Moon on the Tides [for littlemelonblue]
For: littlemelonblue
Title: Moon on the Tides
Pairing: Jackson/Youngjae
Rating: PG-13
Word count: approx. 7,500
Author's notes: Thank you for prompting this because it has been an experience and led me to discover that I am, in fact, clairvoyant.
Summary: Ten years after GOT7 disbands, Jackson is invited to Jinyoung’s wedding. He's not sure if things go uphill or downhill from there. [Post-disbandment!au]
Beijing is beautiful from Jackson’s perspective - it stays awake with him when he can’t sleep. It’s not home but Jackson hasn’t truly known a home since he was nineteen.
As Jackson stumbles into his apartment with an ill-contained yawn, he presses the button on his flickering answering machine. He sorts through the post he’d picked up from his box on the way up but it’s all take-away menus and advertisements. Jackson’s not sure why he even checks his post these days; his family call and his colleagues KakaoTalk him because he refuses to update and abandon his adorable emojis that he’d paid for back in 2012.
He collapses down onto the leather sofa that he’d bought to match his ‘glass and class’ aesthetic. Although, since he’s moved to Beijing, his aesthetic is more accurately credited as ‘more or less a mess’. He throws the post down on the coffee table and kicks his feet up on top of them.
He's reminded that he had pressed play on his answering machine when the first message starts playing. It’s from his mother: she’d been by and stocked his kitchen with hamburger meat ("eat it before it goes bad”) and brown rice ("it’s better for your digestion”).
He tunes her out as she natters on about getting his thick coat dry-cleaned before before the winter set in, as though he still lives by the snow slopes of Huaibei. It had been a long day. He’d interviewed the two remaining members of EXO-M about their third Christmas album and it had reminded him of a time when the the two bands, EXO and GOT7, were still considered rivals. Even H.O.T are having a grand comeback tour these days, now the Hallyu wave has slowed to barely a trickle, but GOT7 has been disbanded ten years and they haven’t spoken in six.
It’s almost as though the universe is reading his mind and playing a trick on him, Jackson thinks in surprise, as the second message starts. "Hey, Jackson! It’s me - er - Park Jinyoung? I know it’s been a while so I hope you’re doing good. I won’t stay on too long, I just called to say that I’m getting married in December, it’s so crazy, and I wondered if you’d come. You’re in Beijing, right? I mean, I’m calling a Beijing area code so - I’d understand if you couldn’t make it.” The third message is Jinyoung again. “Oh - I forgot to give you my number.” He rattles off his number before the machine falls silent again, this time for good.
Jackson pulls his mobile out of his pocket with some difficulty, he still wears jeans that are maybe a little hip for a thirty-five year old, and then sifts through the take-away menus until he finds one with familiar hangul lettering before dialling. “Hello? Is this Kimchi Palace? Can I get an order of Jajangmyeon?”
Lunch with Xander, formerly of U-KISS and currently Jackson’s co-host, means American food - Chinese Style.
McDonald’s hasn’t been popular in China since the 2014 hygiene scandal so it’s quiet enough that they can relax without being recognised; they’re too old and not famous enough to be the guys wearing sunglasses indoors.
They shuffle into a booth, both laden with a greasy burger and chips. Jackson feels about ready to drop so this food will have to get him through the afternoon. They have an interview lined up with an up-and-coming teen star from Hong Kong who’s known for being the kind of diva that would put Mariah Carey to shame.
That morning, the had interviewed Nine Muses - the girl group of a decade ago, who are now on their “we’re still here” tour with an entirely new line-up of members. Neither Jackson nor Xander had recognised a single one.
Jackson groans around a mouthful of burger. “Don’t make me go back to work - this is my happy place. I'm going to camp out in here until it's time to fly out for Jinyoung's wedding, and then I'm going to find a new McDonald's in Korea. I think about McDonald’s during injections and prostate exams.” Even the crinkle of the paper his burger is wrapped in sounds like a symphony.
“Tell me about it. My wife just had a baby; I think I’d sleep better in that deep fat fryer.” Xander does look tired, with dark rings under his eyes and the general odour of baby sick and talc. It makes Jackson feels glad that he’s not a father - that he’s a bachelor - so he tells Xander as much.
“Is the bachelor life really that great? You haven’t dated once in all the time that we’ve been friends and you’re not getting any younger,” Xander replies around a mouthful of greasy chips that he never salts enough for Jackson's tastes. "Even if your wardrobe hasn’t realised that yet.”
Jackson is wearing drop crotch trousers - a homage to all things 2014, even if they were out of fashion then too. In an attempt to walk the line between hip and young and a respected member of his professional field, Jackson’s matched it with a shirt and a tie that’s so thin it might as well be a length of rope. He likes to think he’s channelling a fashion hybrid of Bieber (before he dated Madonna) and David Bowie (circa whenever).
Jackson throws out his chest and turns his head at an angle, as though he’s gone back in time and landed on the set of a photoshoot instead of being sat on a plastic chair that’s bolted to the floor in a McDonald's. “I look cool. It’s fusion.”
Xander snorts, a little piece of lettuce flying out of his mouth, and the sound makes Jackson’s chest deflate. “No, it’s a mess.”
“Rude - anyway.” Jackson draws the word out until it sounds like a long whine. “Don’t act like me not dating is some kind of Big Deal. It’s been a year. Tops.”
“Still, a year is a long time to wake up alone. There's even no one to comfort you on your rapidly receding hairline.”
Jackson wants to touch his hairline, protect it from Xander, but he can't because his hands are greasy and the director (angry man with a clipboard) will kill him if he makes his forehead shiny. “My hairline hasn’t been the same since that platinum dye job in ‘16. I’ve mainly made my peace with it. It’s just - my parents' divorce hit me pretty hard.”
It feels silly for Jackson to say. He and his brother had taken the divorce the worst. No matter how much his mother had stroked his hair and cooed that your father was away a lot with work; we grew apart, he hadn’t been comforted. As far as he was concerned: love was dead. He’s a little wiser now. “I just want the next person to be the right one. I don’t want to settle for a perfectly nice girl who a) deserves better-although, in fairness, I am one of the best-and b) doesn’t get me going."
His explanation puts a thoughtful look on Xander's, but it might even be pity. Jackson Wang, crowned King of Deflection, shrugs it off with a casual, "And you know what, I don’t even mean sexually.”
At first, Xander appears to fake a laugh, out of civility if anything, but then he's laughing so hard that he starts hiccuping and has to take a long drink of his Coke before he's able to talk again. "The day you don't think with your cock has finally arrived."
"I had a wank this morning so she's not high priority at the moment."
Xander furrows his brow instead of just laughing again, which makes Jackson want to flick the wrinkles right off his forehead without caring if he smears it in burger grease or not. Of course, Xander doesn't know this, so he says, very somberly, "You refer to your penis as a lady?"
Incheon International Airport never changes and Jackson feels nineteen all over again as he waits at the baggage claim. There isn’t time to look around and reminisce and regret that he ever let snapbacks go out of fashion, because they were prime airport gear back in the day, so he just hails a taxi.
For the entire journey, until they pull up at the bar that Jinyoung’s rented for the stag party, Jackson closes his eyes and pushes Korea out. He’s sort of worried that it’ll feel like home, because it was once - for a little while. The bright lights and the concrete buildings aren’t any different to the ones in Beijing or Hong Kong or even New York (during that summer in 2020) but he’s always felt as though he’d forgotten something in Seoul when he left.
The bar is so Gangnam. It smells like Gangnam should: money and BB cream. It’s dim and there are squishy lounge chairs and Jackson wonders how many people have had sex in them. It’s so Gangnam, but it’s also like every other bar Jackson has ever been to.
Jinyoung must be doing well for himself, working on a day-time TV soap, because the party has an open bar. Jackson can’t help but feel patronised, and then he feels guilty because maybe Jinyoung really is just being nice.
It’s hard to believe that somebody can be nice when they haven’t contacted you in six years, but then again, Jackson hasn’t really contacted anyone either.
Jaebum had called a couple of years back, saying he was in China for filming and they should meet up over lunch, but China’s big and Jackson was pursuing Tokyo then anyway.
Jackson wheels his luggage to a corner before seeking out the bar and grabbing a bottle of what smells like beer - he guesses his Korean isn’t that great anymore because he can’t read the label. He knocks it back with little grace, letting it splash out onto somebody’s fancy leather shoes with the pointed toes, but nobody has ever expected much from him in that respect.
He squeezes his bottom down between two of Jinyoung’s friends that he doesn’t know and he makes sure he does it as obnoxiously as he can. The flight was long, he’s tired, but he has a reputation to upkeep. One of the men sneers at him (standard) but the other just just chuckles at his antics (not standard).
When Jackson gets a proper look at the laughing man, he’s speechless, but not for long. “Choi Youngjae! I didn’t recognise you. You’ve done something with your hair.” Youngjae's hair is floppy. Black. When the band had split in 2019, it had been lavender. “It’s so normal.”
