." The words are almost a challenge.
"Hate to say this... But you don't even know me. Maybe I'm a jerk." It's a higher possibility than Seunghyun would like to admit.
"You were nice to me once. You can't have changed that much."
Seunghyun rolls his eyes because Jiyong's insistence on this is making him uncomfortable. "I'm not the same person I was then. At all. And Jesus, that was one day. One time. You can't think that's the summation of who I am."
Jiyong bows his head, a flush apparent on his skin before he ducks away. "That's not what I meant." It reminds him of the kid who knelt by him on the cold cement path and practically bounced at his side until he had to leave for the field.
It reminds him of hope and then cowardice when the game was called.
"What did you mean, then, exactly?" He breaks from him because he needs the space.
"I just...I liked you. Then." They've stopped walking entirely, facing off against each other in the dark of the street. "Really liked you, and I think I like you now and I'm just...I just want to know if there's...anything on the other side of that."
"Disappointment," retorts Seunghyun. "Pain, probably. Jealousy..." He's never been in a relationship so it's not like he knows but he outlines the reasons flawlessly, arguing his case in the shadow of a wall. "Why do we have to complicate the way things are now?"
"How are things now?" Jiyong retorts. "You fuck me and treat me like crap because it makes you feel like the roles are reversed? Is that so much better then...then being with someone and coming to care for them and having a friend as well as a partner and--" He cuts himself off, turning away.
Seunghyun bites the inside of his cheek. "Like I said, you know nothing about me. Don't you go visiting my motives."
"I get why you're doing it. Getting back at them, right?" Jiyong's shoulders hunch. "I tried that. Works like a charm until you can't stand your own reflection in the mirror."
Seunghyun sneers, feeling something clench in his chest and damn the other man for insisting on stirring all of this shit up again and daring to preach at him about dealing with it. Poor Jiyong, what was his childhood trauma? Being cute and likable and on sports teams?
"What the hell do you know you about not being able to stand your reflection?" he hisses, the words containing a little too much pain, a little too much truth, and he doesn't need this. "You know what, fuck you, I'm done--"
"What, because I wasn't the fat kid in school I couldn't possibly know what it's like not to fit in?" Jiyong snorts, turning to him with hands folded across his chest. "Go to hell."
It hits him like a slap to the face because that's the first time he's heard it, those words, since he shed that skin and it hurts now just as deeply as it did then.
Something in Jiyong's face softens and he steps forward, grabbing Seunghyun's wrist. Speaking quietly. "You think you're winning, but you're not. You're still letting them ruin your life. You're still letting them control you."
Jiyong bites his lip. "It doesn't matter what they thought, Seunghyun. There was nothing wrong with you. Who gives a fuck what they think."
I do, he thinks, before correcting himself. Did. He's so far past that, it's practically an ant on the horizon. "We fucked once. That doesn't give you the right to preach about my past. Just shut your fucking mouth, alright? Give it a rest." His mouth says one thing and his body another, because he stays rooted to the ground when he knows he should run.
Jiyong flinches, but doesn't let go.
"It doesn't. But I really don't care, because you need to hear it. You need to know that someone wants you, not this fucking image you've constructed."
"And that someone is you?" He means for it to come out as a snort, derision like a protective layer around him. "You want me? You got a burning need to fix whatever's wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong with you," Jiyong tells him, looking down at his hold on Seunghyun's wrist. "You're a bit of a bastard, yeah, but I figure you have your reasons. And yeah. I want you. For more than just an hour in your bed."
He wants to joke that it wouldn't be one hour. It would be more, it would be the whole night. But the words stick in his throat, become heavy with doubt and the knowledge that Jiyong has hit a nerve, strumming it with his fingertips the closer he gets.
"Listen..." Jiyong murmurs, never breaking eye contact. "Why don't we just head back to your place and watch a movie or fuck or whatever... and I'll give you my number and we just go from there." He hesitates. "I'm not asking for the rest of your life or something, just...give me a chance, okay?"
Seunghyun can't quite meet his eyes, staring out over his shoulder and processing the words, fitting them together and replaying them over and over again. Jiyong's hold on him is light--he could break away, get the fuck out of here, away from the other man and his suppositons and pleas and insights. He could and he'd still be running. Running away from things bigger than him, from things he fears and distantly, Seunghyun thinks his legs got tired of it five fucking years ago.
He turns his hand, catching Jiyong's and thinks that maybe, chances never really run out. They're always there, just waiting for you to take them.
"Alright. Let's go from there."
fin
A/N: Please do not comment unless you accept the basic dignity, equality, and inherent worth of all human beings.
