Nothing More Than Apathy [4minute/beast; gayoon/doojoon/g.na]

[kalopsia]

Nothing More Than Apathy
doojoon/gayoon, doojoon/g.na
pg-13, romance, drama, 7728 words
Some people are beyond repair.


(if anyone finds it in themselves to look past the monstrous word count, i will give them my firstborn child. i can't believe i just wrote 8k words on something related to cube instead of contributing to society. wow.)

It’s one of those days again. When the air conditioner ceases functioning, when the cordi lathers too much gel in his hair, when his clothes fit a bit tighter than they did yesterday. Gina doesn’t seem to notice though, and her laugh is as sprightly as always as she interlaces their fingers together. Any other day and Doojoon’s blood would begin rushing in reverse towards his erratic heart, but today is one of those days, and his sense of awareness is up by fifty percent. So he knows that this is just the kind of thing Choi Gina does, easily trusting yet behind her blithe smile, impossibly hard to read

“Done!” Gina chimes, bouncing her newly curled tendrils on her palms. She releases Doojoon’s hand, leaving it sweaty and quivering on the leather armrest. “I’ll see you around later Doojoon, don’t miss me too much.” She ruffles his stiff brown locks affectionately, and Doojoon bites back the grimace he feels stemming from the pain.

“Bye noona,” Doojoon replies, only releasing his suppressed sigh when he hears the familiar tinkle of the salon door closing. He leans back in his chair, craning his neck to look for his own hairdresser who had disappeared a while back after completely butchering her attempts at styling.

“Did a hedgehog die on your head or something?” a familiar voice teases, running her fingers very purposefully and excruciatingly through Doojoon’s taut spikes.

Doojoon makes no attempt at hiding his displeasure at the obvious taunt, and instead grabs the small wrist and teases it off his already tortured hair. “Or something,” he says, “and I think you’re lost, the BBcream store is on the other side of the building.”

Gayoon laughs dryly, her face stasis on the default-unimpressed expression she’s donned since her trainee days.

“Yoon Doojoon,” she addresses sternly, “that joke became unfunny the fiftieth time around, get some new material.” She takes a seat on the chair previously occupied by Gina, playing with the assortment of hair accessories strewn over the table.

“Hey, I’m still laughing,” he retorts, smirking slightly at the faint upward quirk of Gayoon’s lips.

He observes her surreptitiously as the minutes pass, her inky hair coarse from the extensive bleaching it had previously undergone. He remembers her tugging at the starchy locks in front of the vanity, complaining about the degradation she had to experience just so some anonymous being could remark how the blonde made her face look bigger. He had delicately tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear back then, letting his fingers linger against her cheek a few more seconds than what was permissible.

“Gayoon-ah, I have your hair treatment,” calls the stylist from behind them, stirring Doojoon from his nostalgia.

Gayoon jolts up from her seat, and he notices the unusually rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Thank you unnie, you’re a life saver,” she says, receiving the package and wrapping her arms protectively against herself.

She leaves for the exit just as Doojoon’s failed stylist arrives with the proper shampoo to amend the tragedy atop his head. Doojoon watches Gayoon pull the door open, the tinkle reigniting something within his subconscious. “Gayoon,” he calls, biting his lips when Gayoon turns to look at him with her safeguarded eyes, “are you doing well?” he finishes.

Gayoon nods and exits the salon, letting the door click shut softly behind her, the tinkle of the bell slowly fading with her retreating footsteps.

It’s only then Doojoon remembers he forgot to ask Gina for her number.

The largest crack in the mirror runs from top to bottom, cutting his reflection in half and tilting the left side of his face slightly upwards with a fracture splayed over his half-amused eyes. He runs his finger along the break and laughs.

“How did you manage this?” Doojoon asks, staring in awe at the spider webbed glass ordaining the practice room. “I mean, I once knocked Yoseob straight onto here and it didn’t even quiver.”

Gayoon shakes her head, mumbling a small goodbye before attempting to leave the room in all her shame and embarrassment. He grabs her wrist and pulls her down beside him, watching their jagged images in the mirror. “No need for embarrassment! I mean, throwing a bottle at me and Kikwang, breaking a mirror, it all stems from the same place right? You weren’t ashamed when I was clutching my forehead in pain.”

Gayoon actually laughs for the first time since he walked into her curled up against the floor of the practice room. Fist bleeding, and a fragmented mirror echoing her vulnerability. “Eh, I guess so, even if very remotely,” she shrugs.

Doojoon runs his thumb lightly over her bleeding hand and she winces at the pain. He frowns, holding her wrist up to his face, spotting the miniscule but evident pieces of glass embedded onto the skin. “You need to get this checked, now.”

“No,” Gayoon snaps, pulling her wrist back swiftly. “I can’t, we just debuted. Fuck,” she intakes a sharp breath, “we just debuted. What is wrong with me?”

She begins shaking again, her glazed face becoming pale under the mute lighting of the practice room. Doojoon snakes an arm around her shoulders, pressing her tightly against himself and carefully lifting her off the floor. “You think too much,” he whispers, “just stop thinking.”