“You too,” Youngjae replies, “but your terrible fashion sense never changes.” Jackson’s wearing a mauve shirt with a Looney Tunes tie; it’s creased from the flight. “You make me feel less aware of the fact that I’m not wearing those trendy Italian leather elf shoes - even Jaebum’s wearing them.”
“Don’t count me out! I do have a leather sofa,” Jackson counters and when Youngjae laughs politely he knows they're having an adult conversation. “So - how are you? Are you getting married too?”
Youngjae shakes his head and tries to hide a little smile behind the mouth of his bottle. Jackson’s nosey and he yearns to know what that smile means, but Youngjae quickly schools his face and says, “No. For me, it’s just been music.”
“I’d heard that you were still singing. Didn’t you almost almost chart in the Philippines once?” Jackson doesn’t mean to sound quite so snide but the damage is done all the same. Youngjae’s idol mask quickly hardens. It’s been years since Jackson’s seen that.
Youngjae has always been a singer. Jackson has always been an athlete, singer, dancer, radio host and, for the last fourteen months, he’s co-hosted the youth oriented talk show: Beijing TalkZ. They’d given him a cake on his first anniversary and it’s been the longest he’s kept a job in a decade.
“My last album did actually,” Youngjae replies, and even Jackson can’t ignore the curt edge there, “I peaked at twenty-four in the charts.”
Twenty-four isn’t like the rows of M Countdown trophies with GOT7’s name on that Jackson thinks Jaebum must have kept because he was never offered one. Nothing is the same. Jackson knows that Mark makes Youtube videos now - he’s seen a few. Jinyoung is getting married to a rich socialite. Yugyeom is probably around here somewhere.
Jackson sticks his elbow into Youngjae’s ribs. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Be candid with me for old times’ sake at least.”
‘Old times’ really does feel a long time ago when Jackson looks around the room. Jinyoung’s new friends are adults and they’re milling around and having pleasant conversation. They’re polite and they’re not offending Youngjae. (The only exception is Bambam, no longer Kunpimook by deed poll, who’s stood alone in a corner drinking something blue and wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie that has a cartoon of Pebbles Flintstone on the back. Jackson can see that he has a knuckle tattoo of his own name.)
Youngjae seems old to Jackson too, although he doesn’t look it because he’s really only thirty-three. That is, until he wrinkles his nose up like a little kid and maybe those lines will be permanent in another decade. Youngjae fakes a whine, “My candid face is ugly though.”
Jackson’s palms are either sweaty or it’s the condensation from his drink. He puts it down and wipes his hands on his jeans. “You’re never ugly.”
Youngjae smiles at that, showing his straight rows of idol white teeth, proving Jackson’s point. Although, what he says is, “Shut up, Jackson! God, it’s been so long and you’re still talking rubbish. What about you? Tell me about you. Do you even like your job?”
“Who cares?” Jackson’s suddenly raising his voice but he’s not sure if it’s angry loud or scared loud or excited loud or somebody-just-prodded-a-sore-spot loud. “Whatever it is, I’ll just adjust. I mean - what’s the point in being bitter as a pop idol or as a co-host on a shit-you didn’t hear that from me-talk show with bad ratings. I can just adjust.”
Something he’s said has killed the laughter from Youngjae’s eyes. His skin is pale anyway, but it looks pasty under the bar’s foggy mood lighting. He's licking his lips like his mouth is full of cotton and he just can’t make it work. So, it’s Jackson that says it for him, “What? You don’t adjust? Youngjae.”
Before Youngjae can reply, Yugyeom walks over to them in that way he has. As though, even now, he’s still not sure what to do with his long legs. He’s cheerful. “Jackson Wang! I knew I'd heard your voice. Well - penguins hear your voice.”
“I can sleep soundly tonight knowing that even those in the Antarctic can’t ignore me,” Jackson replies. He’s used to comments about his loudness and his 'behavioural issues' (quote unquote every teacher ever) so he shrugs it off. Yugyeom has never been malicious. Yugyeom is also still hovering above them awkwardly so Jackson leans into Youngjae’s warm side to make space; Youngjae automatically lifts an arm to secure around his shoulders and that's warm too.
“No,” Yugyeom tells him as he squeezes down next to Jackson, “I meant the penguins at Yongin.”
Jackson looks at him blankly. He thinks he might have interviewed a Yongin once when he was briefly working in Busan during his foray into journalism, but that's it. Youngjae clarifies, “Gyeonggi-do” because that makes everything so much clearer - obviously.
They talk for a while. Youngjae and Yugyeom talk about Korea in Korean and Jackson doesn’t know if he feels left out or completely and utterly at home.
It’s when Yugyeom wanders away and stumbles, as though the world is spinning, that Jackson realises quite how much they’ve had to drink. Then he realises quite how much everyone else has had to drink (it is a stag party after all).
Jinyoung’s gesticulating wildly. His cheeks are red and shiny with perspiration and there’s little flecks of spit pooling in the corner of his lips - he’s a bit drunk. He’s saying, “So her brother says ‘hurt her and I’ll rip your tonsils out through your asshole!’ So I reply, ‘threaten me again and I’ll call the police!’ Anyway - he’s not coming to the wedding.”
In fact, Jinyoung’s more than a bit drunk. It’s probably the fifth time he’s told that story and only Mark is still listening, but even his eyes are glazed over in a way that is reminiscent of a man who shouldn’t have had that last pint.
Jackson turns to Youngjae, moving his whole body towards him so their knees touch warmly. “Do you want to get out of here?” He’s not drunk enough to be enjoying himself and if he drinks anymore he’s going to climb up on the table and strip while the chorus of SNSD’s Gee plays on loop in his mind. Jackson doesn’t want to steal Jinyoung’s thunder tonight and he can always come back for his luggage.
Youngjae’s cheeks are pink but he seems sober enough; his eyes are bright and he’s in full control of his mouth at least. “Sure,” he breathes out and his breath smells of cranberry vodka.
Jackson intends to suggest they get something to eat: jjigae with a soup so thick that he can drown himself in it and forget that it’s December now.
However, the moment they stumble out into the street, Jackson feels Youngjae’s hand on his back and it’s hot.
The night is cold and Jackson can feel his skin pimple up from the chill, or maybe it’s the thrill. The street lights are making everything discoloured and orange and Jackson’s head swims. Youngjae’s hand is hot.
He’s worried that Youngjae’s hand is going to burn all the way through his back and touch his heart. Not in a romantic way, Jackson’s worried that Youngjae’s going to burn it right out of his body.
Jackson may be drunker than he realises.
“What are you doing?” Jackson croaks and then clears his throat, maybe louder than is necessary. Youngjae tries to pull his hand back but Jackson catches it with his own fingers. “Hey! I’m not complaining if you meant-if you mean-what I think you mean. It’s not like I’m not attracted to you, I did say that you’re never ugly, right? Gotta say, if you’re not on my level, can we just forget that I’m still talking because I’m not sure that I can stop.”
Youngjae laughs and his eyes are alight with it. “That-you!-are such a turn-off.”
While he evidently can’t talk sexily, there are other things that he can do with his mouth.
Jackson seals Youngjae’s lips in a forceful kiss. It’s so forceful that they both stagger back, stumbling down an alley so they’re out of sight of the road. Youngjae responds with equal amounts of eagerness and they fall against a wall, slipping down slightly. The bricks leave streaks of orange dust on their jackets.
Jackson pushes up Youngjae’s shirt and jacket so they stay bunched up under his arms, only slipping down enough to hide his nipples from the freezing weather. If Youngjae’s mind was a little less foggy then he would probably complain about the way the brickwork scratches against his exposed skin.
The alley is dark and Jackson hopes the marks he’s leaving down Youngjae’s sides, pushing his nails in hard and dragging down, leave trails so hot that they light up the place like a fire.
It’s so dark that Jackson can’t see the way Youngjae’s body looks, but he can feel the way he shakes under his palms. He can taste his lips and his tongue - they taste warm - and smell his skin - he smells like being nineteen again.
Jackson mourns not being able to clearly see Youngjae’s mouth, red and swollen, but it’s probably for the best. Sure - it’s 2029, but the scandal would be a bomb on Youngjae’s tenuous career. If it were anyone else-
“Are you thinking about me?” Youngjae whispers, the steam from his breath rising up between them. “Or are you imagining somebody else?”
“Don’t be jealous.” Jackson punctuates each word with a kiss to Youngjae’s neck, slowing moving down until he can suck a love bite into Youngjae’s collar bone. It’s gentle and far more romantic than he’d intended but Jackson doesn’t notice until Youngjae does. Youngjae’s body seizes up suddenly, his stomach muscles are tight under Jackson’s hand like an elastic band that’s been pulled too far.
Youngjae awkwardly lifts a hand to pat Jackson's cheek. Jackson knows the skin there will be so smooth under his fingers. Jackson's skin has recovered well now that it's no longer caked in foundation every minute of the day, and if there's only one aspect of his life that he can show-off: it's that.
Jackson turns his face towards Youngjae's hand so he can gently press a kiss into his palm. "What's wrong? Is this not good for you? It's pretty good for me."
