I Hope (DooSeob AU oneshot - 1/?)
Title: I Hope (1/?)
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): DooSeob, mentions of JunSeung and KiWoon
Summary: Love is timeless
A/N: Inspired and super based on the MV, except I'm going just a bit farther back than the 90s in terms of the time travel, lol. This is going to be a big one >.< which I guess is inevitable since I like going all the way and fics where characters travel through time requires a lot of work on it so it doesn't look messy. And I worked on it as hard as I could but I still feel like it's boring right now, but I have to work with the whole fact that since Seob is in the 1800s-ish in Korea, he still speaks formally and Doo doesn't so I have to make the flirting work which is hard since DooSeob banter is usually centered around the fact that both of them are witty wordy trolls to each other. So just bear with me guys T^T
Part 1 // Part 2
Doojoon ducks, the flying notebook missing his head just by inches. When he straightens back up in his seat, he straightens with a grin as Junhyung huffs back into his seat and Hyunseung raises his eyebrows for a good three seconds before seemingly confirming to himself that it’s safe again to sit back in Junhyung’s lap. Doojoon’s ducked at the expense of Dongwoon who’s just walked in with the coffees and gets smacked in the face by Junhyung’s lyric notebook.
“I worked on those all week, okay,” Junhyung sniffs. “So you could’ve at least told me before going ahead and making Kikwang record an entire verse and changing like half the words.”
“I was going to,” Doojoon says, “but your phone was turned off for three nights straight and I didn’t want to bother you during mating season.”
Junhyung’s mouth drops open at the same time that Dongwoon hands the notebook back to Hyunseung (the maknae is rubbing at his face irately and Kikwang looks like he wants to kiss everything better except he’s laughing too hard to do so). “Why’d you turn your phone off?” Hyunseung asks, tapping Junhyung on the cheek. “You can still talk-you weren’t the one giving head, so it’s not like your mouth was preoccupied.”
“I think you got me the wrong flavor of coffee,” Kikwang says, poking Dongwoon in the stomach as the maknae sits down.
Doojoon loves them.
He loves Junhyung, who he’s known ever since their mothers brought them together for the first meeting in diapers. He loves Hyunseung, who he’s known ever since they were assigned as walking buddies to cross the street from their kindergarten to the playground. He loves Kikwang, who he’s known ever since they sat next to each other on the first day of middle school (and then loved Kikwang a little bit more when they went out for an entire year in high school). And he loves Dongwoon, who he’s known ever since a tall, gangly freshman was assigned for him to mentor in high school.
He loves all of them and they all work together better than anyone else Doojoon has ever worked with-everything is seamless and Doojoon doesn’t want it any other way. He doesn’t want anyone but Junhyung writing the lyrics and rapping with Doojoon himself in the recording studio. He doesn’t want anyone but Kikwang and Hyunseung harmonizing and putting beats together for their songs. He doesn’t want anyone else but Dongwoon carrying the verses and bridges with perfect precision.
He loves all of them and they all love each other, but he knows that he’s not the only one who knows that they just need another person-they need one more voice to bring their songs together because they know that they’ve worked hard enough and that the recognition from all the local underground recording teams is all right-but that their songs could be better, could gain more recognition, could possibly go mainstream, if they had a main vocalist. If they had someone who could carry the chorus and sing along with Dongwoon for strength’s sake.
Just one more voice.
As for being the one single man between two perfectly happy couples who will probably be together until the end of time, Doojoon doesn’t all that much. And it’s not like Doojoon doesn’t go on dates-doesn’t flirt and have flings-because he does. He has plenty of them so the others don’t worry about him-think that he’s getting all the relationship experience and fun that he wants and needs.
It’s just-sometimes-Doojoon wonders if maybe something is missing. He feels like he’s dated everyone on campus and then some-feels like Kikwang and Hyunseung and Dongwoon and Junhyung have introduced him to far too many guys and girls in the hopes that one of them will be the right one.
Except none of them are.
Doojoon wonders-if-like-maybe the heavens didn’t get enough sleep on the day they were supposed to send Doojoon’s soul mate down to earth or something.
It happens on the day when they all head out to the café where they usually like to perform at-there are plenty of other little stages nearby, a lot of clubs too, and they’ve performed at most of them, they’re highly requested at most of them, but most vocalists that’re well known in the area or want to be well known in the area start out at this café and like to hang around this café and perform, so they go there.
Doojoon hopes that they find someone they like today because they’ve been making trips to the café-sometimes all together, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs-with the hope of discovering a new talent who might want to join their group.
It happens because that day is a little rainy, there’s been talk of thunderstorms, they heard the rumbling sounds of approaching thunder as they’d driven in Hyunseung’s car to the café. They’ve only just finished ordering coffees and teas and doughnuts and the open mic sessions have just begun to get set up when the power in the café goes out and the manager calls out for people not to panic (even though no one really cares-everyone is university age and power outages aren’t really reasons to panic when all that’s happening is the average thunderstorm season).
It’s pitch black and they don’t do anything-they don’t have to-Doojoon doesn’t know what it’s like for the others, but the moment the lights in the café start flickering again, he feels something tug at his belly button, starts feeling the ground shake even though he’s sure that there would be panic if there was an earthquake-and the next time he opens his eyes-the next time there’s light-he’s no longer in the café.
“It figures,” Junhyung says, looking incredibly fearful as the screen doors are finally shut on them and they’re finally left alone, “that the one chance we get to be flashed back into time-unless we’re all like actually batshit insane and we’re all batshit insane in the same batshit insane delusion-that we land as employees in a fucking whore house.”
