[b1a4] sinking ships and subway stations
Title: Sinking Ships and Subway Stations
Pairing: Gongchan/Sandeul
Rating: PG
Summary: Chanshik watches it all fall apart, and Junghwan helps him glue it back together.
Word Count: ~1,800
Warnings: There are mentions of violence against women.
Originally written for flytothetop's first challenge
sinking ships and subway stations;;-
// sometimes, you just need to find your way alone //
In some ways, B1A4 is lucky to have lasted so long.
It’s all good when they first set sail in the industry. The seas are clear, the fans are many, and it’s sunny days and smooth sailing. They gain more followers on their Daum cafe in the span of half a year than some sunbae groups ever have (ever will), and by the end of their first year, their album sales have surpassed even the CEO’s expectations.
Chanshik’s happy. Tired, most definitely, overworked, barely getting enough sleep, but he plays his part as the maknae of the group down to a T. They cruise through their second and third years, obtaining not only a Bonsang, but a Daesang at the end-of-year award ceremonies, and for a while, they’re on top of the world.
But the years drag on, and cracks appear on the perfectly lacquered surface of their once immaculate ship.
The first crack is when Sunwoo’s offered a solo contract. It had happened before, as a joke in a variety program when they were just rookies, but five years down the track, no one’s joking anymore. Sunwoo reassures the members that he’s not going to take it, that he’ll stay with them forever, but Chanshik hears him on the phone one day discussing contract details, and he feels hurt, betrayed. Chanshik tells Jinyoung, a quick slip of the tongue in passing, and then there’s a confrontation, and an argument -- things are thrown, windows broken, and Chanshik runs out of the dorm because he’s never seen Jinyoung so furious before.
Sunwoo doesn’t end up leaving them, but there’s a newfound hostility between him and Jinyoung, and the tension doesn’t go unnoticed by the media. Articles float around everywhere, and they’re told to take a two week hiatus from activities until the disbandment rumours clear up.
The second crack, a bigger one, appears when a track is uploaded by a fan onto their Daum fancafe from a virtually unknown British electro-pop band. There’s nothing suspecting about that, except for the fact that the track was released three years ago -- and happens to sounds peculiarly like B1A4’s new title song.
Which Jinyoung had composed.
Chanshik knows how destructive this discovery is. It’s torn down groups and solo singers before -- Lee Hyori’s famous 2008 plagiarism scandal had sent her laying low for four years before she dared to release another album, and she wasn’t even the one who’d composed the song.
In twenty four hours, all the news sites and web pages are abuzz with this new information, condemning Jinyoung and his creative ability. More and more videos are posted on their Daum, comparing their old songs with other ‘similar sounding’ songs. Most of them are just people caught in the hype grabbing at straws, but it’s unstoppable.
Their lawyers cover it up and try to settle it out of the courts. It turns out the British band had never copyrighted their song, so there’s nothing they can do legally, but all the same, legal liability and public liability are two very different things.
“Hyung, I can’t believe you’d do something like that,” Chanshik murmurs to Jinyoung. Jinyoung shuts himself in his room, eyes puffy. Their title track is replaced, and B1A4 continue to promote, but they’ve lost their freshness, their confidence, the public support, and Chanshik thinks that maybe they’ve all lost themselves too. The comeback fails.
And then, the third and final crack comes in the form of an assault and battery.
The public can’t quite believe it. Soft-spoken Dongwoo, calm, rational Dongwoo, hitting a woman at a bar, leaving bruises on her cheeks, arms, a cut on her lip, and a swollen black eye. They can’t quite believe it, because they don’t know Dongwoo, or at least, what Dongwoo’s become. Chanshik’s witnessed it: Dongwoo’s downwards spiral into alcoholism, his sudden anger fits, the broken soju bottles when he teeters inevitably over the edge.
Dongwoo’s uncle, a criminal defense lawyer, defends him in court, but the outcome’s unfavourable. Dongwoo’s found guilty on both counts, and he’ll serve 300 hours of community service, a light sentence for this offence. The media go into a frenzy. Chanshik watches with a helpless sinking in his heart as fans turn their backs and attack them, spit vicious words at them, condemn them -- them, not Dongwoo. Them, as a whole.