“No, it’s good-well maybe a little...-it’s not that.”
“Then what? Are you going to tell me that you’re not gay?” Jackson pulls his hands away from where they were petting Youngjae’s stomach and uses them to cup his chest in a crude imitation of breasts. “Or- I can tuck.”
“No! No. It’s just that it’s been such a long time, Jack, our lives are so distant now.” Youngjae’s voice is getting quiet and it sounds as though it will disappear into the night like the steam from his breath. “I don’t want to reconnect for one night and then say bye-bye for another decade. It feels kind of cheap.”
“I am cheap,” Jackson replies, softening his words with a laugh. His body doesn't feel as though it's on fire anymore, but, with Youngjae just a breath away, he’s still warm.
“How do you manage to live in Low Self-Esteem City but still act like the solar system revolves around planet Jackson? It's like you've brought me out here to massage your inexplicable ego."
Jackson laughs again, but this time it’s ripped out of his throat in surprise. “Is that what you think of me? After all this time.”
When Youngjae doesn’t reply, just hunches his shoulders over as though he’s curling in on himself, Jackson just shrugs. “Okay, whatever. I guess I’ll see you in 2039 then - or whenever.”
The walk back into the club feels like a walk of shame.
Beijing is easily the grimmest place that Jackson has ever lived. It’s night, but the city lights are blinding and Jackson's eyes are still smarting from them as the cab pulls up beside him so that he can clamber in.
When he turns his phone back on, there's a call from an unknown number that he ignores and two calls from his mother. There are even a few texts from Xander with, inevitably, photos of his baby attached. Jackson thinks it's funny that all of this doesn't make him feel any more wanted.
That night, when he'd walked away from Youngjae, his cheeks, which had been hot with lust, were suddenly hot for a very different reason. Even after the biting winter had cooled his face, the embarrassment had still sat in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight.
So, when the taxi driver had asked, "where to?", his reply had been, "Incheon International Airport."
Jackson does feel bad about missing Jinyoung's wedding. It's not like Jackson's been offering out any olive branches in these past years, but Jinyoung had still gone out of his way to pick up the phone and invite him personally. It's probably for the best anyway - otherwise he might have done something theatrical and attention seeking. Nobody would be surprised either, because, to them, he's still Jackson.
Maybe he hasn't matured as much as he's always given himself credit for. He's put his own bruised ego above Jinyoung's happiness. Then again - maybe it's that same selfish teenager that he's never been able to shake that has him overstating his own importance. That has him thinking he's influential enough to be the key to Jinyoung's happiness.
It's possible that it's the sleep deprivation and the air pressure that's had him thinking all the bitter thoughts that he's been thinking since he stepped off the plane.
These thoughts aren't Jackson Wang. So, he pulls up his socks, slaps on a smile, and takes over a dozen Instagram-filtered pictures of the inside of the taxi to spam Xander with.
When Jackson had slipped into the cab, as if on instinct, he had rattled off a familiar address. He feels guilty and embarrassed and rejected and he knows that there's only one person in the entire world who can soothe these wounds.
He jerks when his phone begins to ring. After everything that has happened in the last however many hours and days, the fact that Follow Me is still his ringtone makes him feel kind of lonely. He thumbs 'answer' without even glancing at the caller ID. "Mummy," he says with a smile that's almost weepy, "yeah - I'm on my way now. I love you too."
He leans back into his seat and watches as the familiar streets of Beijing speed by. He feels better already.
It's still December when Jackson gets the call. He's walking off the set after recording the video for Beijing TalkZ' parody single: U-G0T-7-KISS(ES), which is destined for a Valentine's debut. The 'O' in 'GOT' is a zero for copyright reasons and if that's not a testament to how buried the band is then he doesn't know what is.
The call is from Mark. Mark Tuan. He's chirping on about how he's going to be in Beijing for a few days, working with another YouTuber that will, apparently, help him break China. He says that he knows that Jackson has a sofa with his name on it.
It's been years since Jackson has been even slightly involved with what had been his five brothers and Youngjae, but now he can't seem to escape them. If they're not in his flat, they're in his mind, burrowing away like tapeworms. He doesn't know if tapeworms burrow into brains but it sounds suitably harrowing.
He can't justify turning Mark down, so it helps that he finds the prospect of reconnecting with Mark, his brother, actually exciting. Not only that, but he also knows that his mother is going to want to see Mark too. He's her favourite when it comes to needless fussing and cheek pinching, or whatever it is that mothers do to handsome (Jackson's comfortable enough in his (bi)sexuality to say so) young men.
It doesn't take much to get the apartment ready for Mark's stay.
The first thing he does is jingle up his flat. Jackson doesn't ever do much for Christmas, except for the odd seasonal single and the annual festive themed episode of BeijingTalkZ that they film in July, but Mark does. He knows this because Mark has told him that he can only stay for a couple of days before he has the fly out to his parents' retirement village in L.A., where he'll be spending Christmas with his family.
Jackson finds the card from Raymond Tuan, pulling it out from between take-away menus, and puts it on the coffee table in pride of place. It reads: Who's Santa's favourite musician? Elf-is Presley. That's damn funny.
The only other thing that he has to remember to do is pick Mark up from the airport.
Jinyoung's wedding has finally, officially passed and Jackson has officially missed it. He's sent a gift-card in his place so they can buy some nice plates on his pay cheque.
He's over the guilt thing but he still hopes Mark doesn't mention it. He doesn't want to drag up all the memories that he's been suppressing from that night.
"Are you thinking about me?” Those words. Jackson shakes himself off, as though he's trying to shake away the memory of Youngjae's whispers raking through him and settling like hot coals in his stomach. He needs to focus. Focus on Mark.
Yeah. Mark.
Mark.
For the first two days of Mark's visit, they're so rushed off their feet that they can barely catch a moment to chat. In the mornings, before work, Jackson's mother turns up to completely monopolise Mark's attention. That being said, she does scramble them some eggs though, which is nice of her.
In the evenings, Jackson has to stay at the studio until the early hours of the morning, filming segments that won't be shown any time soon. When he finally leaves this job, his face will probably still be appearing on the show until 2035. Mark is already asleep when he stumbles in.
It's not quite the awesome amazing super extended sleep-over that Jackson had imagined. He'd expected to feel like a rookie again but, instead, he's so tired that he feels closer to fifty than he does to even thirty-five.
It's on the final evening of Mark's visit that Jackson manages to clock out early enough for the long awaited boys' night. The band that they had lined up for an interview, U-KISS, had never arrived (and Jackson's glad, even if it's only for Xander's sake, although Xander hasn't actually met any of the current members). The only thing mature about his excitement is that he buys a six-pack of beer on his way home, although he's grinning so much that the cashier actually blushes.
He's still buzzing when get walks in and, to his relief, Mark seems just as happy to see him. They both crack open a beer before Jackson's even got his boots off, and Mark's opening a large bag of crisps for them to share. The crisps look standard enough to Jackson, but Mark's eager to try them because they only have this brand in China. Jackson doesn't have the heart to tell him that crisps taste the same everywhere.
They talk and talk and talk.
Mark stretches out along the sofa like a contented cat and pushes his toes into Jackson’s thigh. They’re both so completely relaxed that it makes Jackson feel guilty about the distance that's been between them. While he knows that Mark could have contacted him just as much as he could have contacted Mark, the thought doesn’t make the burden on his chest feel any lighter. He’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Mark.
They talk about their families and their jobs and Mark’s dogs and definitely not their relationships. They even stumble into a discussion on the stock market, an endeavour that may have been more successful before they starting drinking.
“I did this, like, anniversary performance thing for MNET,” Mark is telling him, “there was SHINee’s Jonghyun, who I think is on ‘roids, Suho from EXO, he’s on bail after the whole incident with the highschooler that I’m sure you’ve heard about, and Jo Kwon. They tried to get Lee Joon but he’s on the Oscar campaign for that new film he’s in. I think Brad Pitt’s son directed it? And Youngjae was there, of course. He spent more time with Jo Kwon than he did with me, though.”
Jackson wants to pretend to be drunk in an effort to explain the way his mind seizes up and his mouth makes a noise akin to a dying caterpillar (or what he imagine one might sound like in the throes of death), but he’s too old and proud to be more than buzzed off a couple of cans of beer.
He’s always known that the other members of GOT7 are still involved with one another. Jackson has followed them in the media; he knows about their current jobs and even invested in Yugyeom when he started his own company, but he can’t exactly call them his friends. Hearing proof that they’re still bosom buddies without him makes Jackson feel so lonely that he wonders if he’s accidentally swallowed some ice that’s gone down the wrong way and ended up in his heart.
If it was only that then Jackson could just drink away his sorrows, like a real man, with the last beer and a box of chocolate liqueurs that the director of BeijingTalkZ has given him for Christmas, but no. Youngjae has been near Jo Kwon. OK, Jackson doesn’t really know Jo Kwon so his thoughts are silly silly silly, but he knows enough. Jo Kwon is an out gay man (a gay advocate since 2015!) who is single and Youngjae is a closeted gay man who is single. Youngjae is also horny if their experience in Gangnam is anything to go by.