Hyunseung picks idly at the sleeves of his robe-all of their robes look more or less the same, nothing very fancy at all, standard working robes of the average working man two centuries ago in Korea-or whatever Korea was two centuries ago because Doojoon’s head hurts too much right now to think about history. “At least,” he says, “we didn’t land as soldiers in the middle of a war zone.”
“I didn’t even know that had whore houses back then,” Kikwang says, blinking-eyebrows furrowing.
“I didn’t know they had gay whore houses back then,” Dongwoon says, sounding as confused as Junhyung does.
Doojoon sighs, and starts fluffing the bare, thin, flat mattress and blanket he’s apparently supposed to sleep on since he’s an employee and that’s what employees do. “I mean,” he says as he gets ready to blow out the candle (they have a fucking candle), “everyone has to get it out somewhere.”
As far as things go being transported back in time some two-hundred years, they really don’t have it as bad as they could’ve. Looking back on what little history lessons he remembers, Doojoon supposes that they could’ve been transported back possibly as slaves, as servants to the king, as peasants, as prisoners of war, as soldiers preparing for war, as criminals on trial for treason, or in some sort of twisted traveling circus. It could’ve gone a lot worse and, for now, the worst that they have to deal with is refilling perfume bottles and carrying wigs and cleaning floors.
Although, Doojoon also knows that things might get a little bit worse than that considering how the woman and man in charge of the house are starting to eye Hyunseung in a way that doesn’t make just Junhyung uncomfortable (it’s like the look that Doojoon sees ahjummas using when they’re estimating how much a watermelon might go for on the market).
They’ve also started eyeing Kikwang like that too in the past two days.
But all Doojoon and the others can do is just feel mildly uncomfortable and worried because they’ve all been too tired, physically, to do anything but collapse into their still far too flat and thin and bare mattresses at the end of the day because they’re worked the way people back then are worked-from sun up to sun down and Doojoon misses food that isn’t rice and soup and meat (also, meat that Doojoon didn’t have to see brought into the building still breathing and squealing).
They also don’t get to see much of each other during the day because they’ve all been assigned different tasks in different parts of the building (and Doojoon wants to know since when has prostitution been such a nice job because as far as his knowledge in historical buildings go, this is a nice building with courtyards and things and the prostitutes have nicer rooms and mattresses than they do).
Junhyung and Dongwoon are in charge of sweeping (not with brooms, but bundles of hay) and mopping (not with mops, but with their hands and cloths) the East Wing across the courtyard. Kikwang is in charge of cleaning the dishes in the kitchens, and Hyunseung is in charge of filling perfume bottles and brushing wigs.
Doojoon is in charge of dusting the crevices between the screen doors and taking any pillows or blankets that’re left outside those doors because that means that they’re requested to be washed and Doojoon has to deliver them to Junhyung, who’s also been put in charge of the laundry-which, apparently, has been said to be a promotion from the level of mopping duty (to which Junhyung has nearly let slip some terribly twenty-first century words that Hyunseung and Doojoon had to cover his mouth to stop him from saying to the man in charge).
Doojoon’s come into contact with a few of the prostitutes-most of them just boys, and much, much, much younger than Doojoon (but then some of the other workers have told them that the ones who’re that young are the ones who’ve just started at the house and, thus, are worth cheaper than the older ones-closer to the teenage years-who’re worth more and, thus, won’t be seen out of their rooms as often during the daytime.
He’s passed a few of the younger ones in the halls one or two times during the day since at night the workers are told to go to their rooms and sleep while business comes swimming and alive during the night. That’s about as much contact as Doojoon’s had-as any of them have had, really-so it’s a firsthand kind of surprise when he’s dusting a door and it suddenly opens and a hand suddenly yanks him in the room and the door suddenly closes behind him and he’s suddenly staring at a mostly naked young man (boy? Young man? Boy?)-mostly naked in that there are robes covering what needs to be covered, but the pieces of cloth are falling away from his pale body and Doojoon is just really confused right now and kind of weirded out.
“Um,” Doojoon says, arms filled with embroidered pillows.
“Good morning,” the boy (young man? Boy? Young man?) says, smiling sheepishly.
“Uh-yeah,” Doojoon blinks.
The boy looks amused.
“I mean-yes-yeah-yes, good morning,” Doojoon says because it was just yesterday that they all had a talk in their room about how they should probably start talking like everyone else did at least to avoid the weird stares that they get for supposedly being rude (and that they should all be thankful that they didn’t get transported so far back in time that Koreans weren’t speaking full Korean yet or something).
“I have something important,” the boy says, standing back and pointing to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, “on top-up there. But I can’t reach-could you get it for me?”
Doojoon stares up towards the top of the wardrobe. Admittedly, the boy is shorter than Doojoon but it’s not like Doojoon is anywhere near as tall as the wardrobe. Even Dongwoon isn’t that tall. And Doojoon sees the dilemma because there’s nothing to stand on-at least nothing that looks secure enough for Doojoon to risk putting all of his weight on. They still sleep on thick mattresses laid out on the floor and no beds or chairs except for cushions which literally leaves nothing for Doojoon to stand on.
Not even a table.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to,” Doojoon says, putting the pillows down. “Stand back,” he says, “because I think I have to jump.”