Gayoon blinks and puts a centimetres distance between them. She narrows her eyes and analyses his actions prudently, and Doojoon can feel a strong blush broiling itself onto his skin. “That was weird,” she states, “we don’t do that.” She’s blunt, as always, but without ill intent.

Doojoon shuffles uncomfortably, but attempts to appease Gayoon’s obvious discomfiture with a bright beam. “Ha, you act like you don’t want this,” Gayoon snickers at his self-consumed and feeble attempts at flirting. This is what they do; this is what she wants them to do. “Just come on, we won’t say anything if the doctors don’t ask. And if they do, we’ll say the mirror spontaneously shattered at the sight of your face, believable enough, no?” Doojoon holds open the door for her, outstretching his arm and beckoning her forward.

“You’re a tool,” she says, but she smiles and takes his hand tightly. She keeps a comfortable distance between them all the way to the hospital, but the spaces between his fingers stay occupied.

“Company party tomorrow at seven pm, does anyone feel like attending?” Junhyung asks, fingering the invitation lazily.

“Um, am I going to have to talk to people?” Hyunseung asks, pulling his earphones out and sitting upright on the couch.

Junhyung shrugs, “Well, that’d be the respectful thing to do. You could also just stand outside the whole time and get drunk off your face.”

“That sounds like fun,” says Yoseob nodding, “let’s go. Doojoon?”

Doojoon grimaces, for whatever reason the vitality within him had been completely sapped out over the last few weeks, and his inner social butterfly’s wings were deteriorating. “I don’t know, I mean, if we don’t have to go…”

Junhyung opens the invitation again, quickly skimming through it. “Well, they didn’t say we have to go. But the 4Minute and A Pink girls, Hu Gak, and Gina have all already RSVP’d, so-“

Gina. “We’ll go,” Doojoon says, “yeah, why not, let’s go.”

Junhyung snorts. “Your intentions are so transparent it’s not even funny,” he remarks snidely, turning back to his laptop.

“Whatever, subtlety is a waste of time,” Doojoon shrugs, flopping down on the couch next to Hyunseung, “well, find something socially acceptable to wear boys. Since we’re going to a party.”

“Woot, let’s get shit-faced!” exclaims Hyunseung. The whole room turns to give him an awkward look.

Yoseob nods slowly and pats Hyunseung on the shoulder, “Alright Hyunseung, let’s calm down.”

The hotel walls are tragically thin, Doojoon thinks as he hears the crash of china. He turns around on his bed, making sure that the physical expression of despondency hadn’t woken up Yoseob, before slipping carefully out of his room and standing clad in nothing but pyjama bottoms and a wife beater in the hallway.

Jiyoon nudges the door open a fraction, “Sorry for the disturbance, I accidentally knocked something down on the way to the bath-oh, it’s you.” She unhooks the security chain and swings the door all the way open. “Sorry, did we wake you?”

We. Doojoon likes how Jiyoon so tightly associates herself with her best friend’s random fits of aggression, always being the one to make excuses to the CEO, the one squeezing Gayoon’s shoulders comfortingly during stressful moments. It’s cute, he thinks.

“Can I come in?” he asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Jiyoon wavers as she assesses the situation, before stepping back and allowing Doojoon entrance into their dysfunctional hotel room.

“I know you both love your little banter, but don’t aggravate her please,” Jiyoon pleads quietly.

Doojoon doesn’t dignify her with a response and instead steps carefully into the wide expanse of their bedroom. Gayoon stands grandly in the centre, fingers wrapped around her crudely dyed tendrils and broken shards of what used to be a majestic vase scattered around her.

“Wow, what a rock star,” he laughs, and he hears Jiyoon’s sharp breath from behind him.

Gayoon peers at him from behind her tangled hair before groaning and rubbing her face tiredly. “Why are you here?” she asks.

“Can’t I visit a friend?” Doojoon retorts, lifting his hands up in faux offence at her hostility.

Gayoon shakes her head, “No as in, why are you always-never mind,” she sighs, carefully stepping past the broken china to retrieve a broom from the supply closet. “Sorry for waking you, I’ll just clean this up and you won’t hear a sound for the rest of the night. You can sleep now Jiyoonie,” Gayoon assures.

Doojoon turns and finds Jiyoon sitting at the edge of her bed, fingers clutching the mattress tightly. “No it’s fine, I’ll help you-“

Gayoon cuts her off, “No seriously, get some sleep. If you don’t wake up then the rest of us are going to be scrambling so we don’t miss the flight,” she demands, waiting for Jiyoon’s hesitant nod before beginning to clean up the rogue shards

Doojoon kneels on the floor and helps pick up stray pieces of the broken vase, small cuts gracing his hands in the process. They finish twenty minutes later, when Jiyoon’s light snores could be heard permeating through the thick blanket.

Gayoon places the broom back into the closet. “You didn’t have to help me,” she frowns, tying her unruly hair into a scrappy ponytail. She climbs into bed and buries herself underneath the covers, sleepily turning her back to him.

“It was instinct, I couldn’t have you hurt Jiyoon’s pretty little face could I?” he lies.

Gayoon laughs bitterly from beneath the blanket, her scorn echoing throughout the room. “I’m sure you’ve crossed some kind of line there, I would never-“

“Yeah, sorry,” Doojoon quickly apologises, freezing as he waits for Gayoon’s reaction. A crash, a clatter, a frustrated cry. It never comes and he exhales a deep breath. “Anyway, sorry, goodnight yeah.” Doojoon nods before turning towards the door.