Authors:butterflyweb and rawthornewrites
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:GDTOP
Summary:What could've been, what might've been, what should've been, and what is.
1-2 weeks later
He's not sure why he keeps going back. It's just painful routine at this point. Go to class, come home, go to the club. Lather, rinse, repeat. Seunghyun sighs as he leans against the brick wall outside, line inching forward every so often, but not nearly fast enough for his tastes. High voices and too much cologne are an oppressive cloud around him and he's half-tempted to just go home.
The drinks aren't that good and the sick slide of strangers grinding into him on the dance floor has lost its appeal. But he has nowhere else to be and no one else to be with, so he shifts from one foot to the other, examining the amber end of his cigarette.
By the time he gets inside, he's more tired than he used to be after a full night, heading straight for the bar and ordering a line of shots. Might as well get right to the point. He might end up enjoying himself more.
He scans the crowd for familiar faces, hoping there's someone there who won't be gunning for sex the second he opens his mouth. Not that he can't give a blowjob, but the last thing he feels like doing is gagging around some guy's dick.
Snorting in disgust, he turns back to pick up he first shot, raising it to his lips when someone knocks into his shoulder hard, nearly spilling it down the front of him. "Son of a--"
"Seunghyun?"
The sound of his name catches him off-guard, the swear dying in his throat.
"Hi. Oh, did I do that? Sorry." There's no sarcasm to the question, just genuine surprise and soon he has an armful of thin fashionista, the other man bumping into him again because of the mad rush of dancers reaching the bar to place an order until another song starts and the mating ritual can resume.
Jiyong--and he doesn't linger long on the fact that he remembers his name--laughs, steadying himself and Seunghyun a bit. "Sorry! It's kind of a mad house in here tonight. How've you been?"
"Peachy keen," he replies, helpless against a smile. This time, Jiyong is sporting leopard print and leather pants. The worst thing is that it suits him.
"You wanna dance?" Jiyong asks, almost shouting over the crowd. He looks well into his evening, bright-cheeked and eyes dark. The song changes, a hard and fast beat booming through the bass and a bony fingers clutch his wrists.
"Come on, this is a great song!"
"What about my drinks?" Seunghyun calls over the music, nodding to the neat line of shot glasses, all filled to the brim.
Jiyong grins. "I can help you finish them."
"Yah, you're paying for half then," he retorts, but not unkindly, picking up his glass once again, making sure to stay a bit closer to the bar this time. Jiyong mimics him, raising one and knocking it back just as fast.
"Fuck," he laughs, making a face at the taste and reaching for the next. "Too much of a man for chasers?"
Seunghyun hands him another glass, because if he's getting pissed drunk, then so is Jiyong and tilts his head back. Ignores his question in favor of another. "Where's the boyfriend?"
Something shifts almost imperceptibly in Jiyong's expression, smile clicking down a notch. "He couldn't make it tonight," he replies, follows the words with another shot.
"Shame," Seunghyun drawls, considering his options. "What, he's working overtime so you two can buy that nice little house with the picket fence?" It betrays a little too much bitterness, so Seunghyun downs another glass, no longer feeling the taste or the burn or the warmth of Jiyong's body at his side.
The other man tenses, his shoulders a straight line, looking down at the next glass. Picks it up and knocks it back, turning toward the floor. "Fuck you," he mutters, under his breath and almsot lost to the surrounding din.
He has a brief flash of recollection. Sees himself with shoulders tight and anxiety and hatred in his bones. It's not a happy thought, so Seunghyun turns to weapons he learned to use when he realized the hypocrisy of many and the arrogance of some. Slides up off the stool and takes Jiyong by the waist.
"Later. Let's dance."
Jiyong's head snaps up and he almost expects the other man to tell him where to shove it. White teeth bite into a full lower lip, almost viciously, and the other man nods, starting out to the floor like he expects Seunghyun to follow. This time, at least, he's right.
They weave between dancing couples--and sometimes dancing threesomes-- to somewhere vaguely central where the lights meet and jump away from so the dance floor is darker than anywhere else in the club.
Jiyong presses against him, back to his chest, practically sitting in his lap and starts to move. Seunghyun takes the cue, sliding an arm around his waist to keep him there and moving in time to the music.
It's not really dancing, more like fucking with clothes on, but the other man is too absent-minded to make this truly enjoyable. He brushes against Seunghyun's hips, leaning his head back against his shoulder.
Seunghyun's hand slides down to rest on his thighs, maybe pushing, maybe not. He's not done this often as anything other than a prelude to sex. His other hand stays firm on Jiyong's stomach, moving him in lieu of moving with him.