The boy takes a few steps back, backing up against the opposing wall right near the doors. Doojoon takes a few steps back too and once the boy is far away enough, Doojoon gets a running start and jumps as hard as he can once he reaches the wardrobe. He throws his arm up and his palm swipes something off the top edge of the wardrobe-a thin, white booklet that falls with a soft plop onto the floor.
“Thank you,” the boy picks up the booklet and places it down on the flat table beside the mirror. He smiles cheerfully. “Have you only started working here? I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yeah,” Doojoon says. “Only started working here.” He starts making his way across the room to pick his pillows back up.
“What is your name?” the boy asks, and suddenly steps in front of the pillows-blocking Doojoon’s path. The boy’s smile suddenly widens-still cheerful, but suddenly not so light and airy anymore.
Doojoon stares.
“My name is Yoseob,” he says, and the smile turns into a grin. “It’s your turn now.”
“I-shouldn’t I get back to work?” Doojoon asks, confused, and doesn’t understand why he’s asking because if they were back in the twenty-first century and this was a scenario on campus, Doojoon would be milking this situation and he’s pretty sure he would be able to get Yoseob’s number in about three minutes-also possibly a date within the next five minutes.
Yoseob shrugs. “Should you?” he echoes playfully. “Or,” he wags his eyebrows and suddenly plops down onto the nearest cushion in a heap of silk and embroidered cloth and pale skin, “you could tell me your name.” He pats the cushion beside him and smiles a little bit wider (and Doojoon’s ears feel a little bit warmer).
“You won’t-like-tell on me or anything, right?” Doojoon says, as he sits down on the cushion and feels like he’s back in middle school and sneaking in the last of his homework before the teacher comes in.
Yoseob laughs. “No one will know,” he says, “I promise.”
Doojoon smiles back. “Great-and-my name’s Doojoon.”
Yoseob turns out to be a year younger than Doojoon despite the fact that he looks like he has the potential to be five years younger than Doojoon. And, apparently, Yoseob being a year younger than Doojoon doesn’t mean anything in this time period because as far as people of this period are concerned, Doojoon is about three-quarters of the way to dying of old age and should probably be married or have children or married with children.
Doojoon is only able to talk with Yoseob for approximately six minutes before Doojoon hears the owner of the house calling for Doojoon and the pillows because Junhyung has apparently been on standby in the courtyard with the tub of water and soap and there are no pillows to wash as of right now even though it’s pillow-washing day. He gathers the pillows in his arms (Yoseob helps him) and Yoseob moves to hold the door open for him.
“Will you come back?”
Doojoon looks at Yoseob, blinks at the younger man with raised eyebrows (he’s surprised). “Do you want me to?”
Yoseob smiles unsurely (and it’s strange-the strangest thing ever, Doojoon thinks, because they’ve just met-just six minutes, maybe ten if he counts the number of minutes it took for Doojoon to get the booklet down-just ten or so minutes and Doojoon already doesn’t want to leave and he doesn’t understand why). “Do you want to?”
“Yes,” Doojoon says. He smiles back-a smile that’s surer than Yoseob’s. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Yoseob grins again. “Have a good day, Doojoon-shii,” his head bows slightly, tilts to the side, and he closes the doors on Doojoon with a tiny wave.
“It’s stamped across your forehead in fucking huge red letters, you know,” Junhyung says, as they hang the sheets up to dry after Junhyung’s finished washing all of them. The sun is setting but they have to finish this before they’re allowed to go back inside for dinner.
Doojoon wrings the water out of another pillowcase before hanging it up on the clothesline. “What?”
“You met some hot whore and that’s why you were late with the laundry, right?” Junhyung asks. “And you hit it off with him too, didn’t you?”
“I don’t see why it matters,” Doojoon shrugs and hands Junhyung another clothespin. “I mean, anyone here is really-when you think about it-like-two hundred years older than us. They’re-like-decomposed.”
Junhyung raises his eyebrows. “They don’t look decomposed to me,” he says considerably. “They’re all hot-except for some of the ones who’re like twelve-years-old and dress like girls.”
Doojoon squints. “Hyunseung looks like a girl without dressing like one.”
Junhyung snorts. “You’re lucky I’m nice enough not to tell him you said that,” he says, “otherwise you wouldn’t be alive to make it back to the twenty-first century.”
Doojoon laughs.
The sun is setting by the time they finish the laundry and Junhyung has to go back to the kitchens to help prepare food for the clients-business hours start as soon as the sky is dark, and Doojoon’s chores are done for the day. He wonders whether he should just head straight for the kitchens too to grab his dinner and carry it off into the bedroom or if he should see if maybe any of the others have finished their work and are ready to eat too.
Doojoon finishes putting away the large wooden laundry basin at the same time that the doors to the courtyard from the east wing open up and a terribly, already familiar figure shuffles out, holding something in the many folds of silken sleeves. Doojoon watches as Yoseob reaches the center of the wooden walkway before their eyes meet and the younger man smiles brightly, walking down the steps and onto the stone and grass.
“Good evening,” Yoseob says, and before Doojoon can say anything back, follows up right away with, “May I ask you a question?”
“You kind of just did,” Doojoon says and holds back a grin.
Yoseob blinks. “Excuse me?”
“That was a question,” Doojoon says. “And that was another one right there.”
The younger man blinks another two times before taking something from inside of his large, drooping sleeve-pulls out the white booklet Doojoon had gotten for him just earlier today-and suddenly smacks Doojoon in the stomach with it, with enough force that Doojoon doubles over a bit.
Doojoon stares.
