(Sungjong/Myungsoo) a rough guide on how to cope
Title: a rough guide on how to cope
Pairing: Sungjong/Myungsoo
Genre: angst, romance
Rating: T
a rough guide on how to cope
It’s an eight-hour flight back to Seoul, and Sungjong is trying his best to get comfortable in his cramped seat.
There’s an airline-issue blanket and two thin pillows and Sungyeol’s elbow on top of him, making it hard to breathe, let alone sit comfortably. He has two choices: stay or make his way towards the toilets down the back, where he has to brave the aisles.
Sungyeol shifts, elbowing him in the hip, and Sungjong sighs because there’s really not much of a choice.
He eases his way out of his seat with such skill that Sungyeol doesn’t even stir, leaving behind a deflated fortress of pillows and blankets in his wake as he makes his way quietly to the back.
He keeps his head bent and he counts his steps on the dark, dullish blue carpet until the curtain is in reach. No one shrieks or reaches out to grab him this time, and Sungjong exhales loudly, slipping behind it and leaning against of one of the cubicle doors is Myungsoo.
“Hyung,” he says, surprised, and Myungsoo turns to look at him, eyes red and puffy. This is not why Sungjong stares, because red, puffy eyes are a common sight. No, it is the way Myungsoo looks at him, mouth opened slightly as though to speak but there are no words. “What’s wrong?”
Myungsoo blinks, once, twice, and then he moves so swiftly that by the time Sungjong exhales, he’s locked inside a cubicle along with Myungsoo, sink pressing into his back. Myungsoo leans against him, half because there’s not enough space, half because there’s something in Myungsoo’s eyes that tell him he wants to.
It’s so still and they are so very close that Sungjong can feel Myungsoo’s breath fan out across his cheeks in staccato intervals.
Myungsoo seems to stall, as though calculating the risk of doing what he is going to do against the regret of not doing so and Sungjong pulls at the front of his shirt until Myungsoo loses balance and then they are kissing, thirty-thousand feet up in the air.
It’s now, only now that Sungjong realises Myungsoo’s cheeks are damp against his and something is terribly wrong because he has never seen Myungsoo cry, ever.
“Wha-” Sungjong starts, pulling away but Myungsoo shakes his head and tugs Sungjong back towards him, keeping in the words.
It’s only much later, after they make their way back to the seats, after Myungsoo convinces Woohyun to trade seats with Sungjong, after Sungjong lulls between sleep and not-sleep, head on Myungsoo’s shoulder, that Myungsoo speaks.
“One hour till we land,” he says and Sungjong yawns and nods, contemplating on whether he should tell Myungsoo to please be quiet because he’d like to sleep but Myungsoo continues speaking, voice so quiet that the low tremors of the engines threaten to engulf his words whole.
“They’re disbanding Infinite.”
It is not immediate.
It takes months and months for it to happen - just long enough for Sungjong to believe that maybe it is all a misunderstanding; maybe Infinite will live up to its name after all.
They’re still best friends, him and Myungsoo. There are no more covert kisses, not when they’re in the dorm alone, not when they’re left to wash the dishes together. Sungjong doesn’t ask and Myungsoo doesn’t bring up what happened on the airplane and they don’t talk about the impending breakdown, because their conversations are routine: Woohyun’s cooking and Howon snoring in his sleep and dance practices that leave bruises and aching limbs.
It’s like nothing has changed and nothing is ever going to change, because they still rehearse and dream about winning their first award but there are signs; forewarnings because no one mentions anything about comebacks or new songs and best friends don’t kiss each other and expect to remain best friends and nothing more.
And when it happens, it happens on a painfully ordinary day.
The managers explain it is not Infinite’s fault. It has to do with the scandal, they say, and we have tried finding a new management for the group to work with but nothing has fallen through.
Myungsoo stares at the parquet flooring as the news breaks and everyone just stares at the managers, disbelieved gazes all around. Sungjong has his hands clasped, fingers twisted painfully together and he almost cannot believe this is happening.
We’re really sorry, the managers say.
The questions start soon after, dazed and subdued at first, until the air is choked with unanswered questions and Sungyeol is the first one who cries. Sungjong can feel his throat start to tighten and he pushes himself to his feet, because he needs to do something other than sit on the floor and cry but Myungsoo appears in front of him, eyes dry but red-rimmed.