Distantly, he knows that what he said was wrong and maybe a little mean, but he's not supposed to give a damn about the people he meets here so why should he care about that?
Jiyong reaches back a hand that curls around his nape, black nail polish cold on his fingertips. Nails scratch over his skin, just barely, and Seunghyun wonders what the other man wants with him tonight. Drown his sorrows? Pay back his boyfriend for one too many missed dinners? It's all a bit complicated just to have a fuck and still he stays, hand slipping up under cotton.
"Wanna head to the backrooms?" he breathes against the curve of his ear, brushing his lips against the lobe very intentionally.
He expects a moan, expects Jiyong to press back against him with a breathy little 'yes'. He expects to find himself buried to the hilt inside him in a dark, seedy room with used condoms on the floor and the scent of sweat in the air.
What he doesn't see coming is the other man pulling out of his arms, shoving his shoulder roughly.
"I told you I'm with somebody. Jesus, is sex the only thing in your head?"
He stumbles back in surprise, nearly tripping over other dancers. It's a first and the shock of rejection is neatly offset by the insult of the question. His pride bristles at that because of course he's not ruled by his lust, but he figured. He assumed.
He didn't give a shit and still doesn't. The reminder comes at an opportune time.
"Whatever," he shrugs. "You're getting boring anyway."
It hits the other man like a slap, visible on his stunned, then angry, features. Jiyong takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"Boring? You want to see boring? How about the club rat who has nothing better to do with his time than get people drunk and fuck them? Who has to use his looks and his dick because fuck all if there's a personality to find!" His chest is heaving, shouting to be heard over the music. "Who relies on one night stands and tells himself he doesn't want a relationship because guess what, no one's interested! Look in the mirror, asshole."
Jiyong's face is red with his anger, shaking slightly as he steps back, then turns into the crowd, quickly becoming lost in the writhing bodies.
If anyone else heard, Seunghyun isn't sure. It dawns on him that it's very possible and being left behind to swallow those words is about as pleasant as swallowing cum. The bitter taste turns his stomach and he tries to brush it aside with anger.
Who does the kid think he is? He's nobody, he's just another sore ego because Seunghyun isn't interested in his little sob story. They're not together, they're not even friends. Why should he bother to keep track of what Jiyong does in his spare time? When they're here and dancing and drinking and fucking, that's the only reality.
Jiyong doesn't exist outside of that. Or maybe Seunghyun doesn't.
He shoves past grinding bodies, a few moments too late and breaks out into the cold night air with a mind to give the kid a good beating. Or at least tell him off. All he finds is smoke and cigarette butts under his soles.
Seunghyun inhales sharply, the cold air stinging his throat. He wants to hit something, preferably a smug little fashion victim who can't keep his legs closed or mouth shut. Fuck him. He doesn't have to take that shit anymore, from anyone. He's better than that, not some tenth grade loser who doesn't even have the guts to fight back.
He clenches his hands around the rage, trying to hold onto it lest it slip and become something else. He hasn't felt shame in a while.
14-21 days later
There's a special kind of smell in the subway. It's warm air, recycled with every fast train that passes him by. He's supposed to be meeting someone, but said someone is making them both late for class and isn't that predictable. This is why he doesn't work with other people unless he has to. You can't count on others.
Fisting the strap on his bookbag, he leans against a pillar, playing idly with his phone. It doesn't make time pass any quicker so he turns to people watching.
A couple stands not too far from him, holding hands and way too close for comfort, the girl flirting demurely, a finger twirling her hair into curls as she looks up through fake laughs. Her boyfriend says something and she hits his arm with a pout, moving even closer.
It's sickening.
He watches them over the edge of his phone, scrolling through his painfully short contact list over and over again, brows furrowed in disgust. It seems like the whole day has been planned to mock him with words a week old.
Another train arrives and they get on, weaving through the crowds disembarking with the ease of people not-in love. The girl presses into the boyfriend and Seunghyun rolls his eyes because the virgin sex kitten act got old sometime in the nineties and it doesn't look any better if she does it wearing garters.
The doors slide shut with a hiss and a warning from the disembodied female voice that rules the world of the underground, leaving behind countless passengers desperate to get out and above ground.
Then there's the usual straggler, running through the crowd with careless excuses and pardon me's, tripping over his own feet as he rushes towards the train. But it's too late and the sound of wheels turning or engines revving or whatever makes the subway work taunts him just before taking off.
Seunghyun extends no sympathy for the guy. Watches as he drops his bag off of his shoulder in the frustrated disappointment of the left behind, and turns to head back to the benches and the schedule printed high on the wall. He watches until he sees a stranger's features become all too familiar and nearly turns his face before he remembers he doesn't hide from people anymore.