“Wait, you can make it up to me,” Gayoon calls. Doojoon pauses, hand enclosed around the brass doorknob.

“Stay,” she orders, pulling the blanket tighter towards herself.

Doojoon quirks an eyebrow, but nonetheless retreats and sits carefully on the edge of Gayoon’s bed, careful not to dip it too far as to disturb the other’s visage of sleep. “I’m here,” he says, swallowing a yawn threatening to make itself known.

Gayoon moves underneath the covers, and he can recognise the motions of her laughter. “You can sleep if you want, just, I don’t know, stay…”

Doojoon nods only half-aware, before the implications of what was just said sinks in and he jerks his head up abruptly. “Wait, is that an invitation-“

“No!” Gayoon cries, before quickly pursing her lips and peering behind Doojoon, staring uneasily towards Jiyoon’s bed. Jiyoon makes an indistinguishable sound, but the continuous snores manifest themselves again soon after. “No,” Gayoon whispers again, her gaze flickering sporadically to and fro Jiyoon’s sleeping form, “just, like, you can sleep. No innuendos.”

Doojoon nods, only marginally disappointed. “Alright then, move over BB freak,” he demands, pushing Gayoon to the edge of the mattress. His eyes flutter shut as soon as his head meets the soft pillow, and he curls to the side and lets his body’s enervation have its way.

He wakes up intermittently throughout the rest of the night, a bad habit arising from vague thoughts that are allowed to roam his mind. He somehow finds Gayoon’s emaciated arms enveloping his torso, her warm breath dancing over the thin material of his wife beater. His blood begins running faster than what he’d deem appropriate, and he attempts shuffling out of her hold. Sleepy Gayoon however, shivers from the lack of body heat and pulls him closer still; the top of her peroxide dyed her tickling his chin. He turns stiff, contemplating his next action before giving up and reciprocating her intimacy with strong arms. If she wakes up the next morning scandalised and violated, well, it takes two to cuddle.

“Okay, talk to her now in three, two, one… Snap! Well, too late again.”

Doojoon growls and attempts to indent himself into the sofa. “Okay, you know what, when he leaves I’m just going to go and say hi,” he says, getting ready to run from the couch as soon as Gina’s attention is no longer occupied.

Yoseob punches Doojoon’s shoulder, completely aghast at the idea. “Weren’t you listening? You have to give her a two minute window or else she’ll be completely unenthusiastic,” Yoseob explains, chest swelling at the chance to exemplify his wisely words about women.

Doojoon looks back at Gina and Mario, the former laughing every other sentence and slapping Mario’s shoulder playfully. Doojoon grimaces, “Yeah, she looks like she’s in despair.”

“That’s different man, Mario is a friend. He’s in the friend-zone - his company is wanted. You’re a potential suitor, but that also means you’ll just be violating her personal bubble,” says Yoseob, with so much confidence that if Doojoon didn’t have common sense, he may have fallen for it.

“I’m her friend too! You know what, I’m just going to try and squeeze myself into the conversation,” Doojoon stands up, throwing a pillow at Yoseob’s face before stalking towards the object of his affections.

“You’re going to end up looking needy!” cries Yoseob, despite his warnings being completely disregarded by Doojoon.

Time slows as he makes his way through the crowd. Gina’s positive and optimistic radiance was like a lamp, and Doojoon was but a hapless firefly - enchanted and mesmerised. Mario leaves, rubbing Gina’s arm and probably promising to contact her another time. When she turns around and sees him drifting amongst the see of partygoers, her eyes widen and one of her spacey and well-meaning smiles slowly makes itself visible. He’s going to do it, he’ll get her number, he’ll ask her out, and he’ll make it the best date ever. Because he, Yoon Doojoon, was utterly and irrevocably enraptured by-

“Gayoon!”

He stops. What?

“Unnie, how are you?” Gayoon casually strolls past him, and Doojoon can’t think of a more gracelessly anticlimactic moment in his life.

Gina smiles, but then seems to finally register Doojoon’s presence and her mouth forms an ‘O’, “Doojoon, I didn’t see you there!” she exclaims. Doojoon can see Gayoon’s shoulders subconsciously tighten. Clearly, Gina wasn’t the only one.

“Hey there noona. Gayoon,” he nods and Gayoon nods back artlessly. It’s something they’ve perfected and finessed over time.

“So what are my favourite brats up to?” Gina asks, swirling her wine glass absentmindedly. Neither of them answers, obviously expecting the other to compensate on their behalf. Gina frowns, “What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m a bit ditzy because of our promotional schedule,” Gayoon explains. Doojoon chooses to believe it as well.

“Fair enough, how about you Doojoon?” Gina asks.

He would never admit it but he had planned out every answer to every possible question Gina could ask him in an attempt to extract cordial conversation. He had an answer for this one too, it started with “my chest feels heavy” and ended with “of you”, but suddenly it didn’t seem very appropriate.

Gayoon speaks before Doojoon can verbalise a half-enthusiastic response. “Hey, my manager is calling me, I’ll catch up later guys,” she excuses herself before disappearing back into the discombobulated crowd.