As Jackson sifts through all these silly thoughts, his face becomes more and more puce.
Mark clears his throat. “Um, Jack? I don’t know if it’s important but-as far as I know-Youngjae didn’t have sex with Jo Kwon during the rehearsals. Or before or after them, for that matter.”
Jackson stares at him in shock. He’s no longer puce; all the colour has leaked out of his face, as though he’s seen a ghost. “You-you can read minds?” There’s a lot of thoughts, especially Gangnam Thoughts, that are a little too intimate for Mark to see. He also masturbated while thinking of Mark (only his body and definitely, definitely not his face) when they were trainees and nobody needs to see that.
“As much as I want to say yes, no. You were talking out loud like an idiot.”
Jackson is embarrassed because he now talks to himself, or he always has and it’s only just been brought to his attention. Embarrassed, however, is good. He’s going to hold on to it because the hot shame dampens down the feeling of loneliness. Jackson has good friends in Beijing and Seoul and Hong Kong and Tokyo and New York and all the other places that he’s lived, but he still misses GOT7 and, as a result, is jealous of Mark.
It’s more than just old friendships and burnt bridges. He’s got it bad for Youngjae too, as has recently become apparent, and is bizarrely jealous of Jo Kwon for being in Youngjae’s general proximity. If he was twenty he’d brush it off and say it was because he hadn’t actually had sex with Youngjae, so they had unfinished business. But, he’s not twenty, he’s thirty-five, and he knows infatuation when he sees it.
He’s also not going to do anything about any of these things.
The thing is, sometimes Jackson forgets that he doesn’t make the world go round. Across oceans and deserts and valleys, there are billions of people thinking just as hard as he is. Jackson has forgotten that at this very moment in time, so he just leans back to accept his morose fate and listen to Mark talk about the nuances of making a consumerist YouTube video.
There's a knock on the door.
Jackson barely hears it; there's a raging gale outside and he's turned his television up to maximum volume, regardless of his tinnitus, to smother the noise of the storm. It's January: frosty, stormy, and also night. Anybody that Jackson knows would have called ahead, so it's with trepidation that he peers through the peephole on his front door.
On the other side of the door, it isn't the guy from Saw 13 (who knew that would be a record-breaking, decade-defining hit), it's Youngjae. He's wet, channelling the aesthetic of a drowned rat, and he seems so, so tiny. He's always been withdrawn, but it looks as though he's trying to curl so far in on himself that he just completely disappears. He probably will disappear because Jackson is dreaming. He must be. Youngjae is in Korea. Youngjae is in Korea. Youngjae is in Korea. Youngjae is in China on the other side of this very door.
The location is China, Beijing, Jackson's apartment building, Jackson's front door, and-oh yeah-Youngjae's here.
He knocks again, but this time it's more insistent. "Jackson, open the door. I know you live here - Mark told me - don't ignore me. Please." His voice isn't whiny, but low and desperate. It's muffled too, but it still rings loud and clear in Jackson's ears. That's definitely Youngjae's voice, so that has to be Youngjae.
Everything stands still for a second or two. As far as Jackson is concerned: no car drives, no cicada chirps, no raindrop falls. Then, all of a sudden, Jackson's wrestling with the chain on his front door, yanking at it when it won't slide across. When he finally gets the door open, sure as day, Youngjae is stood there. Still tiny. Still wet.
Even odder than Youngjae being in China is, actually, the first thing that he says. He says it likes he's been reciting it. As though he’s practised it the whole flight over. But that's not the odd part. The odd part is exactly what he says: "Jackson. Jackson, all this time I have been wanking you."
That puts some images in Jackson's head; images that probably aren't appropriate right now if he's considering the last time he tried to get past a dirty snog and some heavy petting. He puts those thoughts as far to the back of mind as he can, saving them for later, and manages to say, "What?" He thinks he could have sounded more convincingly casual had he not practically squawked it out in a voice that's higher than 2030 inflation rates.
Youngjae turns bright red and it's quite sweet really - considering. His voice goes high too, so they're like two mice squeaking away at each other. "Oh," he says, on an exhale, and the sound of it is wobbly. "What was the point in... Why did I bother coming all the way out here-to China-only to ruin it? I'm not you, Jack, I'm no good with words. I'm the pop idol Choi Youngjae: shy - everyone knows it."
Jackson's mood whips around. He'd been feeling bubbly; Youngjae had come here to see him and if nothing else, at least he'd had sex on the mind. He doesn't feel bubbly anymore, however, because it's as if Youngjae knows all of his sore spots and, rather than just touching them, is sticking two fingers in and gouging. "Everyone knows nothing, Youngjae. Nothing. They read about you-me in a magazine and decide that I'm loud and brash and tactless. They insult me like it'll all bounce off my hugely inflated ego. You're not shy, not around me. So, say what you were going to say."
Youngjae looks even more nervous now and more than a little taken aback, so Jackson demands again, "Say it!"
Youngjae looks, for a second, as though he might run away, before something in his eyes hardens: resolve. He suddenly seems inspired by Jackson's noise. He seems to be absorbing Jackson's sheer intensity. Youngjae curls his fists, so tightly that Jackson's knows there'll be half moons indented on his palms, and shouts, at the top of his singer-lungs, "All this time I've been wanting you! ALL THIS TIME I HAVE BEEN WANTING YOU!"
It's only then, with Youngjae's voice resonating down the hallway, that Jackson remembers that they're stood over the threshold of his flat. His flat that is in his very respectable apartment building which is full of his respectable, sleeping neighbours. He grabs Youngjae's hand and yanks him inside. When the door slams shut behind them, everything suddenly seems so silent and final.
That is, right up until the moment that they begin to laugh. It’s only a little chuckle at first, but it grows and grows until they’re practically on the floor with a laughter that has their bellies feeling tight and leaves them with tears streaming down their cheeks. Even if they want to talk about what has just happened or what is about to happen,they can’t. Not through the gasping laughs that are tearing out of their throats.
Youngjae is the first to catch his breath, and he manages to stop laughing long enough to choke out, “Look what you’ve done to me. We’re acting like kids again.” He bites his lip, as though the effort of holding something back is physically pushing against his lips.
“Say it,” Jackson repeats. This time, it’s less aggressive and more earnest.
“I’ve loved you for so, so long. It’s 2030 and I’ve been wanting you since that summer almost fifteen years ago. In Gangnam, when we kissed I thought I finally had it, but I didn’t want it to be over the next morning so I just couldn’t - it wasn’t the right time. I know I hurt you, but you have to know what you mean to me. When I saw you at that party, I was happier than when my first niece was born, and happier, even, than when I was first told that I was going to debut.”
Jackson wants to tell Youngjae how corny he is, but he almost can’t bring himself to ruin the moment. Almost, but not quite. “You are so cheesy.”
“I’m trying to be romantic. It’s all I’ve got - it’s not like I can promise you that this is going to work out.”
“Why won’t it work?” Jackson asks indignantly. He doesn’t quite understand why Youngjae would come to China if he doesn’t have any faith. What is Youngjae here for? Lyrical anecdotes for his album Choi Youngjae: Talk About Love Pt. 1 that’s destined for a 2031 release? Jackson thinks it, this thing between them, is going to work out. He’s not sure what “it” is but it will damn well work.
“Well,” Youngjae begins in a measured tone that shows he’s thought this through, “I live in Korea and you live here, in China. Also, what if I want to go where people actually buy my albums and live in the Philippines?”
Jackson looks around his apartment. It’s nice but not very personal because he’s never lived anywhere long enough to accumulate much stuff. He has a lot of clothes and photos and CDs, but everything that he needs can be crammed into a suitcase (his mother might complain, but he thinks she’ll quite like retiring to the Philippines). “I’ll take you there then. Pack your bag and I’ll call the Filipino president and tell him to prepare a room for us.”
“Stop talking nonsense, Jackson. This is actually, really serious.”
“I’m not!” Jackson defends but Youngjae doesn’t even look half way to convinced. “Do you remember, in 2014, I promised to buy you a house on Real GOT7. A house big enough for you and me and my mother, and yours if you want, and a whole family. It can be wherever you want.”
Youngjae laughs at him. He’s still wrapped up in his coat and he hasn’t taken off his winter boots, which is kind of annoying because they’re soaking Jackson’s carpet, but he still looks so suitably comfortable in Jackson’s home. He belongs here in Jackson’s home - it’s official. Youngjae chastises him playfully, “Then you popped a balloon in my face, so I hardly took it as a serious promise.”
"If it's to do with you, then I'm disgustingly serious," Jackson replies, and he's not lying.
It's not quite the climax that Jackson wants for them. It's not the kiss in the car park at the end of Pretty in Pink or the lover's embrace between Mike and Sulley at the end of the dubiously reviewed Monsters Inc. 3.
Maybe it's not a happily ever after, but know this: they're happy and they are forever after.
This work was written in 2014 and any events that occur past that date are speculation.
[readers, don't forget to leave a comment! anonymous is on if you're shy.]