Yoseob grins. “Now, for my question,” he says, and starts to reach one hand up to Doojoon’s hair, tugging at a few strands. “Why is it that your hair is short?”
It’s Doojoon’s turn to blink. “So is yours.”
Yoseob blinks back. “I have to,” he says. “Everyone in the house has to-for the wigs. Tying up our hair every single time we need to wear a wig is too much trouble and it takes too long. But you-”
“Oh,” Doojoon blurts, because oh-of course-oh-because now he remembers how even though he and the others appeared in clothes from this time period, everything else about them is the same and Hyunseung and Junhyung and Dongwoon and Kikwang have been getting terribly suspicious glares towards their hair colors and all of them have gotten terribly suspicious glares towards their hair lengths especially when they all venture out into the marketplaces. “I-um-like-I just-had to cut it.”
“Why?” Yoseob continues curiously.
“Don’t you have to go work?” Doojoon asks hastily.
Yoseob laughs abruptly. “I like your subtlety,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And I have no work for tonight,” he grins. “My clients all happen to be out of town on business for the king for a fortnight-I think most of them. I have the night off and perhaps the week as well.”
“Wow,” Doojoon says with raised eyebrows, “you must really rake in the cash, then.”
The younger man stares blankly.
“I mean, you must be expensive-and really good at what you do,” Doojoon tries again and smiles a little inwardly.
Yoseob smiles (smirks?). “I am,” he says lightly. “And you speak oddly sometimes. Did you know?”
“Yeah,” Doojoon laughs. “I know-sorry.”
“Why would you apologize?” Yoseob asks, a little confused. The smile returns right then as the younger man reaches out, yanking at Doojoon’s sleeve lightly. “It’s charming.”
Personally, Doojoon isn’t familiar with the vernacular of two centuries ago, but he’s familiar enough with language to know-regardless of time period and speech patterns-when someone is hitting on him and when Doojoon himself is interested right back. He doesn’t know, however, what you’re supposed to do when a prostitute from two-hundred years ago seems to like you and you just wish the next thunderstorm would hurry up and come by so you can get back to your own time.
Just because Doojoon wishes that he would find someone permanent and amazing doesn’t mean that he’s desperate enough to start dating someone from the nineteenth century.
(Also, how attractive Yoseob is shouldn’t influence Doojoon’s decisions because of course Yoseob is attractive, Doojoon is fucking working in a whore house which means everyone he’ll encounter will be some measure of attractive just like Junhyung said and that doesn’t mean Doojoon should just throw himself into the lion’s den for it-the priority is waiting for a thunderstorm)
“I have work to do,” Doojoon says, taking a step back and looking away (because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it if he looks into Yoseob’s eyes and this has nothing to do with how attractive Yoseob is or how Yoseob has this kind of smile that makes Doojoon’s ears heat up or how Doojoon is sort of terrified of the possible disappointment that might appear on Yoseob’s face).
“Oh,” Yoseob says and the tone of the younger man’s voice forces Doojoon to look up whether he wanted or not (and it was clearly not because he was determined not to look at Yoseob except now it’s too late not to). Yoseob’s expression isn’t distraught or devastated or disappointed-it’s merely a little sad, a little glum, and a little confused-also a little hurt. “I-um,” he says quietly, “I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.” Yoseob’s teeth dig into his lip, “I know you don’t-don’t-like men, and-um-aren’t interested in engaging in that sort of-I-um-I just thought to thank you for getting my book for me.”
Doojoon’s mouth opens.
Fantastic.
Now he feels like an asshole (now he pretty much is an asshole).
And the only thing he can do is be creepy and strange in general by grabbing Yoseob’s sleeve and stopping the younger man from leaving without Doojoon explaining why he’s just acted like an asshole. Yoseob turns around, eyebrows raised and eyes widened in surprise.
“I-no-I-um,” Doojoon says, licking his lips, “what’s in the book?”
Yoseob blinks rapidly, multiple times, looking quiet taken aback and even more confused than before (but at least he doesn’t look hurt anymore because Doojoon doesn’t like seeing that sort of thing on Yoseob’s face and yes Doojoon is perfectly aware of how creepy he’s being whether by nineteenth or twenty-first century standards).
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, never mind,” Doojoon says quickly and lets go of Yoseob’s sleeve. “I-just-sorry.”
Yoseob doesn’t answer for a while-for a terribly long while in which the younger man just stares at Doojoon and Doojoon just stands and feels generally uncomfortable and awkward and wishing that all of this could just be happening in the present so that way Doojoon can actually communicate with Yoseob in a way that isn’t frustrating and stuck two-hundred years previous.
But-
“Would you like to walk with me?” Yoseob asks, smiling tentatively. “I’ll tell you about the book.” He waves it in the air playfully. “I will show you.”
Yoseob is about a head shorter than Doojoon with pale skin and black hair that’s a little messy over his round eyes, over his tiny (to the extent of competing with Kikwang’s) face. In the three hours since Doojoon has met Yoseob, the older man has already seen him smile too many times to count and Doojoon is glad because Yoseob’s smile is beautiful. Doojoon doesn’t even care that this is doing nothing for the whole campaign of how unnecessarily strange and creepy Doojoon is being towards Yoseob-at how odd all of this is considering, technically, Yoseob is hundreds of years older than Doojoon.
Yoseob is about a head shorter than Doojoon with pale skin and black hair and round eyes and a tiny face and a beautiful smile. He was also born, at the very least, two-hundred years before Doojoon was even a thought in the clouds.
