Build God, Then We'll Talk
Build God, Then We'll Talk
Yoochun, Jaejoong, T.O.P., Hyunjoong
R
Kleptomaniacs anonymous, and if they hadn’t made it big.
F4 fic. Marijuana use. For tvxqfic, prompt “a love story in reverse.”
scene one (december, this year)
Nine-to-five days in a cubicle did not exactly fit the mold that Hyunjoong thought he’d fill as a man in his early-twenties. But it paid his rent and for things like his allergy medicine and that was enough. He’d come to terms with the fact that in a big city like Seoul, he was just another pretty face with a pretty voice who could play the guitar and tried to make it big a little too late, and he was okay with it. Well, sort of. Hyunjoong took a slow hit of his joint to make up for his over thinking before passing it to Seunghyun.
The balcony door slid open and Yoochun stepped outside with his own joint, a grin, and a bag of the good kind of Doritos. “That’s a nice fifty-two inch flat screen you got inside, Hyunjoong. When’s Jaejoong coming?” He fumbled around in his pockets for a light.
“Whenever his gig down at the club ends tonight. He’s still trying,” Seunghyun said. “He better bring me Christmas in a cup this time.”
“You mean a cinnamon latte with whipped cream on top?” asked Yoochun.
“No, like mistletoe and ornaments and presents under the tree. But in a fucking cup.” Seunghyun blew a lopsided smoke ring that looked more like a heart than a circle. He looked like he was caught in contemplation, curling his fingers into his palm in front of his face to catch the blue light coming from the television. Hyunjoong laughed and slapped his knee.
“Like liquid sunshine,” Yoochun offered. Then paused and leaned his head back against the balcony railing. “Wait, that’s orange juice.”
Jaejoong showed up a minute or a day later, voice hoarse from singing too loudly. “Start the party without me while I’m singing Christmas songs to love struck couples why don’t you guys,” he grumbled when he found them out back, the weed already talking for them. They all waved and talked about world peace in a milk carton. Jaejoong slipped into the empty space between Yoochun and Hyunjoong, careful of his vodka martini, and lazily grabbed at Yoochun’s arm until he gave up his joint and learned a thing or two about how the universe would be better if it came in recyclable packaging.
“I rejected a record deal today and I can’t remember why I did,” Jaejoong said aloud to no one in particular; he knew why he’d rejected it. He didn’t want it anymore. He just wanted to play guitar and sing and make drinks and maybe find a job at a greeting card company where he could draw kittens out of ‘fuck you’s.
“Is that a new glass you’re using?” Hyunjoong moved so he could see his fishbowl reflection in it.
Jaejoong held it up to the dim light and picked at the remnants of a price sticker on the bottom. “Isn’t it always?”
“Tabbycat’s bitching about his Christmas, yo.” Yoochun leaned in too close, his lips touching Jaejoong’s cheek as he spoke. Seunghyun only nodded and stubbed out the withered joint in the ashtray.
“Why do you guys need Christmas when I’m around?” Jaejoong asked. “I sparkle and give cheer just the same and you guys are ungrateful.”
“Nuh uh,” Seunghyun insisted.
“You don’t come in a cup,” Hyunjoong added.
They fall asleep feeling larger than life, like they would wake up in the morning and find that they all stood so tall they could catch planes and smile so bright the sun would go down. For today, though, they would be great only in the eyes of each other.
There was still a lifetime to live, or more.
scene two (august, this year)
Seunghyun stood outside Hyunjoong’s apartment. They only ever hung out at Hyunjoong’s apartment because his had the most square feet and useless amusing features like gargoyle corbels, and if they didn’t stay over all night, it wouldn’t even looked like anybody lived there. Hyunjoong didn’t own much more than televisions and couches and hide weed in his closet.
He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his stiff hair, and fixed his tie before shouldering the front door open. Yoochun whistled from where he was.
“I, uh, got the job down at the investment firm,” he announces, straightening up proudly.
“That’s great. Awesome. Celebratory pot brownies are in the kitchen wherever Jaejoong is and Hyunjoong’s mixing drinks over at the wet bar,” Yoochun told him and patted him on the back. “We have to make sure you’re nice and hung-over for your first day. Is this an occasion that requires girls?”
“Ha, no thanks. I already have Jaejoong making me enough sandwiches.”
“Boys then?”
“Not unless he’s head to toe in Chanel and has a four-door Bentley with a vanity plate.”
Jaejoong popped out of the kitchen. “What about Chanel and a four-door Bentley? Oh, what’s crack-a-lacking, Tabi?”
“Lucky bitch got the job,” Yoochun crooned.
“Oh, obligatory French kiss!” Jaejoong looked over at Yoochun dramatically sticking a finger down his throat. “Is that too gay? Yea, the alcohol’s going a bit far. Have a brownie.”
“You’re the best,” Seunghyun said around a mouthful of chocolate.