Title: Moon on the Tides
Pairing: Jackson/Youngjae
Rating: PG-13
Word count: approx. 7,500
Author's notes: Thank you for prompting this because it has been an experience and led me to discover that I am, in fact, clairvoyant.
Summary: Ten years after GOT7 disbands, Jackson is invited to Jinyoung’s wedding. He's not sure if things go uphill or downhill from there. [Post-disbandment!au]
Beijing is beautiful from Jackson’s perspective - it stays awake with him when he can’t sleep. It’s not home but Jackson hasn’t truly known a home since he was nineteen.
As Jackson stumbles into his apartment with an ill-contained yawn, he presses the button on his flickering answering machine. He sorts through the post he’d picked up from his box on the way up but it’s all take-away menus and advertisements. Jackson’s not sure why he even checks his post these days; his family call and his colleagues KakaoTalk him because he refuses to update and abandon his adorable emojis that he’d paid for back in 2012.
He collapses down onto the leather sofa that he’d bought to match his ‘glass and class’ aesthetic. Although, since he’s moved to Beijing, his aesthetic is more accurately credited as ‘more or less a mess’. He throws the post down on the coffee table and kicks his feet up on top of them.
He's reminded that he had pressed play on his answering machine when the first message starts playing. It’s from his mother: she’d been by and stocked his kitchen with hamburger meat ("eat it before it goes bad”) and brown rice ("it’s better for your digestion”).
He tunes her out as she natters on about getting his thick coat dry-cleaned before before the winter set in, as though he still lives by the snow slopes of Huaibei. It had been a long day. He’d interviewed the two remaining members of EXO-M about their third Christmas album and it had reminded him of a time when the the two bands, EXO and GOT7, were still considered rivals. Even H.O.T are having a grand comeback tour these days, now the Hallyu wave has slowed to barely a trickle, but GOT7 has been disbanded ten years and they haven’t spoken in six.
It’s almost as though the universe is reading his mind and playing a trick on him, Jackson thinks in surprise, as the second message starts. "Hey, Jackson! It’s me - er - Park Jinyoung? I know it’s been a while so I hope you’re doing good. I won’t stay on too long, I just called to say that I’m getting married in December, it’s so crazy, and I wondered if you’d come. You’re in Beijing, right? I mean, I’m calling a Beijing area code so - I’d understand if you couldn’t make it.” The third message is Jinyoung again. “Oh - I forgot to give you my number.” He rattles off his number before the machine falls silent again, this time for good.
Jackson pulls his mobile out of his pocket with some difficulty, he still wears jeans that are maybe a little hip for a thirty-five year old, and then sifts through the take-away menus until he finds one with familiar hangul lettering before dialling. “Hello? Is this Kimchi Palace? Can I get an order of Jajangmyeon?”
Lunch with Xander, formerly of U-KISS and currently Jackson’s co-host, means American food - Chinese Style.
McDonald’s hasn’t been popular in China since the 2014 hygiene scandal so it’s quiet enough that they can relax without being recognised; they’re too old and not famous enough to be the guys wearing sunglasses indoors.
They shuffle into a booth, both laden with a greasy burger and chips. Jackson feels about ready to drop so this food will have to get him through the afternoon. They have an interview lined up with an up-and-coming teen star from Hong Kong who’s known for being the kind of diva that would put Mariah Carey to shame.
That morning, the had interviewed Nine Muses - the girl group of a decade ago, who are now on their “we’re still here” tour with an entirely new line-up of members. Neither Jackson nor Xander had recognised a single one.
Jackson groans around a mouthful of burger. “Don’t make me go back to work - this is my happy place. I'm going to camp out in here until it's time to fly out for Jinyoung's wedding, and then I'm going to find a new McDonald's in Korea. I think about McDonald’s during injections and prostate exams.” Even the crinkle of the paper his burger is wrapped in sounds like a symphony.
“Tell me about it. My wife just had a baby; I think I’d sleep better in that deep fat fryer.” Xander does look tired, with dark rings under his eyes and the general odour of baby sick and talc. It makes Jackson feels glad that he’s not a father - that he’s a bachelor - so he tells Xander as much.
“Is the bachelor life really that great? You haven’t dated once in all the time that we’ve been friends and you’re not getting any younger,” Xander replies around a mouthful of greasy chips that he never salts enough for Jackson's tastes. "Even if your wardrobe hasn’t realised that yet.”
Jackson is wearing drop crotch trousers - a homage to all things 2014, even if they were out of fashion then too. In an attempt to walk the line between hip and young and a respected member of his professional field, Jackson’s matched it with a shirt and a tie that’s so thin it might as well be a length of rope. He likes to think he’s channelling a fashion hybrid of Bieber (before he dated Madonna) and David Bowie (circa whenever).
Jackson throws out his chest and turns his head at an angle, as though he’s gone back in time and landed on the set of a photoshoot instead of being sat on a plastic chair that’s bolted to the floor in a McDonald's. “I look cool. It’s fusion.”
Xander snorts, a little piece of lettuce flying out of his mouth, and the sound makes Jackson’s chest deflate. “No, it’s a mess.”
“Rude - anyway.” Jackson draws the word out until it sounds like a long whine. “Don’t act like me not dating is some kind of Big Deal. It’s been a year. Tops.”
“Still, a year is a long time to wake up alone. There's even no one to comfort you on your rapidly receding hairline.”
Jackson wants to touch his hairline, protect it from Xander, but he can't because his hands are greasy and the director (angry man with a clipboard) will kill him if he makes his forehead shiny. “My hairline hasn’t been the same since that platinum dye job in ‘16. I’ve mainly made my peace with it. It’s just - my parents' divorce hit me pretty hard.”
It feels silly for Jackson to say. He and his brother had taken the divorce the worst. No matter how much his mother had stroked his hair and cooed that your father was away a lot with work; we grew apart, he hadn’t been comforted. As far as he was concerned: love was dead. He’s a little wiser now. “I just want the next person to be the right one. I don’t want to settle for a perfectly nice girl who a) deserves better-although, in fairness, I am one of the best-and b) doesn’t get me going."
His explanation puts a thoughtful look on Xander's, but it might even be pity. Jackson Wang, crowned King of Deflection, shrugs it off with a casual, "And you know what, I don’t even mean sexually.”
At first, Xander appears to fake a laugh, out of civility if anything, but then he's laughing so hard that he starts hiccuping and has to take a long drink of his Coke before he's able to talk again. "The day you don't think with your cock has finally arrived."
"I had a wank this morning so she's not high priority at the moment."
Xander furrows his brow instead of just laughing again, which makes Jackson want to flick the wrinkles right off his forehead without caring if he smears it in burger grease or not. Of course, Xander doesn't know this, so he says, very somberly, "You refer to your penis as a lady?"
Incheon International Airport never changes and Jackson feels nineteen all over again as he waits at the baggage claim. There isn’t time to look around and reminisce and regret that he ever let snapbacks go out of fashion, because they were prime airport gear back in the day, so he just hails a taxi.
For the entire journey, until they pull up at the bar that Jinyoung’s rented for the stag party, Jackson closes his eyes and pushes Korea out. He’s sort of worried that it’ll feel like home, because it was once - for a little while. The bright lights and the concrete buildings aren’t any different to the ones in Beijing or Hong Kong or even New York (during that summer in 2020) but he’s always felt as though he’d forgotten something in Seoul when he left.
The bar is so Gangnam. It smells like Gangnam should: money and BB cream. It’s dim and there are squishy lounge chairs and Jackson wonders how many people have had sex in them. It’s so Gangnam, but it’s also like every other bar Jackson has ever been to.
Jinyoung must be doing well for himself, working on a day-time TV soap, because the party has an open bar. Jackson can’t help but feel patronised, and then he feels guilty because maybe Jinyoung really is just being nice.
It’s hard to believe that somebody can be nice when they haven’t contacted you in six years, but then again, Jackson hasn’t really contacted anyone either.
Jaebum had called a couple of years back, saying he was in China for filming and they should meet up over lunch, but China’s big and Jackson was pursuing Tokyo then anyway.
Jackson wheels his luggage to a corner before seeking out the bar and grabbing a bottle of what smells like beer - he guesses his Korean isn’t that great anymore because he can’t read the label. He knocks it back with little grace, letting it splash out onto somebody’s fancy leather shoes with the pointed toes, but nobody has ever expected much from him in that respect.
He squeezes his bottom down between two of Jinyoung’s friends that he doesn’t know and he makes sure he does it as obnoxiously as he can. The flight was long, he’s tired, but he has a reputation to upkeep. One of the men sneers at him (standard) but the other just just chuckles at his antics (not standard).
When Jackson gets a proper look at the laughing man, he’s speechless, but not for long. “Choi Youngjae! I didn’t recognise you. You’ve done something with your hair.” Youngjae's hair is floppy. Black. When the band had split in 2019, it had been lavender. “It’s so normal.”