B1A4 sinks. They can no longer promote. The scandals have dealt too much damage to their mainframe. Chanshik knows it’s coming -- they all know it’s coming -- but it still hurts when he walks out of the Board of Directors’ room, clutching a termination clause. Ten years is a good run, they’re told. WM Entertainment have a newer, shinier group.
The industry’s changed, they’ve slipped up too much, and it’s time to move on.
The subway station is crowded, almost claustrophobic. Chanshik hasn’t been in a crowd for more than five years. He’s had crowds form around him, on the streets when he filmed for some variety show, below them when they’d performed onstage, but he’s always been the object of speculation -- the untouchable idol. Now, he’s part of the landscape.
It’s an old and new feeling. It reminds him of his trainee days, being dragged by an excited Junghwan to the streets of Myungdong after late-night vocal lessons, eating ddeok and odeng and street-vendor snacks at one in the morning, with no one even sparing them a second glance. He laughs softly, wistfully. He can’t return to those days.
People walk past him in the station, heading purposefully off to their destinations. Chanshik wonders where they’re going. Do they have somewhere to be? An appointment, maybe? Meeting a friend? Lover? A middle-aged lady hurries past him, almost knocking into his suitcase, before clutching her bag tightly and striding off. Chanshik has an inexplicable desire to stop her and ask her why she’s walking so fast, ask her if she’s lost her direction or not.
“Is that--Chanshik. Channie.”
Chanshik tenses up. It’s a subway station, so he has nowhere to run if it’s a fan, or god forbid, an anti. He turns around slowly -- and comes face to face with Junghwan.
Chanshik’s not sure how he recognises Junghwan. Maybe it's in the gait. Junghwan has a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth, sunglasses, and a hat pulled low. He’s still in the public eye, after all -- Chanshik’s the one who’s faded into obscurity.
“Hyung.” Chanshik's heart makes an extra loud thump at the bottom of his chest. “Junghwan hyung. What are you--”
Chanshik looks down towards Junghwan’s hands. He’s also holding a suitcase. It’s smaller than Chanshik’s, but Junghwan’s always been a light packer. Chanshik has to smile. Typical Junghwan. During schedules, all the others would carry around a small bag filled with necessities, but Junghwan had left it all to the stylists and manager to worry about. He’d always been the free soul in their group.
“To see my parents, of course. I’ve got a month before my new contract starts. Where are you going?”
Chanshik looks down at his hands. It had been a whimsical decision on his part. Five months of inactivity, of fear, had left him feeling stale. He needs fresh air.
“Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go visit my parents too.”
Junghwan chuckles. He rests his head on the pillar next to him. “I remember you’d always cry for them when you thought no one was awake. You never stopped. Crybaby Channie.”
Chanshik frowns. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“It’s okay. Crying’s good for you. Better than bottling it up and drowning it with alcohol,” Junghwan adds darkly, and Chanshik feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.
The subway pulls into the station. Junghwan grabs Chanshik’s suitcase. “If you don’t know where you’re going, then come with me.”
The subway’s air-conditioned, a welcome change from the stuffy heat of the station. The morning rush has settled, leaving rows of seats free. Junghwan sits down in the most obscure seat and pats the empty spot next to him, motioning for Chanshik to join him. They sit in silence, the subway doors opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and closing, until they’re at the outskirts of Seoul and the carriage is empty.
Chanshik looks over at Junghwan. Junghwan’s head is rested on the top of the seat, his scarf unravelling and showing a half-opened mouth and some stubble. Chanshik moves closer. Junghwan’s eyes are closed behind his sunglasses. He’s probably asleep.
“It’s too unfair.” Chanshik murmurs absentmindedly, fiddling with the fraying ends of Junghwan’s scarf.
“What’s unfair?”
Chanshik jumps in his seat, startled. Junghwan lifts his head and looks pointedly at Chanshik.
“I wasn’t asleep. What’s unfair?”