“Nah, you were always the better rapper. I’m happy for you. You’re in the real world now.” Jaejoong swung back in the kitchen to take the second pan out of the oven and scold Yoochun for putting his dirty fingers all over the cookie jar.
Following the sound of running water, Seunghyun drifted around the corner to find Hyunjoong rinsing out his whiskey glass in the sink. He knocked on the wall and grinned.
“So guess who’s carpooling with you to work downtown starting Monday?”
“Guess who’s paying for gas?”
“Come on, not even a congratulations? That’s cold.” Seunghyun rolled up his sleeves and reached for one of the cups in the cabinet and a mixer.
Hyunjoong wiped his hands on a towel before rolling his eyes and pulling Seunghyun into him. “Congratulations. We can get Happy Meals with extra happy at Mickey D’s for lunch and make small talk about how our days were when we are stuck in rush hour. I’m so excited,” he deadpanned.
Seunghyun didn’t move. Hyunjoong realized that he was awkwardly rubbing circles on the other man’s back and they were really much too close for comfort.
“I’m kidding about the Happy Meals thing.” He moved Seunghyun’s arms from where they were hanging limply by his sides and moved them to his own back. “Dude. Hug it out. I’m proud of you, kid.”
“You’re not old enough to be calling me kid. That’s Jaejoong.”
“Tabbycat. Tabi. You. Whatever.”
scene three (july, this year)
“We’re used goods now,” as Jaejoong always liked to say. They would never make it big.
“At least we’re used goods that have new things and goddammit, new things are shiny,” Seunghyun would reply, playing with the zipper of his new jacket. His eyes were always rimmed red. Hyunjoong and Yoochun would nod, feeling a heartbeat away from turning in their two-weeks notices, and go back to reluctantly serving drinks to the worn-out businesspeople at the bar.
The manager hired a couple of kids to fill in the performance spots a week after everyone but Jaejoong quit. They came in on Wednesday, all million-watt smiles and bright eyes; Jaejoong thought it was like looking at himself from ten years ago, fresh from the countryside and too eager to settle on the first gig he could get his hands on. One had a voice like a male Whitney Houston, and the other was too skinny and too bug-eyed to be appealing.
“I’d get out of here as fast I can, if I were you,” Jaejoong told them. “You don’t get famous here.”
“And why aren’t you famous, sir?”
“They wanted me to fix my nose. Do you see anything wrong with my nose? No. Now get.”
scene four (may, this year)
“Holy Jesus, how’d you get away with a television?”
“Dressed up as an employee doing the shipping and dropped it off in the back of my car in the customer’s parking lot,” Hyunjoong said, casually waving his hand for a round of applause.
Yoochun just offered him a joint and sank into the couch cushions. “Fuck, we need therapy.”
“We all tried that, remember? Kleptomaniacs anonymous. Didn’t work,” Seunghyun pointed out. “Besides, we’re cutting back on that shit now since we got ‘real lives’ and ‘real jobs’, right?” He made air quotes and leaned into Jaejoong’s side for an answer, except Jaejoong was asleep with rings he couldn’t afford on all his fingers.
scene five (january, this year)
Choi Seunghyun was more than just the fat kid he used to be; he had a lady-killing smile and was an underground rapper. A hundred pounds less, he looked back on the days he couldn’t see his feet as a thanks for letting me know that nothing is ever too much if I don’t think it is, and wobbled into the nearest department store with an inflatable suit underneath his clothes. He’d walk out, passing the clerk with a sad smile and say, “I couldn’t find anything nice in my size.”
He’d go home and take off his extra-extra large shirt off and pile his new (but slightly wrinkled from the trip) spring wardrobe on his bed with a satisfied smile. Stores always carried medium.
Kim Jaejoong was into corny life mottos like keeping the dream alive. And his dreams happened to include stage lights and the paparazzi and accessories. A lot of accessories. Famous people always had accessories: an oversized bag, a perfect nose to go with the most perfect eyes, glass silverware, grand pianos, boots, cars. He just didn’t have them all figured out yet.
What he had figured out was that if he hung silver necklaces off his ceiling fan and lit up a good one, it was kind of like watching scraps of his dream spinning around, pieces of his friends and family and fan girls he didn’t have kissing him and dancing and telling him how much they loved him.
And then Park Yoochun would swim into view, holding up the limited edition copy of that one trippy Technicolor movie.
“It’s called the Wizard of Oz and it’s a classic,” Yoochun said rather indignantly and pulled Jaejoong away from the mirror he didn’t remember getting up to stand in front of. “You’re never going to get anywhere if you keep staring at the reflection of what you want to be in five years.” Jaejoong slapped away Yoochun’s hands as they tried to strip him of the dozens of necklaces he had put on.
“DVDs are losing their worth, you know. I don’t want to watch,” he snapped, yanking his wrist away and crossing his arms.