“You too,” Youngjae replies, “but your terrible fashion sense never changes.” Jackson’s wearing a mauve shirt with a Looney Tunes tie; it’s creased from the flight. “You make me feel less aware of the fact that I’m not wearing those trendy Italian leather elf shoes - even Jaebum’s wearing them.”
“Don’t count me out! I do have a leather sofa,” Jackson counters and when Youngjae laughs politely he knows they're having an adult conversation. “So - how are you? Are you getting married too?”
Youngjae shakes his head and tries to hide a little smile behind the mouth of his bottle. Jackson’s nosey and he yearns to know what that smile means, but Youngjae quickly schools his face and says, “No. For me, it’s just been music.”
“I’d heard that you were still singing. Didn’t you almost almost chart in the Philippines once?” Jackson doesn’t mean to sound quite so snide but the damage is done all the same. Youngjae’s idol mask quickly hardens. It’s been years since Jackson’s seen that.
Youngjae has always been a singer. Jackson has always been an athlete, singer, dancer, radio host and, for the last fourteen months, he’s co-hosted the youth oriented talk show: Beijing TalkZ. They’d given him a cake on his first anniversary and it’s been the longest he’s kept a job in a decade.
“My last album did actually,” Youngjae replies, and even Jackson can’t ignore the curt edge there, “I peaked at twenty-four in the charts.”
Twenty-four isn’t like the rows of M Countdown trophies with GOT7’s name on that Jackson thinks Jaebum must have kept because he was never offered one. Nothing is the same. Jackson knows that Mark makes Youtube videos now - he’s seen a few. Jinyoung is getting married to a rich socialite. Yugyeom is probably around here somewhere.
Jackson sticks his elbow into Youngjae’s ribs. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Be candid with me for old times’ sake at least.”
‘Old times’ really does feel a long time ago when Jackson looks around the room. Jinyoung’s new friends are adults and they’re milling around and having pleasant conversation. They’re polite and they’re not offending Youngjae. (The only exception is Bambam, no longer Kunpimook by deed poll, who’s stood alone in a corner drinking something blue and wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie that has a cartoon of Pebbles Flintstone on the back. Jackson can see that he has a knuckle tattoo of his own name.)
Youngjae seems old to Jackson too, although he doesn’t look it because he’s really only thirty-three. That is, until he wrinkles his nose up like a little kid and maybe those lines will be permanent in another decade. Youngjae fakes a whine, “My candid face is ugly though.”
Jackson’s palms are either sweaty or it’s the condensation from his drink. He puts it down and wipes his hands on his jeans. “You’re never ugly.”
Youngjae smiles at that, showing his straight rows of idol white teeth, proving Jackson’s point. Although, what he says is, “Shut up, Jackson! God, it’s been so long and you’re still talking rubbish. What about you? Tell me about you. Do you even like your job?”
“Who cares?” Jackson’s suddenly raising his voice but he’s not sure if it’s angry loud or scared loud or excited loud or somebody-just-prodded-a-sore-spot loud. “Whatever it is, I’ll just adjust. I mean - what’s the point in being bitter as a pop idol or as a co-host on a shit-you didn’t hear that from me-talk show with bad ratings. I can just adjust.”
Something he’s said has killed the laughter from Youngjae’s eyes. His skin is pale anyway, but it looks pasty under the bar’s foggy mood lighting. He's licking his lips like his mouth is full of cotton and he just can’t make it work. So, it’s Jackson that says it for him, “What? You don’t adjust? Youngjae.”
Before Youngjae can reply, Yugyeom walks over to them in that way he has. As though, even now, he’s still not sure what to do with his long legs. He’s cheerful. “Jackson Wang! I knew I'd heard your voice. Well - penguins hear your voice.”
“I can sleep soundly tonight knowing that even those in the Antarctic can’t ignore me,” Jackson replies. He’s used to comments about his loudness and his 'behavioural issues' (quote unquote every teacher ever) so he shrugs it off. Yugyeom has never been malicious. Yugyeom is also still hovering above them awkwardly so Jackson leans into Youngjae’s warm side to make space; Youngjae automatically lifts an arm to secure around his shoulders and that's warm too.
“No,” Yugyeom tells him as he squeezes down next to Jackson, “I meant the penguins at Yongin.”
Jackson looks at him blankly. He thinks he might have interviewed a Yongin once when he was briefly working in Busan during his foray into journalism, but that's it. Youngjae clarifies, “Gyeonggi-do” because that makes everything so much clearer - obviously.
They talk for a while. Youngjae and Yugyeom talk about Korea in Korean and Jackson doesn’t know if he feels left out or completely and utterly at home.
It’s when Yugyeom wanders away and stumbles, as though the world is spinning, that Jackson realises quite how much they’ve had to drink. Then he realises quite how much everyone else has had to drink (it is a stag party after all).
Jinyoung’s gesticulating wildly. His cheeks are red and shiny with perspiration and there’s little flecks of spit pooling in the corner of his lips - he’s a bit drunk. He’s saying, “So her brother says ‘hurt her and I’ll rip your tonsils out through your asshole!’ So I reply, ‘threaten me again and I’ll call the police!’ Anyway - he’s not coming to the wedding.”
In fact, Jinyoung’s more than a bit drunk. It’s probably the fifth time he’s told that story and only Mark is still listening, but even his eyes are glazed over in a way that is reminiscent of a man who shouldn’t have had that last pint.
Jackson turns to Youngjae, moving his whole body towards him so their knees touch warmly. “Do you want to get out of here?” He’s not drunk enough to be enjoying himself and if he drinks anymore he’s going to climb up on the table and strip while the chorus of SNSD’s Gee plays on loop in his mind. Jackson doesn’t want to steal Jinyoung’s thunder tonight and he can always come back for his luggage.
Youngjae’s cheeks are pink but he seems sober enough; his eyes are bright and he’s in full control of his mouth at least. “Sure,” he breathes out and his breath smells of cranberry vodka.
Jackson intends to suggest they get something to eat: jjigae with a soup so thick that he can drown himself in it and forget that it’s December now.
However, the moment they stumble out into the street, Jackson feels Youngjae’s hand on his back and it’s hot.
The night is cold and Jackson can feel his skin pimple up from the chill, or maybe it’s the thrill. The street lights are making everything discoloured and orange and Jackson’s head swims. Youngjae’s hand is hot.
He’s worried that Youngjae’s hand is going to burn all the way through his back and touch his heart. Not in a romantic way, Jackson’s worried that Youngjae’s going to burn it right out of his body.
Jackson may be drunker than he realises.
“What are you doing?” Jackson croaks and then clears his throat, maybe louder than is necessary. Youngjae tries to pull his hand back but Jackson catches it with his own fingers. “Hey! I’m not complaining if you meant-if you mean-what I think you mean. It’s not like I’m not attracted to you, I did say that you’re never ugly, right? Gotta say, if you’re not on my level, can we just forget that I’m still talking because I’m not sure that I can stop.”
Youngjae laughs and his eyes are alight with it. “That-you!-are such a turn-off.”
While he evidently can’t talk sexily, there are other things that he can do with his mouth.
Jackson seals Youngjae’s lips in a forceful kiss. It’s so forceful that they both stagger back, stumbling down an alley so they’re out of sight of the road. Youngjae responds with equal amounts of eagerness and they fall against a wall, slipping down slightly. The bricks leave streaks of orange dust on their jackets.
Jackson pushes up Youngjae’s shirt and jacket so they stay bunched up under his arms, only slipping down enough to hide his nipples from the freezing weather. If Youngjae’s mind was a little less foggy then he would probably complain about the way the brickwork scratches against his exposed skin.
The alley is dark and Jackson hopes the marks he’s leaving down Youngjae’s sides, pushing his nails in hard and dragging down, leave trails so hot that they light up the place like a fire.
It’s so dark that Jackson can’t see the way Youngjae’s body looks, but he can feel the way he shakes under his palms. He can taste his lips and his tongue - they taste warm - and smell his skin - he smells like being nineteen again.
Jackson mourns not being able to clearly see Youngjae’s mouth, red and swollen, but it’s probably for the best. Sure - it’s 2029, but the scandal would be a bomb on Youngjae’s tenuous career. If it were anyone else-
“Are you thinking about me?” Youngjae whispers, the steam from his breath rising up between them. “Or are you imagining somebody else?”
“Don’t be jealous.” Jackson punctuates each word with a kiss to Youngjae’s neck, slowing moving down until he can suck a love bite into Youngjae’s collar bone. It’s gentle and far more romantic than he’d intended but Jackson doesn’t notice until Youngjae does. Youngjae’s body seizes up suddenly, his stomach muscles are tight under Jackson’s hand like an elastic band that’s been pulled too far.
Youngjae awkwardly lifts a hand to pat Jackson's cheek. Jackson knows the skin there will be so smooth under his fingers. Jackson's skin has recovered well now that it's no longer caked in foundation every minute of the day, and if there's only one aspect of his life that he can show-off: it's that.
Jackson turns his face towards Youngjae's hand so he can gently press a kiss into his palm. "What's wrong? Is this not good for you? It's pretty good for me."
“No, it’s good-well maybe a little...-it’s not that.”