He extends a hand, palm up.
Sungjong stands there, feeling exactly as he did a night before their grand debut: the future stretched out before him, continuous and turbulent and seemingly infinite.
Sungjong goes back to school but he still sleeps at three in the mornings, because he has homework and he needs to log in online, because Woohyun needs someone to tell jokes and sing late-night lullabies to via webcam.
“You’re the only one who actually listens,” he says, face slightly pixilated, and Sungjong smiles in his darkened room.
Sungyeol texts him every week, like clockwork, and Sunggyu calls occasionally, ending every conversation with reminders like don’t forget to clean your room and drink lots of water to soothe your vocal cords.
“I don’t sing anymore, hyung,” he says into the phone, and there’s a beat before Sunggyu replies, almost cautiously.
“Just in case.”
Myungsoo lives in Hongdae, in an apartment so compact that the first time Sungjong visits, he bumps his knee on the dining table and falls onto the bed. There are psychology books and notebooks on top of every available surface and the apartment smells incredibly clean, like soap and bleach and the sharp scent of brand new books.
Sungjong visits as often as he can, and sometimes he packs a small overnight bag because they talk about shoes (Sungjong) and heuristics (Myungsoo) and the future until it’s one in the morning. Myungsoo doesn’t bring up the past or Infinite or any of the other boys.
Other times, they do more than talk and the bed sheets are cool beneath his skin and Myungsoo is quiet next to him, their limbs entangled.
“Someone came up to me after class and said I reminded her of L,” Myungsoo says one evening, lying face-up on the bed next to Sungjong, who is flipping through a textbook on the human brain.
Sungjong looks up from the book. “What did you say?”
“I told her I’ve never watched Death Note.”
There’s a reason why Myungsoo does not answer his phone when certain numbers appear on screen, a reason why he lugs heavy psychology books to classes and back, a reason why there are times he is even darker now than L had ever been.
“Why?” Sungjong asks, after Myungsoo’s vibrating phone falls silent for the second time. It is midday, Sunday.
“You’ve never been the cryptic type. Why what?”
“Why don’t you keep in contact with the others?”
Myungsoo blinks. “What would we talk about?”
“Ordinary things.”
“Ordinary things like who is snoring too loudly or what we should really have for dinner and whose turn it is to do the dishes? We’ve all moved beyond that phase, Sungjong.” He goes back to making his careful notes from the hardcover book on his desk and Sungjong sits there, feet thumping against the side of the bed until he decides to do something about it and this and Myungsoo.
“We’re going out,” he announces and Myungsoo lifts his head.
Sungjong doesn’t wait for a reply because he stands and pulls Myungsoo to his feet and they make their way, Sungjong half-dragging Myungsoo, three blocks to the closest karaoke place. It’s dim and dingy and the windows are tinted and Sungjong grins. “Perfect.”
Myungsoo laughs.
They’re shown to smoky room, peanut shells littering the couch, and Sungjong thanks the dull-eyed host and shuts the door behind him. When he turns around, Myungsoo is already scrolling through the song list on the screen.
“I don’t sing,” Myungsoo says, eyes fixed on the screen, looking but not seeing.
“We used to-”
Myungsoo shakes his head. “I don’t sing now,” he says, voice placid and steady. It’s the same tone he remembers Myungsoo using in front of the cameras as L, because above singing and dancing, Myungsoo is an actor.
Sungjong is three months away from graduating high school and there is still a lot he doesn’t know, but if there is one thing he is sure of, it is that Myungsoo is barely coping.
“Well, you can watch me sing,” Sungjong says just as steadily, taking the remote from Myungsoo’s hand and searching the list for a particular song. It’s a familiar one, one Sungjong can sing in his sleep. The mike in his hands, heavy and cool, is enough to make his breath quicken but all he does is grip it tighter and when he sings, he thinks of Infinite but he tries not to think too hard.
Sungjong sings for the first time in months.
Myungsoo watches noiselessly, back pressed to the fraying couch, unmoving.
“I sang yesterday,” Sungjong says as a greeting when Sunggyu calls, which causes an excited Really? to blare through the receiver.
“It was just at the karaoke,” he replies, amused.