“Sure,” Doojoon says and smiles back. “Let’s go.”
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): DooSeob, mentions of JunSeung and KiWoon
Summary: Love is timeless
A/N: Inspired and super based on the MV, except I'm going just a bit farther back than the 90s in terms of the time travel, lol. This is going to be a big one >.< which I guess is inevitable since I like going all the way and fics where characters travel through time requires a lot of work on it so it doesn't look messy. And I worked on it as hard as I could but I still feel like it's boring right now, but I have to work with the whole fact that since Seob is in the 1800s-ish in Korea, he still speaks formally and Doo doesn't so I have to make the flirting work which is hard since DooSeob banter is usually centered around the fact that both of them are witty wordy trolls to each other. So just bear with me guys T^T
Part 1 // Part 2
Doojoon ducks, the flying notebook missing his head just by inches. When he straightens back up in his seat, he straightens with a grin as Junhyung huffs back into his seat and Hyunseung raises his eyebrows for a good three seconds before seemingly confirming to himself that it’s safe again to sit back in Junhyung’s lap. Doojoon’s ducked at the expense of Dongwoon who’s just walked in with the coffees and gets smacked in the face by Junhyung’s lyric notebook.
“I worked on those all week, okay,” Junhyung sniffs. “So you could’ve at least told me before going ahead and making Kikwang record an entire verse and changing like half the words.”
“I was going to,” Doojoon says, “but your phone was turned off for three nights straight and I didn’t want to bother you during mating season.”
Junhyung’s mouth drops open at the same time that Dongwoon hands the notebook back to Hyunseung (the maknae is rubbing at his face irately and Kikwang looks like he wants to kiss everything better except he’s laughing too hard to do so). “Why’d you turn your phone off?” Hyunseung asks, tapping Junhyung on the cheek. “You can still talk-you weren’t the one giving head, so it’s not like your mouth was preoccupied.”
“I think you got me the wrong flavor of coffee,” Kikwang says, poking Dongwoon in the stomach as the maknae sits down.
Doojoon loves them.
He loves Junhyung, who he’s known ever since their mothers brought them together for the first meeting in diapers. He loves Hyunseung, who he’s known ever since they were assigned as walking buddies to cross the street from their kindergarten to the playground. He loves Kikwang, who he’s known ever since they sat next to each other on the first day of middle school (and then loved Kikwang a little bit more when they went out for an entire year in high school). And he loves Dongwoon, who he’s known ever since a tall, gangly freshman was assigned for him to mentor in high school.
He loves all of them and they all work together better than anyone else Doojoon has ever worked with-everything is seamless and Doojoon doesn’t want it any other way. He doesn’t want anyone but Junhyung writing the lyrics and rapping with Doojoon himself in the recording studio. He doesn’t want anyone but Kikwang and Hyunseung harmonizing and putting beats together for their songs. He doesn’t want anyone else but Dongwoon carrying the verses and bridges with perfect precision.
He loves all of them and they all love each other, but he knows that he’s not the only one who knows that they just need another person-they need one more voice to bring their songs together because they know that they’ve worked hard enough and that the recognition from all the local underground recording teams is all right-but that their songs could be better, could gain more recognition, could possibly go mainstream, if they had a main vocalist. If they had someone who could carry the chorus and sing along with Dongwoon for strength’s sake.
Just one more voice.
As for being the one single man between two perfectly happy couples who will probably be together until the end of time, Doojoon doesn’t all that much. And it’s not like Doojoon doesn’t go on dates-doesn’t flirt and have flings-because he does. He has plenty of them so the others don’t worry about him-think that he’s getting all the relationship experience and fun that he wants and needs.
It’s just-sometimes-Doojoon wonders if maybe something is missing. He feels like he’s dated everyone on campus and then some-feels like Kikwang and Hyunseung and Dongwoon and Junhyung have introduced him to far too many guys and girls in the hopes that one of them will be the right one.
Except none of them are.
Doojoon wonders-if-like-maybe the heavens didn’t get enough sleep on the day they were supposed to send Doojoon’s soul mate down to earth or something.
It happens on the day when they all head out to the café where they usually like to perform at-there are plenty of other little stages nearby, a lot of clubs too, and they’ve performed at most of them, they’re highly requested at most of them, but most vocalists that’re well known in the area or want to be well known in the area start out at this café and like to hang around this café and perform, so they go there.
Doojoon hopes that they find someone they like today because they’ve been making trips to the café-sometimes all together, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs-with the hope of discovering a new talent who might want to join their group.
It happens because that day is a little rainy, there’s been talk of thunderstorms, they heard the rumbling sounds of approaching thunder as they’d driven in Hyunseung’s car to the café. They’ve only just finished ordering coffees and teas and doughnuts and the open mic sessions have just begun to get set up when the power in the café goes out and the manager calls out for people not to panic (even though no one really cares-everyone is university age and power outages aren’t really reasons to panic when all that’s happening is the average thunderstorm season).
It’s pitch black and they don’t do anything-they don’t have to-Doojoon doesn’t know what it’s like for the others, but the moment the lights in the café start flickering again, he feels something tug at his belly button, starts feeling the ground shake even though he’s sure that there would be panic if there was an earthquake-and the next time he opens his eyes-the next time there’s light-he’s no longer in the café.
“It figures,” Junhyung says, looking incredibly fearful as the screen doors are finally shut on them and they’re finally left alone, “that the one chance we get to be flashed back into time-unless we’re all like actually batshit insane and we’re all batshit insane in the same batshit insane delusion-that we land as employees in a fucking whore house.”