He's got as much right to be here as anyone.
Jiyong, in his frustration, doesn't notice him at once. He all but brushes by him, features schooled in displeasure, before raising his eyes from the floor. It's like it's the first time he's taking in his surroundings, like he's never been here before and he almost doesn't notice Seunghyun. Almost but as Murphy's Law would have it, not quite.
The other man's features still, chin lifting slightly even as his shoulders sag.
"Hi," Jiyong gets out after a moment of silence, as if there's nothing to keep his mouth shut, as if he hadn't humiliated Seunghyun---humiliated himself just a week ago in the middle of a crowded nightclub.
"Hi," Seunghyun fires back because he can't keep his mouth shut any better. Because he wants to and he owes the kid a majestic put down. "Looks like you missed your train." He doesn't even bother hiding the sarcasm.
"Yeah, looks like." Jiyong shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking remarkably....normal, considering how Seunghyun has seen him before. No gel in his hair, no kohl around his eyes. Just jeans and a bright t-shirt. It's almost...disconcerting.
His attention snaps back when he realizes the kid is talking again, body tensing as he prepares to give him what for, when he clues into the words behind said.
"--so look, I'm sorry, okay? It was just a shitty night and I took it out on you. It was an asshole thing to do."
Apologies make not listening regrettable. Seunghyun holds up a hand - the one still clutching the phone - to shush him. "Wait, what? Say that again."
Jiyong glares. "Now who's being the asshole? I said I'm sorry." He kicks his own backpack weakly and shrugs. "Haven't seen you at the club much since."
Seunghyun snorts, never one to let grudges go quickly. "What do you care? You've got your boytoy--who needs me to make the evening boring?" he shoots back, heavy on the sarcasm.
Watches Jiyong flinch.
"We're not....he's not..." Jiyong shuffles his feet, looking a few years younger. "We're not together anymore." It's the diplomatic thing to say, sure, but if he's not crying and his eyes aren't red, Seunghyun assumes he's the one who did the dumping.
"Too many missed dinners?"
"Something like that," Jiyong replies quietly, pushing a hand through his hair. A weak smile crosses his lips. "He fit the person I was trying to be. But that only lasts so long."
Sounds nice and philosophic and Seunghyun wonders if the other man picked it up on Oprah. Or maybe on some TV drama. He doesn't ask, though, because he doesn't really care either way.
"So who're you with now?" he throws, taking a stab at the kid's comments the last time they spoke. If Seunghyun doesn't have anyone, it's because he doesn't need anyone. Jiyong can't say the same, can he?
"No one." Jiyong turns slightly, not looking at him. "It's only been a couple days, for Christ's sake."
"So you didn't leave him for someone else." He can't let it go, can't help himself. He wants to see the same shame he felt reproduced on the other man's face. It's only fair.
"No," Jiyong snaps, the retort hot and quick, his eyes finding Seunghyun's. "It had nothing to do with him. Or anybody else." The righteous anger fades as soon as it rises, his gaze slipping away again. "It was fine at the clubs, going out on dates...but I can't be that person all the time." A pause. "Can you?"
"What person is that?" he fires back, perplexed more than annoyed. Jiyong isn't rising up to the bait. Isn't giving him satisfaction.
"That person. The person you are at the club. Jesus, you don't think that's what I'm like all the time, do you? That I was like that in highschool?" He snorts. "You're a different person inside places like that. Everyone is. It's why we go."
"Not me," Seunghyun retorts, smirking. "I'm not that complicated." Why wouldn't he want to be that man all the time? That man who has everything and everyone he wants? That man that people want to fuck and kiss and dance with. "I don't know, what were you like in high school?"
Jiyong rolls his eyes a little. "Fine, you're the sole exception. Congrats." Smiles a little at the question, shoving his hands in his pockets--or trying to, too-tight jeans rendering the action useless.
"I was...quiet. Invisible. Played on the baseball team cause my dad knew the coach from college."
He has brief flashes of the baseball team at his old high school, but what he remembers most clearly is the thickness of their bats. The faces got washed away with time.
"So what, now you're making up for lost time? Is that what the get up's for?"
Another shrug, somewhat defensive and suggesting he's hit the nail a little too close on the head. "I guess. Hey, got you to fuck me, didn't it?" He won't make eye contact.
Seunghyun feels a little bad. "You're pretty cute under all that shit you put on, you know. Not like you gotta wear it." It's as close to a compliment as he's about to get, unless Jiyong offers to spread for him.
It gets him a smile, a genuine one, young and bright, no hints of arrogance or bravado around the edges. It makes him uncomfortable.
"Thanks."