“Baby steps, Sungjong, baby steps back to show business.”
He laughs, but it dies away. “Myungsoo-hyung was with me.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “How is he?”
“He’s fine,” Sungjong says, even though what he really means is coping and coping and fine are opposite ends of the How-Is-Someone scale.
“I was thinking about a reunion, all seven of us. We could have a barbeque dinner, just like we used to on special occasions.” Sunggyu sounds enthusiastic, but it’s measured. “It’s already been half a year since-everything.”
Not long enough for Myungsoo, Sungjong thinks but he says, “That sounds great,” instead and then they run out of words.
Myungsoo is more weary than angry the next time Sungjong sees him.
He stands at the door of his apartment, staring at Sungjong and his overnight duffle bag in hand.
“Do you know how I found out the group was going to break up?” he says levelly, leaning against the doorframe and he doesn’t leave time for Sungjong to answer because he continues speaking.
“I didn’t eavesdrop or overhear it. They told me and this is exactly what they said: Infinite is going to break up and we’re telling you this now because we want to keep you. They were going to cut the group down from seven boys to one and they wanted me to stay.”
Sungjong’s grip on the duffle bag tightens because there are a myriad of different conversations he expects to have with Myungsoo after the Karaoke Incident but this is something he does not even consider. “You feel guilty.”
“It took me seven months of psychology classes and a trip to the karaoke place to figure that out,” Myungsoo says with a humourless smile. He steps to the side and Sungjong enters the apartment, toeing off his sneakers.
“It’s not your fault. Hyung, you know that.”
Myungsoo moves towards the bed and sits at the very edge. “In class, we learn that there are two things the human mind cannot comprehend: absolute certainty and the concept of forever.”
Sungjong climbs onto the bed and reaches out to touch Myungsoo, who bites his lip. “I know it’s not your fault,” Sungjong says, even though he knows he can’t argue against human psychology, “and they know it’s not your fault.”
Myungsoo turns to press his face to Sungjong’s shoulder. He is quiet and this is the first time it occurs to Sungjong how quiet Myungsoo’s apartment is. There are no ticking clocks, no muffled voices beyond the walls, no soft music playing from the radio.
Soon, Sungjong’s sleeve grows damp but everything is still steeped in silence because Myungsoo does not make a sound.
Life goes on.
Myungsoo excels in his classes but he still cannot bring himself to sing (“Everything is easier in theory,” he says) and Sungjong still sleeps over as often as he can. Sunggyu still calls but there is no more talk about reunions, not yet, and Sungyeol still ends every text with Tell Myungsoo I said hi! and Sungjong does.
“Tell him I said hey,” Myungsoo replies off-handedly one day, after Sungjong repeats Sungyeol’s message, causing Sungjong’s fingers to pause on the keypads. “What?” Myungsoo says with a grin, but his voice wavers and his smile is timid and Sungjong shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he says with a small smile of his own because in between Coping (denial) and Fine (a reunion) is Getting Better (Hellos and songs to sing and acceptance).
concrit is welcomed!
Pairing: Sungjong/Myungsoo
Genre: angst, romance
Rating: T
a rough guide on how to cope
It’s an eight-hour flight back to Seoul, and Sungjong is trying his best to get comfortable in his cramped seat.
There’s an airline-issue blanket and two thin pillows and Sungyeol’s elbow on top of him, making it hard to breathe, let alone sit comfortably. He has two choices: stay or make his way towards the toilets down the back, where he has to brave the aisles.
Sungyeol shifts, elbowing him in the hip, and Sungjong sighs because there’s really not much of a choice.
He eases his way out of his seat with such skill that Sungyeol doesn’t even stir, leaving behind a deflated fortress of pillows and blankets in his wake as he makes his way quietly to the back.
He keeps his head bent and he counts his steps on the dark, dullish blue carpet until the curtain is in reach. No one shrieks or reaches out to grab him this time, and Sungjong exhales loudly, slipping behind it and leaning against of one of the cubicle doors is Myungsoo.
“Hyung,” he says, surprised, and Myungsoo turns to look at him, eyes red and puffy. This is not why Sungjong stares, because red, puffy eyes are a common sight. No, it is the way Myungsoo looks at him, mouth opened slightly as though to speak but there are no words. “What’s wrong?”