“Then what? Are you going to tell me that you’re not gay?” Jackson pulls his hands away from where they were petting Youngjae’s stomach and uses them to cup his chest in a crude imitation of breasts. “Or- I can tuck.”
“No! No. It’s just that it’s been such a long time, Jack, our lives are so distant now.” Youngjae’s voice is getting quiet and it sounds as though it will disappear into the night like the steam from his breath. “I don’t want to reconnect for one night and then say bye-bye for another decade. It feels kind of cheap.”
“I am cheap,” Jackson replies, softening his words with a laugh. His body doesn't feel as though it's on fire anymore, but, with Youngjae just a breath away, he’s still warm.
“How do you manage to live in Low Self-Esteem City but still act like the solar system revolves around planet Jackson? It's like you've brought me out here to massage your inexplicable ego."
Jackson laughs again, but this time it’s ripped out of his throat in surprise. “Is that what you think of me? After all this time.”
When Youngjae doesn’t reply, just hunches his shoulders over as though he’s curling in on himself, Jackson just shrugs. “Okay, whatever. I guess I’ll see you in 2039 then - or whenever.”
The walk back into the club feels like a walk of shame.
Beijing is easily the grimmest place that Jackson has ever lived. It’s night, but the city lights are blinding and Jackson's eyes are still smarting from them as the cab pulls up beside him so that he can clamber in.
When he turns his phone back on, there's a call from an unknown number that he ignores and two calls from his mother. There are even a few texts from Xander with, inevitably, photos of his baby attached. Jackson thinks it's funny that all of this doesn't make him feel any more wanted.
That night, when he'd walked away from Youngjae, his cheeks, which had been hot with lust, were suddenly hot for a very different reason. Even after the biting winter had cooled his face, the embarrassment had still sat in the pit of his stomach like a lead weight.
So, when the taxi driver had asked, "where to?", his reply had been, "Incheon International Airport."
Jackson does feel bad about missing Jinyoung's wedding. It's not like Jackson's been offering out any olive branches in these past years, but Jinyoung had still gone out of his way to pick up the phone and invite him personally. It's probably for the best anyway - otherwise he might have done something theatrical and attention seeking. Nobody would be surprised either, because, to them, he's still Jackson.
Maybe he hasn't matured as much as he's always given himself credit for. He's put his own bruised ego above Jinyoung's happiness. Then again - maybe it's that same selfish teenager that he's never been able to shake that has him overstating his own importance. That has him thinking he's influential enough to be the key to Jinyoung's happiness.
It's possible that it's the sleep deprivation and the air pressure that's had him thinking all the bitter thoughts that he's been thinking since he stepped off the plane.
These thoughts aren't Jackson Wang. So, he pulls up his socks, slaps on a smile, and takes over a dozen Instagram-filtered pictures of the inside of the taxi to spam Xander with.
When Jackson had slipped into the cab, as if on instinct, he had rattled off a familiar address. He feels guilty and embarrassed and rejected and he knows that there's only one person in the entire world who can soothe these wounds.
He jerks when his phone begins to ring. After everything that has happened in the last however many hours and days, the fact that Follow Me is still his ringtone makes him feel kind of lonely. He thumbs 'answer' without even glancing at the caller ID. "Mummy," he says with a smile that's almost weepy, "yeah - I'm on my way now. I love you too."
He leans back into his seat and watches as the familiar streets of Beijing speed by. He feels better already.
It's still December when Jackson gets the call. He's walking off the set after recording the video for Beijing TalkZ' parody single: U-G0T-7-KISS(ES), which is destined for a Valentine's debut. The 'O' in 'GOT' is a zero for copyright reasons and if that's not a testament to how buried the band is then he doesn't know what is.
The call is from Mark. Mark Tuan. He's chirping on about how he's going to be in Beijing for a few days, working with another YouTuber that will, apparently, help him break China. He says that he knows that Jackson has a sofa with his name on it.
It's been years since Jackson has been even slightly involved with what had been his five brothers and Youngjae, but now he can't seem to escape them. If they're not in his flat, they're in his mind, burrowing away like tapeworms. He doesn't know if tapeworms burrow into brains but it sounds suitably harrowing.
He can't justify turning Mark down, so it helps that he finds the prospect of reconnecting with Mark, his brother, actually exciting. Not only that, but he also knows that his mother is going to want to see Mark too. He's her favourite when it comes to needless fussing and cheek pinching, or whatever it is that mothers do to handsome (Jackson's comfortable enough in his (bi)sexuality to say so) young men.
It doesn't take much to get the apartment ready for Mark's stay.
The first thing he does is jingle up his flat. Jackson doesn't ever do much for Christmas, except for the odd seasonal single and the annual festive themed episode of BeijingTalkZ that they film in July, but Mark does. He knows this because Mark has told him that he can only stay for a couple of days before he has the fly out to his parents' retirement village in L.A., where he'll be spending Christmas with his family.
Jackson finds the card from Raymond Tuan, pulling it out from between take-away menus, and puts it on the coffee table in pride of place. It reads: Who's Santa's favourite musician? Elf-is Presley. That's damn funny.
The only other thing that he has to remember to do is pick Mark up from the airport.
Jinyoung's wedding has finally, officially passed and Jackson has officially missed it. He's sent a gift-card in his place so they can buy some nice plates on his pay cheque.
He's over the guilt thing but he still hopes Mark doesn't mention it. He doesn't want to drag up all the memories that he's been suppressing from that night.
"Are you thinking about me?” Those words. Jackson shakes himself off, as though he's trying to shake away the memory of Youngjae's whispers raking through him and settling like hot coals in his stomach. He needs to focus. Focus on Mark.
Yeah. Mark.
Mark.
For the first two days of Mark's visit, they're so rushed off their feet that they can barely catch a moment to chat. In the mornings, before work, Jackson's mother turns up to completely monopolise Mark's attention. That being said, she does scramble them some eggs though, which is nice of her.
In the evenings, Jackson has to stay at the studio until the early hours of the morning, filming segments that won't be shown any time soon. When he finally leaves this job, his face will probably still be appearing on the show until 2035. Mark is already asleep when he stumbles in.
It's not quite the awesome amazing super extended sleep-over that Jackson had imagined. He'd expected to feel like a rookie again but, instead, he's so tired that he feels closer to fifty than he does to even thirty-five.
It's on the final evening of Mark's visit that Jackson manages to clock out early enough for the long awaited boys' night. The band that they had lined up for an interview, U-KISS, had never arrived (and Jackson's glad, even if it's only for Xander's sake, although Xander hasn't actually met any of the current members). The only thing mature about his excitement is that he buys a six-pack of beer on his way home, although he's grinning so much that the cashier actually blushes.
He's still buzzing when get walks in and, to his relief, Mark seems just as happy to see him. They both crack open a beer before Jackson's even got his boots off, and Mark's opening a large bag of crisps for them to share. The crisps look standard enough to Jackson, but Mark's eager to try them because they only have this brand in China. Jackson doesn't have the heart to tell him that crisps taste the same everywhere.
They talk and talk and talk.
Mark stretches out along the sofa like a contented cat and pushes his toes into Jackson’s thigh. They’re both so completely relaxed that it makes Jackson feel guilty about the distance that's been between them. While he knows that Mark could have contacted him just as much as he could have contacted Mark, the thought doesn’t make the burden on his chest feel any lighter. He’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Mark.
They talk about their families and their jobs and Mark’s dogs and definitely not their relationships. They even stumble into a discussion on the stock market, an endeavour that may have been more successful before they starting drinking.
“I did this, like, anniversary performance thing for MNET,” Mark is telling him, “there was SHINee’s Jonghyun, who I think is on ‘roids, Suho from EXO, he’s on bail after the whole incident with the highschooler that I’m sure you’ve heard about, and Jo Kwon. They tried to get Lee Joon but he’s on the Oscar campaign for that new film he’s in. I think Brad Pitt’s son directed it? And Youngjae was there, of course. He spent more time with Jo Kwon than he did with me, though.”
Jackson wants to pretend to be drunk in an effort to explain the way his mind seizes up and his mouth makes a noise akin to a dying caterpillar (or what he imagine one might sound like in the throes of death), but he’s too old and proud to be more than buzzed off a couple of cans of beer.
He’s always known that the other members of GOT7 are still involved with one another. Jackson has followed them in the media; he knows about their current jobs and even invested in Yugyeom when he started his own company, but he can’t exactly call them his friends. Hearing proof that they’re still bosom buddies without him makes Jackson feel so lonely that he wonders if he’s accidentally swallowed some ice that’s gone down the wrong way and ended up in his heart.
If it was only that then Jackson could just drink away his sorrows, like a real man, with the last beer and a box of chocolate liqueurs that the director of BeijingTalkZ has given him for Christmas, but no. Youngjae has been near Jo Kwon. OK, Jackson doesn’t really know Jo Kwon so his thoughts are silly silly silly, but he knows enough. Jo Kwon is an out gay man (a gay advocate since 2015!) who is single and Youngjae is a closeted gay man who is single. Youngjae is also horny if their experience in Gangnam is anything to go by.