"I'll tell you more if you let me do you," he offers with a snort, trying for humor because if this is about to get all earnest and shit, he's going to wait elsewhere.
Jiyong's face falls slightly. "Fucking--well, we know who you were in highschool, don't we?" He mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the pillar.
Seunghyun snorts, picking insolence over panic. Unless Jiyong is some stalker, he's got no clue what he's talking about. He wants to keep it that way. "Really? Who's that?"
Jiyong turns to face him, jaw set with stubbornness. "That asshole jock who made everyone feel like shit about themselves and kicked people when they were down. Right? Having money and being attractive wasn't enough, you had to stomp on people who didn't do anything to you."
"Right," he snaps, full of false bravado and taking ownership of a past--a life--not his. "That's me."
Jiyong looks on the cusp of a curse, teeth bared through parted lips. He mulls whatever he was going to say before opting to censor himself. Grabbing his bag off the dirty floor, he makes his way to the benches a few feet away, collapsing heavily onto red plastic.
Seunghyun rolls his eyes, but no one pays attention to him. No one gives a fuck. Fingers itching for a cigarette, he follows Jiyong.
"I lied," he confesses quietly.
"Lied about what?" the other man retorts, suspicion and false confidence in his eyes. Seunghyun recognizes it for the posturing it is. Sighs and chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to cover the bitter taste of the words he speaks.
"About that. About....being that guy. I wasn't. I was....nobody."
Jiyong throws him a measuring look, something in his brow showing how little he trusts anything he says. It does nothing to make this any easier.
"I was just another kid. Nothing special." A sideways glance. "We don't all have daddy issues."
It gets a snort in reply, the other man kicking the floor. "Could've fooled me with the commitment phobia."
"Why don't you steer clear of psychoanalyzing me and focus on your own issues, kid?" he snaps, because this is not turning into another bullshit conversation where he's always in the wrong.
The kind shakes his head, fingers curled around the edge of the bench. "Mind your own business? Really? Isn't that a little juvenile, hyung?" The word is sarcastic and empty and suddenly, painfully familiar.
It's not something people use with him a lot, probably because he doesn't fit the mold and doesn't deserve the respect. But this time, it doesn't seem out of place.
"Say that again."
"I said it's juvenile," Jiyong repeats, annoyance written on his features.
Seunghyun hisses out a breath in frustration. Idiot kid. "No, the last bit."
"Hyung?"
"Yeah." It rings oddly familiar, like he's heard it before. From the same lips.
Jiyong frowns at him. "It's not an insult."
Seunghyun gives him a look. "I know that, you just..." He's heard it before. From those lips, in that voice and he doubts it was in the back of a club, buried in the other man and fucking him into delirium. Certainly not as long as they've known each other's names. Then from where?
"I just what?" Jiyong queries, lost between a glare and concern.
"You sound familiar." He shakes his head, trying to dispel the clouds gathering around his head.
He watches the other man tilt his head in curiosity, the gesture far too young, and suddenly it comes back to him. He knows him. From fucking high school, from that day... baseball, blood...watching as a skinny kid in the outfield played halfheartedly, out of some sense of gratitude...leaving before the game had ended and shutting the book on could've beens right then and there.
"Fuck," he croaks, still staring at him.
"If you're having a heart attack or something, I should tell you I don't know the number to the paramedics." The joke wrinkles the corners of his eyes even as his lips fail to follow suit, tension in his cheeks. He reaches forward.
Seunghyun inches back.
"I remember you," he tells him, the words accusatory because he has every right to be. He remembered, Jiyong didn't. It doesn't matter if it took how many meetings, if he fucked and discarded the other man in that time or if it was just chance in the first place. He needs to be proven right. People don't change. People aren't worth it.
Jiyong is looking at him in confusion. "Yeah, i remember you too....shit, are you having a stroke or something?
"No, you shit, from high school. I remember you from high school." From the shape of cracked cement under his hands and the soft smiles from someone who just wanted from him something the others didn't.
"Oh. I'm sorry, I don't..."
"Of course you don't," he snaps, standing suddenly, his face hot with his own embarrassment, quelling the voice that says he almost doesn't want Jiyong to remember. "All your big speeches about my ego and who forgot who, huh?" It's coming off more hurt than self-righteous and Seunghyung clenches his fists hard to still their shaking.
He doesn't want to be remembered as that weak, sorry little thing, afraid of his own shadow. He doesn't want to be remembered at all if it means being remember as how he used to be.
"I'm sorry," the kid repeats, bristling at the accusation. "What year were you in? I would've remembered--"
"Shut the fuck up," he hisses. "Just shut your fucking mouth."