She was lying. Everything about her stature, her quick pace, her thinned lips, told Doojoon she was lying. So easy to read, he thinks, watching her retreating back, the ends of the light scars only just protruding from the short frilly sleeves of her dress.

“Hyuna!” Gina squeals, snapping Doojoon out of his reverie. “Doojoon, I’ll talk to you later alright? Give me a call when you have time,” she smiles at him. Her smiles drive him over the edge - her constant grins and the slight jump in all of her steps makes him nervous.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, not mentioning the fact he didn’t even have her number in the first place.

The second time it happens, they’re both completely conscious. It’s a bit weirder this time around, but from the way Gayoon so easily overlaps their arms together, Doojoon assumes it’s only him. He’s not unresponsive - it does feel nice. Having their knees flushed against each other, Gayoon’s scarred back pressed up against his hot chest, the feeling of her tepid breath fluttering over his muscles. But he’s not sure how to move, where exactly Gayoon had redrawn the lines. She had simply given him the spare key to her dorm, and when he hears from their mutual cleaning lady that some unstable girl in the other group had thrown a fit just before she left, he waits until all his band members are asleep before sneaking out and relying purely on instinct to guide him.

His instincts aren’t the best thing to go by here though, together so close on Gayoon’s single bed, with an inexplicable hotness pooling in his lower stomach. He runs his fingers absentmindedly through her hair - black again - twirling a strand around his digits. His thumb grazes the bandage on her forehead, and she sleepily snuggles tighter in his grasp.

“I’m here,” he says.

“Really, I would have never guessed,” she replies drowsily, and he’s almost in awe at how easily Gayoon could separate their day from night, their bodies from them, their progress from dynamic.

Doojoon decides to test the waters and tenderly nuzzles Gayoon’s neck, the heat from his cheek gently caressing her nape. She makes a soft ‘mmm’, and he inhales in her delicate ardour. He moves back, lips accidentally brushing her shoulder, and she jolts, sinking her nails into his arm. “No,” she protests, voice muffled and dull.

“Okay, sorry it was an accident,” he whispers, rubbing his hands up and down her sides, eliciting a trail of Goosebumps as his fingers stroked downwards. Gayoon takes his reassurance without question, and pulls his strong arms tighter around her.

“Stay,” she mumbles, so close to falling into her dreams.

“Always,” he murmurs.

“Seriously, he actually got shit-faced?” Doojoon rubs his temples tiredly, closing his eyes in an attempt to erase the image of Hyunseung vomiting into the punch.

Junhyung and Kikwang both hold Hyunseung up between their shoulders, Kikwang craning his head away when Hyunseung insists on giving him a goodnight kiss.

“I don’t know, Jihyun tried to talk to him, and the social pressure became too much I think,” Junhyung explains, now attempting to pry a needy Hyunseung off Kikwang’s face.

Doojoon sighs, “Alright, let’s just take him home okay, the party is going to end soon anyway.” He scans the thinning throng for his remaining band members, “I’ll go find Dongwoon and Yoseob,” he states, walking away. He loosens the tie of his tuxedo; all attempts of class having been flushed down the toilet with Hyunseung’s bile anyway.

He stumbles through the lowly lit room, a bit tipsy himself from his irregular consumption of alcohol throughout the night, and he listlessly apologises to those his shoulders knock and whose shoed toes he treads on. Yoseob and Dongwoon weren’t anywhere observable to his peripheral vision, and he turns into looking inside the individual bedrooms of the complex. It’s an action he immediately regrets after becoming completely slack jawed upon entering the first room and staggering away red in the face.

“Infidels,” he hypocritically mumbles, dabbing his forehead with his tie.

The guests had all eventually dispersed by the time Doojoon had scoured the entire complex - upstairs, downstairs, and even the attic. He gives up and drags himself outside, hoping for the sake of his sanity that Yoseob and Dongwoon had simply made their way to the van alone. He ends up with more than he had bargained for, and almost collapses right then and there on the sidewalk when his van is nowhere in sight in the entire expanse of the parking lot.

“Shit,” he swears, looking around in hopes of finding someone to hitch a ride with. Most of his acquaintances however, seemed to have left early on in the night, and the remaining guests were simply unknown business men who seemed to take this party as some kind of a once-in-a-life-time chance to become trashed beyond their minds.

He hears the frustrated cry before he actually sees the damage. The high-pitched exclamation emanating from the back of the building makes his reflexes twitch, and he bolts to the source without a second thought. It’s been about two months since Doojoon had experienced this once-familiar rush of blood through his ears, the tightening of his jaw as he expects the worst. He skids around the corner but comes to a halt at the anticlimactic sight.

Gayoon picks up the broken heels repentantly, attempting to somehow piece them back together before realising the fruitlessness of her actions and ultimately discarding them to the side. She kicks the brick wall with her bare toes, and Doojoon winces.

“Why do I always fuck everything up,” she seethes, resting her forehead against the cool wall.

Words fail Doojoon, and instead he steps foreword cautiously, the sound of his shoes rolling over loose gravel startling Gayoon. She lifts her head and stares at him with eyes tinged with inebriation.