Hyunseung picks idly at the sleeves of his robe-all of their robes look more or less the same, nothing very fancy at all, standard working robes of the average working man two centuries ago in Korea-or whatever Korea was two centuries ago because Doojoon’s head hurts too much right now to think about history. “At least,” he says, “we didn’t land as soldiers in the middle of a war zone.”
“I didn’t even know that had whore houses back then,” Kikwang says, blinking-eyebrows furrowing.
“I didn’t know they had gay whore houses back then,” Dongwoon says, sounding as confused as Junhyung does.
Doojoon sighs, and starts fluffing the bare, thin, flat mattress and blanket he’s apparently supposed to sleep on since he’s an employee and that’s what employees do. “I mean,” he says as he gets ready to blow out the candle (they have a fucking candle), “everyone has to get it out somewhere.”
As far as things go being transported back in time some two-hundred years, they really don’t have it as bad as they could’ve. Looking back on what little history lessons he remembers, Doojoon supposes that they could’ve been transported back possibly as slaves, as servants to the king, as peasants, as prisoners of war, as soldiers preparing for war, as criminals on trial for treason, or in some sort of twisted traveling circus. It could’ve gone a lot worse and, for now, the worst that they have to deal with is refilling perfume bottles and carrying wigs and cleaning floors.
Although, Doojoon also knows that things might get a little bit worse than that considering how the woman and man in charge of the house are starting to eye Hyunseung in a way that doesn’t make just Junhyung uncomfortable (it’s like the look that Doojoon sees ahjummas using when they’re estimating how much a watermelon might go for on the market).
They’ve also started eyeing Kikwang like that too in the past two days.
But all Doojoon and the others can do is just feel mildly uncomfortable and worried because they’ve all been too tired, physically, to do anything but collapse into their still far too flat and thin and bare mattresses at the end of the day because they’re worked the way people back then are worked-from sun up to sun down and Doojoon misses food that isn’t rice and soup and meat (also, meat that Doojoon didn’t have to see brought into the building still breathing and squealing).
They also don’t get to see much of each other during the day because they’ve all been assigned different tasks in different parts of the building (and Doojoon wants to know since when has prostitution been such a nice job because as far as his knowledge in historical buildings go, this is a nice building with courtyards and things and the prostitutes have nicer rooms and mattresses than they do).
Junhyung and Dongwoon are in charge of sweeping (not with brooms, but bundles of hay) and mopping (not with mops, but with their hands and cloths) the East Wing across the courtyard. Kikwang is in charge of cleaning the dishes in the kitchens, and Hyunseung is in charge of filling perfume bottles and brushing wigs.
Doojoon is in charge of dusting the crevices between the screen doors and taking any pillows or blankets that’re left outside those doors because that means that they’re requested to be washed and Doojoon has to deliver them to Junhyung, who’s also been put in charge of the laundry-which, apparently, has been said to be a promotion from the level of mopping duty (to which Junhyung has nearly let slip some terribly twenty-first century words that Hyunseung and Doojoon had to cover his mouth to stop him from saying to the man in charge).
Doojoon’s come into contact with a few of the prostitutes-most of them just boys, and much, much, much younger than Doojoon (but then some of the other workers have told them that the ones who’re that young are the ones who’ve just started at the house and, thus, are worth cheaper than the older ones-closer to the teenage years-who’re worth more and, thus, won’t be seen out of their rooms as often during the daytime.
He’s passed a few of the younger ones in the halls one or two times during the day since at night the workers are told to go to their rooms and sleep while business comes swimming and alive during the night. That’s about as much contact as Doojoon’s had-as any of them have had, really-so it’s a firsthand kind of surprise when he’s dusting a door and it suddenly opens and a hand suddenly yanks him in the room and the door suddenly closes behind him and he’s suddenly staring at a mostly naked young man (boy? Young man? Boy?)-mostly naked in that there are robes covering what needs to be covered, but the pieces of cloth are falling away from his pale body and Doojoon is just really confused right now and kind of weirded out.
“Um,” Doojoon says, arms filled with embroidered pillows.
“Good morning,” the boy (young man? Boy? Young man?) says, smiling sheepishly.
“Uh-yeah,” Doojoon blinks.
The boy looks amused.
“I mean-yes-yeah-yes, good morning,” Doojoon says because it was just yesterday that they all had a talk in their room about how they should probably start talking like everyone else did at least to avoid the weird stares that they get for supposedly being rude (and that they should all be thankful that they didn’t get transported so far back in time that Koreans weren’t speaking full Korean yet or something).
“I have something important,” the boy says, standing back and pointing to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, “on top-up there. But I can’t reach-could you get it for me?”
Doojoon stares up towards the top of the wardrobe. Admittedly, the boy is shorter than Doojoon but it’s not like Doojoon is anywhere near as tall as the wardrobe. Even Dongwoon isn’t that tall. And Doojoon sees the dilemma because there’s nothing to stand on-at least nothing that looks secure enough for Doojoon to risk putting all of his weight on. They still sleep on thick mattresses laid out on the floor and no beds or chairs except for cushions which literally leaves nothing for Doojoon to stand on.
Not even a table.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to,” Doojoon says, putting the pillows down. “Stand back,” he says, “because I think I have to jump.”
The boy takes a few steps back, backing up against the opposing wall right near the doors. Doojoon takes a few steps back too and once the boy is far away enough, Doojoon gets a running start and jumps as hard as he can once he reaches the wardrobe. He throws his arm up and his palm swipes something off the top edge of the wardrobe-a thin, white booklet that falls with a soft plop onto the floor.