Jiyong does, jaw closing with an audible click as he looks at him with guilt and bewilderment. This is the kid...this is the kid he fucking idealized? This kid, who was loud and obnoxious and let people fuck him in dirty clubs and couldn't stand him and--
"I have to go," Seunghyun bites out, turning one his heel and walking away as fast as he can. Fuck class. Fuck Jiyong. The whole point was to forget any of that ever happened.
He doesn't see Jiyong look after him like he's lost his mind. He doesn't see his hands clench around thin air when he wants to be clutching at his arms.
Doesn't see recognition finally dawn on him and his eyes widen in surprise. By then, Seunghyun is far gone and utterly lost.
7-8 days later
It hurts his pride to have to stand under the strobe lights, barely seeing any of it. This is supposed to be paradise. He's supposed to be happy here. Instead, the scent of stale sweat just turns his stomach, cologne poorly masking what used to get him hot once, not so long ago. He tosses back a drink, alcohol as a coping strategy proving ineffective.
The facade is broken. The lie he's told himself for years now that he's some completely different person. Someone important. Someone desired and longed for and unattainable. He's still the same, only the packaging has changed. Jiyong....Jiyong would say he's worse--he had no trouble pointing it out so contemptuously on this very floor.
It hurts the way things weren't supposed to hurt anymore, the way he swore to himself he wouldn't let them. It's not fair.
"Rum and coke," orders the man beside him and Seunghyun looks up, startled, apprehensive, only to find it's a dyed blond a few good inches too short. He looks nothing like Jiyong.
He settles back, caught between relief and regret. It's a matter of time before they meet again, he knows. That's the problem with having the same haunts, they tend to make the world smaller than an oyster.
It doesn't make it easier. It doesn't tell him what to do, how to act, who to be. Jiyong has lingered in his memory as the first person to like him for him, but there are too many years and too many mistakes between here and now. It's pointless.
He pays for his drink and stands, eyes averted so he doesn't end up being propositioned. With the mood he's in, he wouldn't even come up with a good enough rejection. While a good lay would've cured his angst in the past, he knows this is different. He doesn't feel able to trivialize it like he does everything else.
Outside, there's a line, but then when isn't there? Boys line up with men and hands find their ways under denim and leather, lips sometimes but not always following. Depends on how brave you get. He gets out, so someone else goes in and the line becomes one person shorter.
There's nothing left to do but go home. To an empty apartment, and empty bed and the shallow mockery he's made of his life.
He gets five feet before a voice calls out, near shouting over the music that throbs from the club like an open wound and the swarms of people ready to feed.
"I remember you."
He turns, jaw tight and swallowing hard and sees him standing there, eyes dark and clothing far too casual for him. For here.
"I remember you, Seunghyun," Jiyong repeats, his voice hot. "I wouldn't have forgotten."
His expression changes, from guarded to something vaguely reminiscent of the kid who said he tripped so the cool boy from another school wouldn't take him for an idiot. But they have an audience of several dozen, so it cannot last. It cannot mean all that much.
"Have fun tonight," he replies instead, taking the easier of all options available. He's always been something of a coward.
"Seunghyun..." Jiyong's voice cracks on his name. The other man bites his lip hard. "You said you were going to come. Why did you lie?"
"What's going on?" stage-whispers one man, older than them both, somewhere further down the line.
His date pokes him in the ribs. "Shh. I think they used to be together."
Seunghyun would glare but he has a hard time looking away. "Don't drink too much," he adds, as though Jiyong didn't speak up. As though there's nothing to say.
"I looked for you. After," Jiyong murmurs, as if they're having two entirely different conversations, as if he won't be ignored. "You weren't there. What did I do?"
He shrugs, because it doesn't matter anymore and he's not about to admit to feeling scared in front of strangers. He won't be judged and mocked again. But Jiyong doesn't leave it at that, stepping out of the line and into the street. Closer now to him than is strictly comfortable.
"What did I do? Was I that bad?" His voice is softer now, insecurity heavy in his tone and a thousand and one awful things run through Seunghyun's head that he could say and shut the other man down entirely, but he doesn't want to be that person either.
He grits his teeth, shaking his head. "What does it matter? Christ, Jiyong, it was five years ago." His voice isn't nearly as strong as he'd like it to be.
Jiyong shakes his head, anger writ on his face. "So? Five years, five months... Five days ago. You said you'd be there and you lied. Why did you lie?"
Why does he care so much?
"I didn't. I know you kicked our asses." He remembers the scoreboard, the frustrated shouts and the audience losing patience.
"The team," Jiyong corrects. "Not me."
"No, you sucked."