“Everything. Don’t you feel wronged? What have we done wrong, hyung?” Chanshik’s voice comes out bitter, much more bitter than he’d intended, but it’s justified. After all, they’d been stuck in the mess, helpless, innocent, but dragged down nonetheless.
Junghwan sighs and stares out the window. “Don’t blame them. Don’t blame anything. Focus on yourself.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chanshik mutters. “You have talent.” Junghwan had been good enough to get re-signed as a ballad singer, given a chance to make a seamless transition from idol to singer. He'd changed in the years, lost that childish innocence and learnt to handle matters on his own. Chanshik recalls with a grimace that he has nothing but an aging face.
Junghwan takes off his sunglasses and looks Chanshik in the eye. Chanshik looks away. He can’t hold Junghwan’s interrogative gaze.
“Channie,” Junghwan muses, “let me tell you something. There are things in this world you can control, and things you can’t. Sunwoo, Jinyoung, and Dongwoo are their own people. You can’t control them. The only thing you’ll ever have control of is yourself, and how you let yourself react to situations that are out of your control.”
Junghwan lowers his voice.
“What I’m saying is, don’t let the world control you. Don’t underestimate yourself. Make your own direction. You don’t need us, just yourself.”
Chanshik raises his head. The images of his modelling shoots rush back at him, hundreds of brands, hundreds of photos, hundreds of poses, vivid in front of his eyes. Chanshik counts. At least half of them were solo shoots. He’s fared well alone -- he’s just never realised he’d done it alone until now. Gong Chanshik of B1A4 and Gong Chanshik are still the same person -- only now, he doesn’t need to sell his mediocre singing and dancing.
Chanshik feels excitement rising in him, a raw excitement he hasn’t experienced since his trainee days. The gears turn in his brain. He still has his contacts, high-ranked members of the industry, ignored in his wallowing -- he could call them up and ask for a favour. It was worth a try.
The subway jerks and pulls into the station, the last stop in Seoul before a four hour non-stop ride to Busan. Chanshik stands up and grabs his suitcase. There’s no use following Junghwan. It’s not the direction he wants to go.
“Junghwan hyung?”
“Hmm?”
Chanshik smiles as the subway doors open in front of him.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m going my own way.”
Pairing: Gongchan/Sandeul
Rating: PG
Summary: Chanshik watches it all fall apart, and Junghwan helps him glue it back together.
Word Count: ~1,800
Warnings: There are mentions of violence against women.
Originally written for flytothetop's first challenge
sinking ships and subway stations;;-
// sometimes, you just need to find your way alone //
In some ways, B1A4 is lucky to have lasted so long.
It’s all good when they first set sail in the industry. The seas are clear, the fans are many, and it’s sunny days and smooth sailing. They gain more followers on their Daum cafe in the span of half a year than some sunbae groups ever have (ever will), and by the end of their first year, their album sales have surpassed even the CEO’s expectations.
Chanshik’s happy. Tired, most definitely, overworked, barely getting enough sleep, but he plays his part as the maknae of the group down to a T. They cruise through their second and third years, obtaining not only a Bonsang, but a Daesang at the end-of-year award ceremonies, and for a while, they’re on top of the world.
But the years drag on, and cracks appear on the perfectly lacquered surface of their once immaculate ship.
The first crack is when Sunwoo’s offered a solo contract. It had happened before, as a joke in a variety program when they were just rookies, but five years down the track, no one’s joking anymore. Sunwoo reassures the members that he’s not going to take it, that he’ll stay with them forever, but Chanshik hears him on the phone one day discussing contract details, and he feels hurt, betrayed. Chanshik tells Jinyoung, a quick slip of the tongue in passing, and then there’s a confrontation, and an argument -- things are thrown, windows broken, and Chanshik runs out of the dorm because he’s never seen Jinyoung so furious before.
Sunwoo doesn’t end up leaving them, but there’s a newfound hostility between him and Jinyoung, and the tension doesn’t go unnoticed by the media. Articles float around everywhere, and they’re told to take a two week hiatus from activities until the disbandment rumours clear up.
The second crack, a bigger one, appears when a track is uploaded by a fan onto their Daum fancafe from a virtually unknown British electro-pop band. There’s nothing suspecting about that, except for the fact that the track was released three years ago -- and happens to sounds peculiarly like B1A4’s new title song.