“Thank you,” the boy picks up the booklet and places it down on the flat table beside the mirror. He smiles cheerfully. “Have you only started working here? I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yeah,” Doojoon says. “Only started working here.” He starts making his way across the room to pick his pillows back up.
“What is your name?” the boy asks, and suddenly steps in front of the pillows-blocking Doojoon’s path. The boy’s smile suddenly widens-still cheerful, but suddenly not so light and airy anymore.
Doojoon stares.
“My name is Yoseob,” he says, and the smile turns into a grin. “It’s your turn now.”
“I-shouldn’t I get back to work?” Doojoon asks, confused, and doesn’t understand why he’s asking because if they were back in the twenty-first century and this was a scenario on campus, Doojoon would be milking this situation and he’s pretty sure he would be able to get Yoseob’s number in about three minutes-also possibly a date within the next five minutes.
Yoseob shrugs. “Should you?” he echoes playfully. “Or,” he wags his eyebrows and suddenly plops down onto the nearest cushion in a heap of silk and embroidered cloth and pale skin, “you could tell me your name.” He pats the cushion beside him and smiles a little bit wider (and Doojoon’s ears feel a little bit warmer).
“You won’t-like-tell on me or anything, right?” Doojoon says, as he sits down on the cushion and feels like he’s back in middle school and sneaking in the last of his homework before the teacher comes in.
Yoseob laughs. “No one will know,” he says, “I promise.”
Doojoon smiles back. “Great-and-my name’s Doojoon.”
Yoseob turns out to be a year younger than Doojoon despite the fact that he looks like he has the potential to be five years younger than Doojoon. And, apparently, Yoseob being a year younger than Doojoon doesn’t mean anything in this time period because as far as people of this period are concerned, Doojoon is about three-quarters of the way to dying of old age and should probably be married or have children or married with children.
Doojoon is only able to talk with Yoseob for approximately six minutes before Doojoon hears the owner of the house calling for Doojoon and the pillows because Junhyung has apparently been on standby in the courtyard with the tub of water and soap and there are no pillows to wash as of right now even though it’s pillow-washing day. He gathers the pillows in his arms (Yoseob helps him) and Yoseob moves to hold the door open for him.
“Will you come back?”
Doojoon looks at Yoseob, blinks at the younger man with raised eyebrows (he’s surprised). “Do you want me to?”
Yoseob smiles unsurely (and it’s strange-the strangest thing ever, Doojoon thinks, because they’ve just met-just six minutes, maybe ten if he counts the number of minutes it took for Doojoon to get the booklet down-just ten or so minutes and Doojoon already doesn’t want to leave and he doesn’t understand why). “Do you want to?”
“Yes,” Doojoon says. He smiles back-a smile that’s surer than Yoseob’s. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Yoseob grins again. “Have a good day, Doojoon-shii,” his head bows slightly, tilts to the side, and he closes the doors on Doojoon with a tiny wave.
“It’s stamped across your forehead in fucking huge red letters, you know,” Junhyung says, as they hang the sheets up to dry after Junhyung’s finished washing all of them. The sun is setting but they have to finish this before they’re allowed to go back inside for dinner.
Doojoon wrings the water out of another pillowcase before hanging it up on the clothesline. “What?”
“You met some hot whore and that’s why you were late with the laundry, right?” Junhyung asks. “And you hit it off with him too, didn’t you?”
“I don’t see why it matters,” Doojoon shrugs and hands Junhyung another clothespin. “I mean, anyone here is really-when you think about it-like-two hundred years older than us. They’re-like-decomposed.”
Junhyung raises his eyebrows. “They don’t look decomposed to me,” he says considerably. “They’re all hot-except for some of the ones who’re like twelve-years-old and dress like girls.”
Doojoon squints. “Hyunseung looks like a girl without dressing like one.”
Junhyung snorts. “You’re lucky I’m nice enough not to tell him you said that,” he says, “otherwise you wouldn’t be alive to make it back to the twenty-first century.”
Doojoon laughs.
The sun is setting by the time they finish the laundry and Junhyung has to go back to the kitchens to help prepare food for the clients-business hours start as soon as the sky is dark, and Doojoon’s chores are done for the day. He wonders whether he should just head straight for the kitchens too to grab his dinner and carry it off into the bedroom or if he should see if maybe any of the others have finished their work and are ready to eat too.
Doojoon finishes putting away the large wooden laundry basin at the same time that the doors to the courtyard from the east wing open up and a terribly, already familiar figure shuffles out, holding something in the many folds of silken sleeves. Doojoon watches as Yoseob reaches the center of the wooden walkway before their eyes meet and the younger man smiles brightly, walking down the steps and onto the stone and grass.
“Good evening,” Yoseob says, and before Doojoon can say anything back, follows up right away with, “May I ask you a question?”
“You kind of just did,” Doojoon says and holds back a grin.
Yoseob blinks. “Excuse me?”
“That was a question,” Doojoon says. “And that was another one right there.”
The younger man blinks another two times before taking something from inside of his large, drooping sleeve-pulls out the white booklet Doojoon had gotten for him just earlier today-and suddenly smacks Doojoon in the stomach with it, with enough force that Doojoon doubles over a bit.
Doojoon stares.
Yoseob grins. “Now, for my question,” he says, and starts to reach one hand up to Doojoon’s hair, tugging at a few strands. “Why is it that your hair is short?”