Jiyong's face flickers with hurt and against his will, something inside of Seunghyun twists a little. What is with this kid? Why does every word out of his mouth, every expression hit so damn hard? What does he owe him? He had his own shit to deal with.
He's about to open his mouth to say just that when something occurs to the other man. "Wait, how would you....you did come?"
Seunghyun swallows thickly. "Yeah. So?" Doesn't change anything. They don't know each other. The only times they haven't argued had been when they were kids or when they were fucking. It's not exactly the basis for a relationship.
But Jiyong grins like hearing that just made his day and Seunghyun doesn't get it. He still left.
The other man's smile quiets a little, but doesn't dim, taking a few steps forward until he can lower his voice enough not to give them a rapt audience. He looks up at Seunghyun, pushing dark hair out of his face.
"Where are you going?"
"Home," Seunghyun replies without thinking, feeling like he missed a step, like something fit into place for Jiyong while he's left twisting in the wind.
Jiyong's gaze meets his. "Can I come?"
Sure, why not. They can have a tea party and talk about Seunghyun's tragic past. Or, alternatively, they can christen corners of his flat that have yet to be christened. He picks the latter of two options and shrugs.
"Knock yourself out." He's pretty sure he has a bottle of soju stashed somewhere. It won't be enough to get them drunk, but liquid courage has never hurt.
The other man falls into step beside him, hovering close to his elbow. "It's so weird that we met like this, don't you think?"
Seunghyun shrugs, preoccupied with the novelty of actually leaving the club with someone. "Not really. I mean, we both come here, we were bound to run into each other."
Jiyong shakes his head, impatient. "No, I mean, meeting again after so long. It was chance the first time, what were the odds it would happen again five years later?" He smiles at Seunghyun. "Fuck, you look so different."
He can't hold back a smile at that, pride and ego wedging like a third person between them. He knows it, but it feels good to hear someone else say it for a change. He's nothing like that boy anymore.
"Thanks," he retorts, sinking a hand in Jiyong's back pocket. It's fairly innocent, for him. "So do you."
Jiyong walks that much closer, fitting into his side. Raises an eyebrow even as a smirk hovers around his lips. "Good different? Bad different? You're a little sketchy with the compliments, you know."
"Good different. Takes a little getting used to, but you've got your own style and you're not afraid to show it. Nothing wrong with that." Fingers tighten playfully in his flesh. "What's with the shit-eating grin?"
Jiyong shrugs, smile still in place as he pokes a finger into Seunghyun's ribs. "Nothing. It's just nice to see you again."
"You've got some memory," Seunghyun tells him, catching his hand before it can jab him again. "If we talked twenty minutes back then, it's probably too long." It's not like they're old friends. They know nothing about each other.
Jiyong shrugs a little, fitting their fingers together obnoxiously. Seunghyun feels something flip over in his stomach.
"You left an impression." It's quiet, but there, and in the next moment, Jiyong's shaking his head and letting go of his hand.
"I'm going to Sogang now. Not on a baseball scholarship or anything, I haven't even played since school, but yeah. I'm majoring in fashion design, which isn't gay, so don't even go there. I just like things that are...different, I guess."
He is gay, Seunghyun wants to point out, watching the curve of his cheek in the lamplight. The way he pouts. He pouts a lot and probably doesn't know he's doing it. It doesn't seem like artifice.
"Planning to start your own label?" he queries, surprising himself with his interest.
"Maybe." A cheeky smile. "Why, would you buy stuff from me?"
He squeezes his ass to shake off that infuriating little smirk. "Depends on the advertisement."
"Maybe I'll model for you sometime," the other man flirts.
"No, thanks. Think I like you better with the least possible of clothes on." It's second nature to trade innuendo in for compliments. He's lost the ability to say something nice without wanting something in return. Everything's a trade off now.
Jiyong snorts. "Shut up. I've just decided I like you again. Let me enjoy the high."
"Yeah?" Seunghyun squeezes at his ass again. "How much do you like me?" A blowjob's worth? A fuck? It's his measuring criteria these days.
The other man laughs a little. "I'm still deciding."
"Decide fast, my place is just up the street." He nods to a three story building caught between two taller ones, dwarfed by their height and their shiny windows. It's too far from the university and too far from anything worth seeing, but it's close to the club and that in itself makes it an attractive residence.
"Let me ask you a question," Jiyong murmurs, hip tight against Seunghyun's. "Is fucking all you're in it for? I mean, I should know so I know how soon to get my shit and get out, right?"
It's clingy shit, that's all. That's what he tells himself. He doesn't buy it. "What else? Why, what do you expect?"
Jiyong tenses in his hold, shrugging slightly. "I don't know. More than a one night stand. I'm sick of those. They're pointless." The words are almost a challenge.