Which Jinyoung had composed.
Chanshik knows how destructive this discovery is. It’s torn down groups and solo singers before -- Lee Hyori’s famous 2008 plagiarism scandal had sent her laying low for four years before she dared to release another album, and she wasn’t even the one who’d composed the song.
In twenty four hours, all the news sites and web pages are abuzz with this new information, condemning Jinyoung and his creative ability. More and more videos are posted on their Daum, comparing their old songs with other ‘similar sounding’ songs. Most of them are just people caught in the hype grabbing at straws, but it’s unstoppable.
Their lawyers cover it up and try to settle it out of the courts. It turns out the British band had never copyrighted their song, so there’s nothing they can do legally, but all the same, legal liability and public liability are two very different things.
“Hyung, I can’t believe you’d do something like that,” Chanshik murmurs to Jinyoung. Jinyoung shuts himself in his room, eyes puffy. Their title track is replaced, and B1A4 continue to promote, but they’ve lost their freshness, their confidence, the public support, and Chanshik thinks that maybe they’ve all lost themselves too. The comeback fails.
And then, the third and final crack comes in the form of an assault and battery.
The public can’t quite believe it. Soft-spoken Dongwoo, calm, rational Dongwoo, hitting a woman at a bar, leaving bruises on her cheeks, arms, a cut on her lip, and a swollen black eye. They can’t quite believe it, because they don’t know Dongwoo, or at least, what Dongwoo’s become. Chanshik’s witnessed it: Dongwoo’s downwards spiral into alcoholism, his sudden anger fits, the broken soju bottles when he teeters inevitably over the edge.
Dongwoo’s uncle, a criminal defense lawyer, defends him in court, but the outcome’s unfavourable. Dongwoo’s found guilty on both counts, and he’ll serve 300 hours of community service, a light sentence for this offence. The media go into a frenzy. Chanshik watches with a helpless sinking in his heart as fans turn their backs and attack them, spit vicious words at them, condemn them -- them, not Dongwoo. Them, as a whole.
B1A4 sinks. They can no longer promote. The scandals have dealt too much damage to their mainframe. Chanshik knows it’s coming -- they all know it’s coming -- but it still hurts when he walks out of the Board of Directors’ room, clutching a termination clause. Ten years is a good run, they’re told. WM Entertainment have a newer, shinier group.
The industry’s changed, they’ve slipped up too much, and it’s time to move on.
The subway station is crowded, almost claustrophobic. Chanshik hasn’t been in a crowd for more than five years. He’s had crowds form around him, on the streets when he filmed for some variety show, below them when they’d performed onstage, but he’s always been the object of speculation -- the untouchable idol. Now, he’s part of the landscape.
It’s an old and new feeling. It reminds him of his trainee days, being dragged by an excited Junghwan to the streets of Myungdong after late-night vocal lessons, eating ddeok and odeng and street-vendor snacks at one in the morning, with no one even sparing them a second glance. He laughs softly, wistfully. He can’t return to those days.
People walk past him in the station, heading purposefully off to their destinations. Chanshik wonders where they’re going. Do they have somewhere to be? An appointment, maybe? Meeting a friend? Lover? A middle-aged lady hurries past him, almost knocking into his suitcase, before clutching her bag tightly and striding off. Chanshik has an inexplicable desire to stop her and ask her why she’s walking so fast, ask her if she’s lost her direction or not.
“Is that--Chanshik. Channie.”
Chanshik tenses up. It’s a subway station, so he has nowhere to run if it’s a fan, or god forbid, an anti. He turns around slowly -- and comes face to face with Junghwan.
Chanshik’s not sure how he recognises Junghwan. Maybe it's in the gait. Junghwan has a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth, sunglasses, and a hat pulled low. He’s still in the public eye, after all -- Chanshik’s the one who’s faded into obscurity.