It’s Doojoon’s turn to blink. “So is yours.”
Yoseob blinks back. “I have to,” he says. “Everyone in the house has to-for the wigs. Tying up our hair every single time we need to wear a wig is too much trouble and it takes too long. But you-”
“Oh,” Doojoon blurts, because oh-of course-oh-because now he remembers how even though he and the others appeared in clothes from this time period, everything else about them is the same and Hyunseung and Junhyung and Dongwoon and Kikwang have been getting terribly suspicious glares towards their hair colors and all of them have gotten terribly suspicious glares towards their hair lengths especially when they all venture out into the marketplaces. “I-um-like-I just-had to cut it.”
“Why?” Yoseob continues curiously.
“Don’t you have to go work?” Doojoon asks hastily.
Yoseob laughs abruptly. “I like your subtlety,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And I have no work for tonight,” he grins. “My clients all happen to be out of town on business for the king for a fortnight-I think most of them. I have the night off and perhaps the week as well.”
“Wow,” Doojoon says with raised eyebrows, “you must really rake in the cash, then.”
The younger man stares blankly.
“I mean, you must be expensive-and really good at what you do,” Doojoon tries again and smiles a little inwardly.
Yoseob smiles (smirks?). “I am,” he says lightly. “And you speak oddly sometimes. Did you know?”
“Yeah,” Doojoon laughs. “I know-sorry.”
“Why would you apologize?” Yoseob asks, a little confused. The smile returns right then as the younger man reaches out, yanking at Doojoon’s sleeve lightly. “It’s charming.”
Personally, Doojoon isn’t familiar with the vernacular of two centuries ago, but he’s familiar enough with language to know-regardless of time period and speech patterns-when someone is hitting on him and when Doojoon himself is interested right back. He doesn’t know, however, what you’re supposed to do when a prostitute from two-hundred years ago seems to like you and you just wish the next thunderstorm would hurry up and come by so you can get back to your own time.
Just because Doojoon wishes that he would find someone permanent and amazing doesn’t mean that he’s desperate enough to start dating someone from the nineteenth century.
(Also, how attractive Yoseob is shouldn’t influence Doojoon’s decisions because of course Yoseob is attractive, Doojoon is fucking working in a whore house which means everyone he’ll encounter will be some measure of attractive just like Junhyung said and that doesn’t mean Doojoon should just throw himself into the lion’s den for it-the priority is waiting for a thunderstorm)
“I have work to do,” Doojoon says, taking a step back and looking away (because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it if he looks into Yoseob’s eyes and this has nothing to do with how attractive Yoseob is or how Yoseob has this kind of smile that makes Doojoon’s ears heat up or how Doojoon is sort of terrified of the possible disappointment that might appear on Yoseob’s face).
“Oh,” Yoseob says and the tone of the younger man’s voice forces Doojoon to look up whether he wanted or not (and it was clearly not because he was determined not to look at Yoseob except now it’s too late not to). Yoseob’s expression isn’t distraught or devastated or disappointed-it’s merely a little sad, a little glum, and a little confused-also a little hurt. “I-um,” he says quietly, “I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.” Yoseob’s teeth dig into his lip, “I know you don’t-don’t-like men, and-um-aren’t interested in engaging in that sort of-I-um-I just thought to thank you for getting my book for me.”
Doojoon’s mouth opens.
Fantastic.
Now he feels like an asshole (now he pretty much is an asshole).
And the only thing he can do is be creepy and strange in general by grabbing Yoseob’s sleeve and stopping the younger man from leaving without Doojoon explaining why he’s just acted like an asshole. Yoseob turns around, eyebrows raised and eyes widened in surprise.
“I-no-I-um,” Doojoon says, licking his lips, “what’s in the book?”
Yoseob blinks rapidly, multiple times, looking quiet taken aback and even more confused than before (but at least he doesn’t look hurt anymore because Doojoon doesn’t like seeing that sort of thing on Yoseob’s face and yes Doojoon is perfectly aware of how creepy he’s being whether by nineteenth or twenty-first century standards).
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, never mind,” Doojoon says quickly and lets go of Yoseob’s sleeve. “I-just-sorry.”
Yoseob doesn’t answer for a while-for a terribly long while in which the younger man just stares at Doojoon and Doojoon just stands and feels generally uncomfortable and awkward and wishing that all of this could just be happening in the present so that way Doojoon can actually communicate with Yoseob in a way that isn’t frustrating and stuck two-hundred years previous.
But-
“Would you like to walk with me?” Yoseob asks, smiling tentatively. “I’ll tell you about the book.” He waves it in the air playfully. “I will show you.”
Yoseob is about a head shorter than Doojoon with pale skin and black hair that’s a little messy over his round eyes, over his tiny (to the extent of competing with Kikwang’s) face. In the three hours since Doojoon has met Yoseob, the older man has already seen him smile too many times to count and Doojoon is glad because Yoseob’s smile is beautiful. Doojoon doesn’t even care that this is doing nothing for the whole campaign of how unnecessarily strange and creepy Doojoon is being towards Yoseob-at how odd all of this is considering, technically, Yoseob is hundreds of years older than Doojoon.
Yoseob is about a head shorter than Doojoon with pale skin and black hair and round eyes and a tiny face and a beautiful smile. He was also born, at the very least, two-hundred years before Doojoon was even a thought in the clouds.
“Sure,” Doojoon says and smiles back. “Let’s go.”