“Fine, let’s just listen to Explosions in the Sky instead.”
“I want to listen to something you didn’t steal.”
Yoochun laid down on the carpet beside Jaejoong, thinking of his keyboard and the songs he wrote that would never touch the souls of millions. He hooked his thumbs into Jaejoong’s belt loops and sighed, “Oh fuck you. I should’ve made friends with Hyunjoong instead.”
As a human being, Kim Hyunjoong was an exaggeration. He stole laptops and I-pods and televisions and he imagined himself staring into peoples’ living rooms on screen as somebody else. It was simple, really. He’d just been one of the many three year olds who got recorded by his parents while dancing to a latest hit and became a viral video star for a week. And now he couldn’t stop wishing it would happen again, but this time for much more than a week.
They sat in the circle, them, the kleptomaniacs anonymous meeting director and a few others. The feeling of shame loomed, but Hyunjoong kept looking at Yoochun and Jaejoong was staring Seunghyun down and they were the only ones trying to hold in their laughter; they felt immune, they were immune because they had just discovered the greatest secret of their previous enemies.
Hyunjoong grabbed Jaejoong’s arm on the way out. “Hey,” he drawled, “Party at my place. Bring your friends.”
scene six (november, last year)
“You can’t steal here too, I'll get caught.” Jaejoong hissed, shoving Seunghyun and his pile of clothes up against the wall of the kitchenware aisle.
“How about you get Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday?”
“I’ll rat you out.”
“You can’t snitch if your own pockets are jingling with diamond rings and necklaces.” Seunghyun smirked. “And fine china. Now, are you going to take that ugly wineglass with you or what?”
scene seven (november, last year)
“Take me to Fiftieth and Central Avenue.”
Hyunjoong stared at the employee that had just gotten into the passenger seat of the delivery truck in disbelief. “Excuse me? I thought this was a one-man job. And that address isn’t even on the list.”
“Just drive the fucking truck, okay? Fiftieth and Central Avenue.” The man purposefully turned his face towards the window to not be seen. Hyunjoong leaned forward ever so slightly and caught a glimpse of him in the right rear view mirror and almost veered the truck off the bridge.
“What the hell, Yoochun?” Hyunjoong’s eyes flickered to the oddly rectangular bulges underneath Yoochun’s shirt. “I’m pulling over and you have got to get out of this vehicle right now and you have to find yourself another store to steal chick flicks from. You are way too obvious and we cannot be seen together.”
“It’s just Sex and the City. Not that big of a deal, I do it all the time. Besides, you’re worse.” Yoochun jerked his thumb at the cargo.
“Go to the video rental shop and leave me to my flat screens and PS3’s. You’ve already ruined one aspect of my life by stealing the spotlight at the club.” Hyunjoong found that glaring and keeping his eyes on the road at the same time was a difficult task. At a red light, he blurted out, “I donate the ones I don’t use anymore to charity,” as if it was a valid excuse for felony shoplifting.
Yoochun laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Okay, Robin Hood. Take a left here.”
Hyunjoong took a right.
scene eight (april, two years ago)
The manager of the club was a short man with oily skin and an unkempt mustache. He gave the four boys standing in front of him a nod of approval before pulling out his clipboard and squinting behind his glasses to read the schedule.
“Alright, tonight’s show line-up will be Seunghyun, Jaejoong, Yoochun, and Hyunjoong. You all got an hour up on that stage. When you’re not performing, you’ll be serving drinks. Anything broken goes on your tab.” He hopped down from the barstool, beckoning for them all to come closer with the crook of a stubby finger. “This is a secret, but record labels always send reps down here so you better give it your best. You could be famous.” The words rolled off his tongue like honey and poison and he left them to introduce themselves.
“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Kim Jaejoong.”
Yoochun looked up to see the skinny boy with ratty clothes and a country accent, and didn’t shake his outstretched hand. “I’m going to be famous first,” he said stubbornly, instead.
Their opening day goes something like Hyunjoong unplugging Yoochun’s keyboard, Yoochun swapping out Seunghyun’s background discs, Jaejoong tripping Hyunjoong into a bunch of girls, and Seunghyun ‘accidentally’ spilling red wine all over Jaejoong’s clothes.
They kissed and they told in the name of fame, and they were the new generation.
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notes: Yes, I realize how terrible the basic concept of this story is, but it's actually a story about learning to love yourself (I hope this part came across...). I know a lot of people who are doubting themselves right now and I just want to say, "Hey, it'll be okay. Relax. Have a slice of Wonderbread." About the raging OOC-ness in T.O.P. and Hyunjoong: I'm not terribly familiar with their personalities, but I wanted to write F4 fic so, sorry about that. Also, it's like 4am so forgive any spelling errors, etc.
A big superhero cape to Summer (lovelyable) for putting up with my whining about this fic lol. :)
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