“Hyung.” Chanshik's heart makes an extra loud thump at the bottom of his chest. “Junghwan hyung. What are you--”
Chanshik looks down towards Junghwan’s hands. He’s also holding a suitcase. It’s smaller than Chanshik’s, but Junghwan’s always been a light packer. Chanshik has to smile. Typical Junghwan. During schedules, all the others would carry around a small bag filled with necessities, but Junghwan had left it all to the stylists and manager to worry about. He’d always been the free soul in their group.
“To see my parents, of course. I’ve got a month before my new contract starts. Where are you going?”
Chanshik looks down at his hands. It had been a whimsical decision on his part. Five months of inactivity, of fear, had left him feeling stale. He needs fresh air.
“Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go visit my parents too.”
Junghwan chuckles. He rests his head on the pillar next to him. “I remember you’d always cry for them when you thought no one was awake. You never stopped. Crybaby Channie.”
Chanshik frowns. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“It’s okay. Crying’s good for you. Better than bottling it up and drowning it with alcohol,” Junghwan adds darkly, and Chanshik feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.
The subway pulls into the station. Junghwan grabs Chanshik’s suitcase. “If you don’t know where you’re going, then come with me.”
The subway’s air-conditioned, a welcome change from the stuffy heat of the station. The morning rush has settled, leaving rows of seats free. Junghwan sits down in the most obscure seat and pats the empty spot next to him, motioning for Chanshik to join him. They sit in silence, the subway doors opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and closing, until they’re at the outskirts of Seoul and the carriage is empty.
Chanshik looks over at Junghwan. Junghwan’s head is rested on the top of the seat, his scarf unravelling and showing a half-opened mouth and some stubble. Chanshik moves closer. Junghwan’s eyes are closed behind his sunglasses. He’s probably asleep.
“It’s too unfair.” Chanshik murmurs absentmindedly, fiddling with the fraying ends of Junghwan’s scarf.
“What’s unfair?”
Chanshik jumps in his seat, startled. Junghwan lifts his head and looks pointedly at Chanshik.
“I wasn’t asleep. What’s unfair?”
“Everything. Don’t you feel wronged? What have we done wrong, hyung?” Chanshik’s voice comes out bitter, much more bitter than he’d intended, but it’s justified. After all, they’d been stuck in the mess, helpless, innocent, but dragged down nonetheless.
Junghwan sighs and stares out the window. “Don’t blame them. Don’t blame anything. Focus on yourself.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chanshik mutters. “You have talent.” Junghwan had been good enough to get re-signed as a ballad singer, given a chance to make a seamless transition from idol to singer. He'd changed in the years, lost that childish innocence and learnt to handle matters on his own. Chanshik recalls with a grimace that he has nothing but an aging face.
Junghwan takes off his sunglasses and looks Chanshik in the eye. Chanshik looks away. He can’t hold Junghwan’s interrogative gaze.
“Channie,” Junghwan muses, “let me tell you something. There are things in this world you can control, and things you can’t. Sunwoo, Jinyoung, and Dongwoo are their own people. You can’t control them. The only thing you’ll ever have control of is yourself, and how you let yourself react to situations that are out of your control.”
Junghwan lowers his voice.
“What I’m saying is, don’t let the world control you. Don’t underestimate yourself. Make your own direction. You don’t need us, just yourself.”
Chanshik raises his head. The images of his modelling shoots rush back at him, hundreds of brands, hundreds of photos, hundreds of poses, vivid in front of his eyes. Chanshik counts. At least half of them were solo shoots. He’s fared well alone -- he’s just never realised he’d done it alone until now. Gong Chanshik of B1A4 and Gong Chanshik are still the same person -- only now, he doesn’t need to sell his mediocre singing and dancing.
Chanshik feels excitement rising in him, a raw excitement he hasn’t experienced since his trainee days. The gears turn in his brain. He still has his contacts, high-ranked members of the industry, ignored in his wallowing -- he could call them up and ask for a favour. It was worth a try.
The subway jerks and pulls into the station, the last stop in Seoul before a four hour non-stop ride to Busan. Chanshik stands up and grabs his suitcase. There’s no use following Junghwan. It’s not the direction he wants to go.
“Junghwan hyung?”
“Hmm?”
Chanshik smiles as the subway doors open in front of him.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m going my own way.”