He’s the first to break the silence, “Where’s your van?” he asks, partly out of concern, partly hoping he’d be able to steal a ride.

“Where’s yours?” she asks haughtily, as if every word that slipped out of Doojoon’s mouth was laced with double meaning and innuendo.

Doojoon snorts, “Hyunseung got wasted, they left without me. You?”

Gayoon nods slowly, “Same here… Well, I hope they come for you soon. Bye,” the last words tumble out in a rush, and she picks up the edge of her red dress and takes a seat on the wall of the garden bed, bunching the silky material on her lap.

“So, you’re just going to wait here?” he asks. He considers taking a seat next to her, but brushes it off when he notices the way her shoulders strain towards each other, and how tightly her thighs are squeezed together.

“Well, yeah,” she replies, her legs out taut in front of her.

“What if they never come back?” Doojoon crosses his arms, staring down at Gayoon as he would an insolent child.

Gayoon presses her palm against her forehead, clearly incensed by Doojoon’s constant probing. “Look, my presence isn’t exactly hard to miss-“ she cuts herself off, thinning her lips and leaving Doojoon with only her side profile to gaze at. “Just, go Doojoon.”

Doojoon refuses to let those be their parting words, and he walks forward and pulls Gayoon up by her arms. She flinches back, but only once she’s upright on two feet.

“There’s a shelter and 7-11 just a few kilometres down, at least wait for them where it’s safe,” he insists, trying to pull her forward. Gayoon resists and tugs her arm back.

“Why do you care?” she shoots, and Doojoon frowns. That’s an unfair question. Gayoon seems to realise it and never gives him time to answer. “I don’t have my shoes,” she whispers unconvincingly.

Doojoon scoffs and holds the wall for support as he kicks his shoes off; they roll a little away until they reach Gayoon’s feet. For extra measure he frees his feet of the thick woollen socks they’re enclosed in, tugging them off and throwing them after.

Gayoon wrinkles her nose, “Alright, I appreciate the action, but seriously.” She uses the broken edge of her heels to poke the socks a safe distance away.

Doojoon rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Haha, sorry.” He reaches his hand out towards her, fingers curled back and wrist tilted forwards. “So?” he asks, mouth quirked into his signature half-smirk.

Gayoon bites down on her bottom lip before pushing Doojoon’s hand back to his sides, “Alright, let’s go,” she takes the lead and strides forwards, broken heels in one hand, and a bundle of her crimson dress in the other.

They walk with an obligatory two metres distance between them, an unspoken protocol that had come into play through their flickering glances and tensed forms. The sickly light from the looming streetlamps casts a buttery glow over Gayoon’s face, and he notices how the foundation on her t-zone had streaked. He never understood Gayoon’s need for caking her face with layers upon layers of make up; it wasn’t that her natural face was stunning, but more that with the assistance of products she simply appeared more aged and stressed. It was one of those thoughts that had flitted across his mind when her face was buried into the nook of his elbow, and one of those thoughts he had been too wary to verbalise.

“Stop staring at me,” Gayoon huffs, cupping her hands over her face, “do I have something on my face?” she asks.

Doojoon shakes his head, “No, don’t worry.”

Gayoon narrows her eyes sceptically before turning away, head tucked downwards, eyes focused on the concrete path beneath them.

“You haven’t changed,” Doojoon comments abruptly.

He expects Gayoon to not dignify him with an answer, to shun him away with one of her unimpressed stares. Instead she continues walking at a steady pace; voice barely above a whisper when she replies, “Was I meant to?”

I wanted you to, Doojoon thinks. Instead he cocks his head and lets the sound of the road envelop them.

“Why aren’t we friends, Doojoon?”

Doojoon stops and turns, Gayoon stood a few centimetres behind him, closer than they’d been in months. She’s sort of beautiful, he thinks, with her hair tangled and falling in messy waves over her bare shoulders. Eyes meaningful and sincere, so vulnerable. For once in his life, Doojoon sees the hype behind this girl. This girl who causes his heart to stop and then keep beating, this girl who makes him want to both run away from all his problems and face them head on, this girl who makes him feel so used and yet so wanted. This girl he could have loved.

“Why aren’t we friends?” she asks again. And he’s not sure why that’s so hard to answer.

“I thought you girls had a dating ban,” is the first thing to come out of his mouth, foregoing all words of blessings and congratulatory mocking.

Gayoon shrugs, pulling up the hood of her parka. “Not a dating ban, more like, they just expect us to not want to date,” she explains, rubbing her hands together to entice warmth.

Doojoon catches Jiyoon looking at them apprehensively from the van, her breath coming out in small puffs of steam. He waves at her brightly, and she quickly becomes flustered, turning her back to them and tugging Sohyun’s shirt to force her into ‘casual conversation’. Doojoon snickers.

Gayoon snaps her fingers across his face. “Hello, earth to Doojoon,” she drones, waving a hand in front of him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Doojoon asks, turning back to their very awkward conversation.

“I said I want to date, it’s been a while. And, you know, I’m getting better,” she says the last few words softly, staring down at the wet asphalt beneath their feet.