As Jackson sifts through all these silly thoughts, his face becomes more and more puce.
Mark clears his throat. “Um, Jack? I don’t know if it’s important but-as far as I know-Youngjae didn’t have sex with Jo Kwon during the rehearsals. Or before or after them, for that matter.”
Jackson stares at him in shock. He’s no longer puce; all the colour has leaked out of his face, as though he’s seen a ghost. “You-you can read minds?” There’s a lot of thoughts, especially Gangnam Thoughts, that are a little too intimate for Mark to see. He also masturbated while thinking of Mark (only his body and definitely, definitely not his face) when they were trainees and nobody needs to see that.
“As much as I want to say yes, no. You were talking out loud like an idiot.”
Jackson is embarrassed because he now talks to himself, or he always has and it’s only just been brought to his attention. Embarrassed, however, is good. He’s going to hold on to it because the hot shame dampens down the feeling of loneliness. Jackson has good friends in Beijing and Seoul and Hong Kong and Tokyo and New York and all the other places that he’s lived, but he still misses GOT7 and, as a result, is jealous of Mark.
It’s more than just old friendships and burnt bridges. He’s got it bad for Youngjae too, as has recently become apparent, and is bizarrely jealous of Jo Kwon for being in Youngjae’s general proximity. If he was twenty he’d brush it off and say it was because he hadn’t actually had sex with Youngjae, so they had unfinished business. But, he’s not twenty, he’s thirty-five, and he knows infatuation when he sees it.
He’s also not going to do anything about any of these things.
The thing is, sometimes Jackson forgets that he doesn’t make the world go round. Across oceans and deserts and valleys, there are billions of people thinking just as hard as he is. Jackson has forgotten that at this very moment in time, so he just leans back to accept his morose fate and listen to Mark talk about the nuances of making a consumerist YouTube video.
There's a knock on the door.
Jackson barely hears it; there's a raging gale outside and he's turned his television up to maximum volume, regardless of his tinnitus, to smother the noise of the storm. It's January: frosty, stormy, and also night. Anybody that Jackson knows would have called ahead, so it's with trepidation that he peers through the peephole on his front door.
On the other side of the door, it isn't the guy from Saw 13 (who knew that would be a record-breaking, decade-defining hit), it's Youngjae. He's wet, channelling the aesthetic of a drowned rat, and he seems so, so tiny. He's always been withdrawn, but it looks as though he's trying to curl so far in on himself that he just completely disappears. He probably will disappear because Jackson is dreaming. He must be. Youngjae is in Korea. Youngjae is in Korea. Youngjae is in Korea. Youngjae is in China on the other side of this very door.
The location is China, Beijing, Jackson's apartment building, Jackson's front door, and-oh yeah-Youngjae's here.
He knocks again, but this time it's more insistent. "Jackson, open the door. I know you live here - Mark told me - don't ignore me. Please." His voice isn't whiny, but low and desperate. It's muffled too, but it still rings loud and clear in Jackson's ears. That's definitely Youngjae's voice, so that has to be Youngjae.
Everything stands still for a second or two. As far as Jackson is concerned: no car drives, no cicada chirps, no raindrop falls. Then, all of a sudden, Jackson's wrestling with the chain on his front door, yanking at it when it won't slide across. When he finally gets the door open, sure as day, Youngjae is stood there. Still tiny. Still wet.
Even odder than Youngjae being in China is, actually, the first thing that he says. He says it likes he's been reciting it. As though he’s practised it the whole flight over. But that's not the odd part. The odd part is exactly what he says: "Jackson. Jackson, all this time I have been wanking you."
That puts some images in Jackson's head; images that probably aren't appropriate right now if he's considering the last time he tried to get past a dirty snog and some heavy petting. He puts those thoughts as far to the back of mind as he can, saving them for later, and manages to say, "What?" He thinks he could have sounded more convincingly casual had he not practically squawked it out in a voice that's higher than 2030 inflation rates.
Youngjae turns bright red and it's quite sweet really - considering. His voice goes high too, so they're like two mice squeaking away at each other. "Oh," he says, on an exhale, and the sound of it is wobbly. "What was the point in... Why did I bother coming all the way out here-to China-only to ruin it? I'm not you, Jack, I'm no good with words. I'm the pop idol Choi Youngjae: shy - everyone knows it."
Jackson's mood whips around. He'd been feeling bubbly; Youngjae had come here to see him and if nothing else, at least he'd had sex on the mind. He doesn't feel bubbly anymore, however, because it's as if Youngjae knows all of his sore spots and, rather than just touching them, is sticking two fingers in and gouging. "Everyone knows nothing, Youngjae. Nothing. They read about you-me in a magazine and decide that I'm loud and brash and tactless. They insult me like it'll all bounce off my hugely inflated ego. You're not shy, not around me. So, say what you were going to say."
Youngjae looks even more nervous now and more than a little taken aback, so Jackson demands again, "Say it!"
Youngjae looks, for a second, as though he might run away, before something in his eyes hardens: resolve. He suddenly seems inspired by Jackson's noise. He seems to be absorbing Jackson's sheer intensity. Youngjae curls his fists, so tightly that Jackson's knows there'll be half moons indented on his palms, and shouts, at the top of his singer-lungs, "All this time I've been wanting you! ALL THIS TIME I HAVE BEEN WANTING YOU!"
It's only then, with Youngjae's voice resonating down the hallway, that Jackson remembers that they're stood over the threshold of his flat. His flat that is in his very respectable apartment building which is full of his respectable, sleeping neighbours. He grabs Youngjae's hand and yanks him inside. When the door slams shut behind them, everything suddenly seems so silent and final.
That is, right up until the moment that they begin to laugh. It’s only a little chuckle at first, but it grows and grows until they’re practically on the floor with a laughter that has their bellies feeling tight and leaves them with tears streaming down their cheeks. Even if they want to talk about what has just happened or what is about to happen,they can’t. Not through the gasping laughs that are tearing out of their throats.
Youngjae is the first to catch his breath, and he manages to stop laughing long enough to choke out, “Look what you’ve done to me. We’re acting like kids again.” He bites his lip, as though the effort of holding something back is physically pushing against his lips.
“Say it,” Jackson repeats. This time, it’s less aggressive and more earnest.
“I’ve loved you for so, so long. It’s 2030 and I’ve been wanting you since that summer almost fifteen years ago. In Gangnam, when we kissed I thought I finally had it, but I didn’t want it to be over the next morning so I just couldn’t - it wasn’t the right time. I know I hurt you, but you have to know what you mean to me. When I saw you at that party, I was happier than when my first niece was born, and happier, even, than when I was first told that I was going to debut.”
Jackson wants to tell Youngjae how corny he is, but he almost can’t bring himself to ruin the moment. Almost, but not quite. “You are so cheesy.”
“I’m trying to be romantic. It’s all I’ve got - it’s not like I can promise you that this is going to work out.”
“Why won’t it work?” Jackson asks indignantly. He doesn’t quite understand why Youngjae would come to China if he doesn’t have any faith. What is Youngjae here for? Lyrical anecdotes for his album Choi Youngjae: Talk About Love Pt. 1 that’s destined for a 2031 release? Jackson thinks it, this thing between them, is going to work out. He’s not sure what “it” is but it will damn well work.
“Well,” Youngjae begins in a measured tone that shows he’s thought this through, “I live in Korea and you live here, in China. Also, what if I want to go where people actually buy my albums and live in the Philippines?”
Jackson looks around his apartment. It’s nice but not very personal because he’s never lived anywhere long enough to accumulate much stuff. He has a lot of clothes and photos and CDs, but everything that he needs can be crammed into a suitcase (his mother might complain, but he thinks she’ll quite like retiring to the Philippines). “I’ll take you there then. Pack your bag and I’ll call the Filipino president and tell him to prepare a room for us.”
“Stop talking nonsense, Jackson. This is actually, really serious.”
“I’m not!” Jackson defends but Youngjae doesn’t even look half way to convinced. “Do you remember, in 2014, I promised to buy you a house on Real GOT7. A house big enough for you and me and my mother, and yours if you want, and a whole family. It can be wherever you want.”
Youngjae laughs at him. He’s still wrapped up in his coat and he hasn’t taken off his winter boots, which is kind of annoying because they’re soaking Jackson’s carpet, but he still looks so suitably comfortable in Jackson’s home. He belongs here in Jackson’s home - it’s official. Youngjae chastises him playfully, “Then you popped a balloon in my face, so I hardly took it as a serious promise.”
"If it's to do with you, then I'm disgustingly serious," Jackson replies, and he's not lying.
It's not quite the climax that Jackson wants for them. It's not the kiss in the car park at the end of Pretty in Pink or the lover's embrace between Mike and Sulley at the end of the dubiously reviewed Monsters Inc. 3.
Maybe it's not a happily ever after, but know this: they're happy and they are forever after.
This work was written in 2014 and any events that occur past that date are speculation.
[readers, don't forget to leave a comment! anonymous is on if you're shy.]