"Hate to say this... But you don't even know me. Maybe I'm a jerk." It's a higher possibility than Seunghyun would like to admit.
"You were nice to me once. You can't have changed that much."
Seunghyun rolls his eyes because Jiyong's insistence on this is making him uncomfortable. "I'm not the same person I was then. At all. And Jesus, that was one day. One time. You can't think that's the summation of who I am."
Jiyong bows his head, a flush apparent on his skin before he ducks away. "That's not what I meant." It reminds him of the kid who knelt by him on the cold cement path and practically bounced at his side until he had to leave for the field.
It reminds him of hope and then cowardice when the game was called.
"What did you mean, then, exactly?" He breaks from him because he needs the space.
"I just...I liked you. Then." They've stopped walking entirely, facing off against each other in the dark of the street. "Really liked you, and I think I like you now and I'm just...I just want to know if there's...anything on the other side of that."
"Disappointment," retorts Seunghyun. "Pain, probably. Jealousy..." He's never been in a relationship so it's not like he knows but he outlines the reasons flawlessly, arguing his case in the shadow of a wall. "Why do we have to complicate the way things are now?"
"How are things now?" Jiyong retorts. "You fuck me and treat me like crap because it makes you feel like the roles are reversed? Is that so much better then...then being with someone and coming to care for them and having a friend as well as a partner and--" He cuts himself off, turning away.
Seunghyun bites the inside of his cheek. "Like I said, you know nothing about me. Don't you go visiting my motives."
"I get why you're doing it. Getting back at them, right?" Jiyong's shoulders hunch. "I tried that. Works like a charm until you can't stand your own reflection in the mirror."
Seunghyun sneers, feeling something clench in his chest and damn the other man for insisting on stirring all of this shit up again and daring to preach at him about dealing with it. Poor Jiyong, what was his childhood trauma? Being cute and likable and on sports teams?
"What the hell do you know you about not being able to stand your reflection?" he hisses, the words containing a little too much pain, a little too much truth, and he doesn't need this. "You know what, fuck you, I'm done--"
"What, because I wasn't the fat kid in school I couldn't possibly know what it's like not to fit in?" Jiyong snorts, turning to him with hands folded across his chest. "Go to hell."
It hits him like a slap to the face because that's the first time he's heard it, those words, since he shed that skin and it hurts now just as deeply as it did then.
Something in Jiyong's face softens and he steps forward, grabbing Seunghyun's wrist. Speaking quietly. "You think you're winning, but you're not. You're still letting them ruin your life. You're still letting them control you."
Jiyong bites his lip. "It doesn't matter what they thought, Seunghyun. There was nothing wrong with you. Who gives a fuck what they think."
I do, he thinks, before correcting himself. Did. He's so far past that, it's practically an ant on the horizon. "We fucked once. That doesn't give you the right to preach about my past. Just shut your fucking mouth, alright? Give it a rest." His mouth says one thing and his body another, because he stays rooted to the ground when he knows he should run.
Jiyong flinches, but doesn't let go.
"It doesn't. But I really don't care, because you need to hear it. You need to know that someone wants you, not this fucking image you've constructed."
"And that someone is you?" He means for it to come out as a snort, derision like a protective layer around him. "You want me? You got a burning need to fix whatever's wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong with you," Jiyong tells him, looking down at his hold on Seunghyun's wrist. "You're a bit of a bastard, yeah, but I figure you have your reasons. And yeah. I want you. For more than just an hour in your bed."
He wants to joke that it wouldn't be one hour. It would be more, it would be the whole night. But the words stick in his throat, become heavy with doubt and the knowledge that Jiyong has hit a nerve, strumming it with his fingertips the closer he gets.
"Listen..." Jiyong murmurs, never breaking eye contact. "Why don't we just head back to your place and watch a movie or fuck or whatever... and I'll give you my number and we just go from there." He hesitates. "I'm not asking for the rest of your life or something, just...give me a chance, okay?"
Seunghyun can't quite meet his eyes, staring out over his shoulder and processing the words, fitting them together and replaying them over and over again. Jiyong's hold on him is light--he could break away, get the fuck out of here, away from the other man and his suppositons and pleas and insights. He could and he'd still be running. Running away from things bigger than him, from things he fears and distantly, Seunghyun thinks his legs got tired of it five fucking years ago.
He turns his hand, catching Jiyong's and thinks that maybe, chances never really run out. They're always there, just waiting for you to take them.
"Alright. Let's go from there."
fin
A/N: Please do not comment unless you accept the basic dignity, equality, and inherent worth of all human beings.