Doojoon almost laughs; he knows she’s getting better. The instances of him holding her softly against his chest, murmuring words of comfort into her thick hair becoming more solemn as months passed. He considers telling her this, but the way she was playing with the frayed edge of her sleeves told him that the memory of both of them wrapped around each other and their ‘platonic feelings’ had crossed her mind one too many times in the last few hours.

“Well, that’s cool. Although, you should have made it known you were on the market,” he says, playing aggravatingly oblivious to the circumspect look she sends his way.

“What do you mean?” she questions, poking an accusatory finger onto his clothed chest.

Doojoon reaches under her hood and ruffles her hair, “Yo, I’ve seen those lustful looks you send Yoseob’s way,” he gives her a toothy grin, laughing when she smiles and snatches his arm away.

“Whatever, see you later Neanderthal,” Gayoon dismisses before climbing into the van. Jiyoon gives her an anticipating gaze as she settles herself down on the seat next to her, hands curling around Gayoon’s own. Gayoon nods and waves Jiyoon’s qualms off, before noticing Doojoon still watching her intently from the sidewalk. She hesitates before fluttering her fingers in goodbye.

Doojoon waits until the van is barely a speck in the horizon before waving back.

He rubs the icy surface of the soda against her cheek and laughs when she flinches at the cold sensation. He takes his designated seat beside her on the bench, taking a deep drink from his lemonade and staring up at the starless sky. Both of them sat outside the seedy 7-11, occupying a vandalised bench near the petrol station, their formal wear stained from the oil and grime saturating the milieu.

“This isn’t going to come off,” Gayoon complains, frowning as she rubs her thumb on the dirt edging her blood red gown.

“It looks better this way, it gives you attitude. Not that you don’t have enough as it is,” he snickers.

Gayoon shakes her head and smiles into her soda can, taking a sip and brushing stray strands of hair out of her eyes. “You know, I think I’m still sort of drunk.”

“You look it,” he mocks, and raises his arms in defence when she glares at him. “Don’t blame me, I’m still sort of drunk too,” he reasons.

“I’m drunk enough not to care,” she retorts, punching his shoulder and almost toppling him over on his seat. Gayoon scoffs at his lack of strength, “Wow, you are drunk.”

“Yes, we’ve established that.” Doojoon grumbles, sweeping dirt off his shoulders.

“I’m glad you haven’t changed,” Gayoon says suddenly, “I was scared you would.”

“Why would I change?” Doojoon queries, bending forward to have a clear view of Gayoon’s face, oily t-zone and all.

Gayoon pushes his head back and flicks his forehead, grinning when he swears at the pain. “I have this habit of damaging things beyond repair. It’s okay when it’s a vase, or a window. But sometimes I get so angry, I would throw like Hyuna’s teddy bear at the TV screen or something, and it’d get the stuffing knocked out of it. And I would always think to myself, why don’t I think before I act? And I think that applies to just everything I do in life. Why don’t I think before I act? Why don’t I just walk out of the room when it gets too hot?”

Doojoon thinks for a minute - absorbing in the verbose response - and gently turns her chin towards him, fingers tingling at the contact. “I,” he breathes in, “understood nothing of what you said. But I think you’re implying something.”

Gayoon chuckles, clasping Doojoon’s clammy hands between her own. “You’re a good guy Doojoon,” she says, “you’re a tool, but not to the point where I need to step back and think and revaluate myself. You’re just one of those things I feel like I can easily break without you protesting. I’m just sorry it took you to realise it first for me to.”

“Please don’t tell me I had to undergo perpetual awkwardness for months because you were trying to be a holy martyr.” Doojoon begs, clutching her hands tightly. The petrol fumes were making him lightheaded, but he keeps his eyes firmly on Gayoon and the way her lips curled when she was deep in thought.

“No, I’m no martyr. I mean I wasn’t sacrificing myself for good or anything. As I said, you are sort of a tool. I just don’t like feeling responsible for anything, and I don’t think you do either,” Gayoon speaks slowly.

Doojoon nods, freeing their hands and exhaling in the sweet, dizzying smell of petrol and gasoline. “Alright, can I try something though?” he requests.

“What?” Gayoon asks, but her perked posture told him she probably already knew.

Doojoon supports her neck with a warm hand, rubbing his thumb over her hairline in reassurance. He swallows and licks his lips, aware of Gayoon mirroring his actions when he brings her face closer. He waits for two beats of silence before placing a soft kiss on her forehead, smiling into the foundation, BBcream, and whatever other products Gayoon was so insistent on using but didn’t need.

“You’re drunk,” Gayoon states, amusement trickling into her voice.

Doojoon leans back satiated, and for the second time that night, properly looks at her. He loves her, he thinks, just not in the way that’d work for either of them. “So are you,” he retorts. She purses her lips, and Doojoon has an inkling of a desire, that maybe he should literally aim lower with his expressions of affection.

Gayoon parts her lips, about to speak before she’s cut short by a loud honk from the street.

“Unnie! I’m sorry we forgot about you!” Hyuna calls from the back of the van, waving her arms frantically and almost falling out the window. Jihyun tugs her back inside and their manager rolls down the window in the front.

“Gayoon, we’ll talk about this later, just get in the van quickly,” he demands, tapping his fingers impatiently on the window frame.

Gayoon nods, letting the material of her skirt drag on the dirty asphalt; all attempts at keeping it unsoiled falling futile. She turns towards Doojoon, smiling one of her half-smiles, but at least it was genuine. “Well, do you want a ride back to your dorm or?”

Doojoon covers his mouth and yawns, letting his legs stretch out before him. “Nah, I’m sure my brethren will be here to retrieve me. Be on your merry way, princess.”

Gayoon laughs and ruffles his hair, “I’ll catch you later, yeah?” She turns to leave, but at the last moment Doojoon catches her wrist and pulls her back towards him. Someone makes a wolf-whistle from the van, and a chorus of girly ‘ooooohs’ follow. Gayoon keeps her composure, but a bright red flush flourishes across her neck. “What?” she grumbles, avoiding eye contact and shooting a glare at the crooning bandmates behind her.

“Your t-zone is really oily,” he says, and hisses when Gayoon slaps his shoulder with the brute force of a thousand men.

“Asshole,” she scowls and turns away from him, stalking haughtily towards the van.

“We’re cool, right!” Doojoon calls, still rubbing the impending bruise on his arm. Gayoon gives him the finger in return, and her band members howl in laughter from the backseat.

“We’re cool,” Gayoon assures smirking now, having been appeased at the damage she had inflicted upon Doojoon’s ego. She waves at him from the window of the van, arm extended and swaying in full motions. He stands up and waves back, and continues to do so until the van is completely shrouded by darkness.

She rolls over on the mattress, pulling the sheets off from the edges of the bed and tangling them around her skinny legs. “Are you awake?” she murmurs.

Doojoon cracks open an eye, blinking at the dull sunlight seeping it’s way through parted curtains. He had been awake all night, kept up by Gayoon’s shallow breathing and his own tumultuous thoughts. His arm was wrapped around her small waist as usual, never travelling lower or exploring, just safe.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he answers, purposefully croaking his reply, not wanting to give away that he’d been conscious the whole night. “We need to stop getting adjacent hotel rooms,” he comments, groping the nightstand for his phone. 5:00AM, the led light flashes back at him, and he furrows his eyebrows and falls back into his pillow. In thirty minutes everyone else would be rousing from sleep, knocking on his door, and urging Doojoon to get ready for the flight.

“Thirty minutes left,” Doojoon mumbles into the satin pillow, he was going to be victim to a throbbing headache all the way to the airport and through the flight back to South Korea. Gayoon pushes his shoulders, flipping him on his back. “I’ll get up in thirty minutes,” he groans, grabbing a pillow from under her head and hugging it out of spite.

Gayoon pries the plush pillow out of his grip and throws it to the side of the bed, Doojoon simply laughs and comments on the unproductivity of her actions. “Hey, your pillow, your loss…” he trails off when he feels a heated weight settling itself on his chest, warming his limbs and stirring something within his abdomen. Small hands tug at the neck of his singlet, pulling it down, and a coarse curtain of hair falls over his face.

“What are you doing?” he squeaks, voice coming out high and pitchy. Very manly, Doojoon.

“I just want to try, you can push me away at any time,” Gayoon utters, her words dispersing on the flushed apples of his cheeks. She tries kicking off the sheets twisted around her legs and ends up hitting Doojoon’s shins in the process. “Oh, shoot, sorry,” she apologises.

Doojoon removes the blanket insulating his lower half, and slides his feet down Gayoon’s slender limbs, freeing them off the cover. Even with the thick material of his sweats, he can feel her legs trembling next to his. He grips her hips and pulls her further on top off him before freezing abruptly. Was he reading this wrong?

Gayoon slides a hand behind his head and pushes him forward, placing a testing kiss on the side of his mouth. It gives him a small drive of encouragement, and he digs his quivering fingers into her deep black locks, twisting them tightly and bringing her closer until their lips meet. It’s slow and awkward and the anxiety between them makes it feel green. Which is surprising, because this was far from being Doojoon’s first kiss, and he’s definitely been much closer with other girls. And although Gayoon acts like Miss Prude towards him on most days, and nights, and every other time in between, he knows for sure this isn’t her first either.

Tired of the awkward smooching, Gayoon pulls back and takes a deep breath, before cupping Doojoon’s face and leaning forward again, applying more pressure and movement this time around. It does the trick, and the feeling in Doojoon’s stomach begins simmering as he wraps an arm over her back, one hand massaging her hair, the other pressing her closer.

It’s when Gayoon’s bare thighs brush against the slightly exposed skin of his stomach that it occurs to him that they had surpassed awkward kissing territory a while ago and were now sitting comfortably in the shallow end of ‘making out’. He swallows and Gayoon pulls away, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re thinking of something else,” she says. There’s no bitterness or venom in her tone though, despite the obvious implications of her words.

Honestly, Doojoon really wants to continue their little session, but he has no way to verbalise his response without sounding needy. So he clears his throat and looks up at her rosy face. “No I wasn’t.” he defends.

“Yes you were,” Gayoon sighs, climbing off him. “Don’t worry about it, I was just trying to see something,” she assures, hopping off the bed and moving to pull out clothes out of her suitcase. Always particular with her airport fashion, she was.

Doojoon turns sideways, reaching for his phone and cringing at the time. 5:18AM. They had been making out for almost fifteen minutes straight and he hadn’t noticed - either Gayoon was right about his mind being off somewhere, or they were both just extremely good kissers, and he really didn’t want to give her that credit. “I’m just sleepy,” he assures, rolling flimsily off the bed and onto all fours on the carpet.

“Chill out, it didn’t mean anything,” she says, kicking the suitcase shut and moving to change in the bathroom. “Are you going to have breakfast with us or are you going to disappear again like last night?” she asks, Doojoon looks up at the knowing quality in her comment, and finds her indifferently searching for the keys to the bathroom.

4Minute and BEAST were meant to have dinner at a high priced Chinese restaurant last night. Doojoon remembers making up an excuse to not go like gastritis or a bad stomach or something equally as feeble. All he remembers is the afterwards, illicitly eating a calorie-saturated hot dog from a street stall under the kaleidoscopic lights of the city amongst the hustle bustle of London. Of course, Doojoon had never been particularly shrewd or underhand, and so he was caught whistling a joyful tune on the way back to his hotel room.

“Gina really missed eating unhealthy western food,” he replies, even though Gayoon never asked.

“Such a gentleman,” Gayoon chortles, moving into the bathroom.

Doojoon remains lying on the floor staring at the stationary ceiling fan until his phone begins beeping at the half hour. He groans and reaches for his sweatshirt on the chair opposite the bed, slipping it over his head and grabbing his phone before leaving the hotel room.

His zombie genes are expressed when at the airport, sleepily handing the check-in girl his passport and almost tripping over the luggage trolley on his way to the terminal. Junhyung supports him with a arm around his shoulder, trudging carefully towards the airport restroom in a quest to splash water on Doojoon’s face and at least make it look like he was a quarter aware.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Junhyung asks, patting Doojoon’s back comfortingly.

Doojoon looks back to see Gayoon staring at him discretely from behind a large white pillar, she jumps at the eye contact and looks away quickly, slipping on her headphones and fumbling with her iPod. Doojoon disregards it as a small phase that’d pass over in a week or so and turns back to Junhyung. “You have no idea, bro.”

“He’s awake!” Yoseob’s shrill voice punctures through the cloudy haze misting over Doojoon’s brain and causes him to jolt half-awake. He flinches at the stiffness running through his back and smells the familiarly strong scent of petroleum.

“What the…” he opens an eye and is met with a wide expanse of blue-grey sky and Yoseob’s face. He sits upright and takes in his surroundings, still at the petrol station from last night, except with the sun peeping over the horizon. The light makes everything a lot less sleazy than they appeared a several hours ago. “Did I sleep here all night?” Doojoon asks, bewildered.

“I woke up this morning and was trying to stir everyone awake. I get to your room and yo! You’re not there! Ridiculous isn’t it?” Kikwang makes their way towards them, annoyingly amused at the situation.

“You left me here overnight?” Doojoon grinds his teeth together.

“They sure did gorgeous, slept like a baby too. Watched your calm face doze off up until the mornin’ sun,” a diseased voice comes from behind Doojoon, startling him further.

“And you are…” Doojoon asks the strange man who had allegedly been watching him in his sleep. He thinks he can feel a vein throb in his head.

“That’s Mr. Hwang, he watched over you while you slept. Isn’t he so kind!” Yoseob beams. Doojoon turns to Mr. Hwang who gives him a lewd smile, displaying his rotting gums and gaping spaces where his teeth were meant to be. Doojoon shivers.

He spends the ride back to the dorm giving everybody the silent treatment, a penalty which was always more difficult for Doojoon, who would have to bite his tongue whenever he felt word bile probing his throat when someone in his band did something stupid. Which was essentially all the time, really.

He sifts through his chest pocket for a handkerchief, and his fingers brush against a wrinkled piece of paper that most definitely wasn't there last he checked. He unfolds it and recognises Gayoon’s rushed scrawl, a number written in blotchy black ink. He raises an eyebrow and does a quick skim of the van, making sure his friends/objects-of-his-spite/douchebags were all busy with their own goings to pay attention to him, before punching the number into his phone.

He holds the phone close against his ear, elbow resting against the window in order to appear casually indifferent. He clutches his seatbelt, hoping Gayoon hadn’t given him the number of ‘Mr. Hwang’ as some cruel joke, something which Doojoon apprehensively notes, wasn’t beyond her at all.

It rings once, twice, three times, before beeping and going straight to the person’s answering machine. Doojoon sighs and almost hangs up, making a memo to confront Gayoon about this later, before a familiarly bright voice permeates through the speakers.

“Hi! It’s Choi Gina here! Sorry I’m not available to take your call. But leave a message, and if you’re lucky I may just hit you back! Bye!”

a/n: two things happened here. one, i probably wrote the closest thing i'll ever write to porn. and two, this spun way out of control, i didn't even think it'd get past three thousand words. gayoon really strikes me as someone with a short tempter, and i kind of just completely over-blew that. and i feel like she has this... complex about her, idk. she's an interesting character, especially since you don't really see someone as sarcastic as her in idols. also, yes, title is shamelessly taken from one of my favourite songs ever, over my head by the fray. um, a bit too late now, but you should read with this song in mind... yeah.