Myungsoo blinks, once, twice, and then he moves so swiftly that by the time Sungjong exhales, he’s locked inside a cubicle along with Myungsoo, sink pressing into his back. Myungsoo leans against him, half because there’s not enough space, half because there’s something in Myungsoo’s eyes that tell him he wants to.
It’s so still and they are so very close that Sungjong can feel Myungsoo’s breath fan out across his cheeks in staccato intervals.
Myungsoo seems to stall, as though calculating the risk of doing what he is going to do against the regret of not doing so and Sungjong pulls at the front of his shirt until Myungsoo loses balance and then they are kissing, thirty-thousand feet up in the air.
It’s now, only now that Sungjong realises Myungsoo’s cheeks are damp against his and something is terribly wrong because he has never seen Myungsoo cry, ever.
“Wha-” Sungjong starts, pulling away but Myungsoo shakes his head and tugs Sungjong back towards him, keeping in the words.
It’s only much later, after they make their way back to the seats, after Myungsoo convinces Woohyun to trade seats with Sungjong, after Sungjong lulls between sleep and not-sleep, head on Myungsoo’s shoulder, that Myungsoo speaks.
“One hour till we land,” he says and Sungjong yawns and nods, contemplating on whether he should tell Myungsoo to please be quiet because he’d like to sleep but Myungsoo continues speaking, voice so quiet that the low tremors of the engines threaten to engulf his words whole.
“They’re disbanding Infinite.”
It is not immediate.
It takes months and months for it to happen - just long enough for Sungjong to believe that maybe it is all a misunderstanding; maybe Infinite will live up to its name after all.
They’re still best friends, him and Myungsoo. There are no more covert kisses, not when they’re in the dorm alone, not when they’re left to wash the dishes together. Sungjong doesn’t ask and Myungsoo doesn’t bring up what happened on the airplane and they don’t talk about the impending breakdown, because their conversations are routine: Woohyun’s cooking and Howon snoring in his sleep and dance practices that leave bruises and aching limbs.
It’s like nothing has changed and nothing is ever going to change, because they still rehearse and dream about winning their first award but there are signs; forewarnings because no one mentions anything about comebacks or new songs and best friends don’t kiss each other and expect to remain best friends and nothing more.
And when it happens, it happens on a painfully ordinary day.
The managers explain it is not Infinite’s fault. It has to do with the scandal, they say, and we have tried finding a new management for the group to work with but nothing has fallen through.
Myungsoo stares at the parquet flooring as the news breaks and everyone just stares at the managers, disbelieved gazes all around. Sungjong has his hands clasped, fingers twisted painfully together and he almost cannot believe this is happening.
We’re really sorry, the managers say.
The questions start soon after, dazed and subdued at first, until the air is choked with unanswered questions and Sungyeol is the first one who cries. Sungjong can feel his throat start to tighten and he pushes himself to his feet, because he needs to do something other than sit on the floor and cry but Myungsoo appears in front of him, eyes dry but red-rimmed.
He extends a hand, palm up.
Sungjong stands there, feeling exactly as he did a night before their grand debut: the future stretched out before him, continuous and turbulent and seemingly infinite.
Sungjong goes back to school but he still sleeps at three in the mornings, because he has homework and he needs to log in online, because Woohyun needs someone to tell jokes and sing late-night lullabies to via webcam.
“You’re the only one who actually listens,” he says, face slightly pixilated, and Sungjong smiles in his darkened room.
Sungyeol texts him every week, like clockwork, and Sunggyu calls occasionally, ending every conversation with reminders like don’t forget to clean your room and drink lots of water to soothe your vocal cords.
“I don’t sing anymore, hyung,” he says into the phone, and there’s a beat before Sunggyu replies, almost cautiously.
“Just in case.”
Myungsoo lives in Hongdae, in an apartment so compact that the first time Sungjong visits, he bumps his knee on the dining table and falls onto the bed. There are psychology books and notebooks on top of every available surface and the apartment smells incredibly clean, like soap and bleach and the sharp scent of brand new books.
Sungjong visits as often as he can, and sometimes he packs a small overnight bag because they talk about shoes (Sungjong) and heuristics (Myungsoo) and the future until it’s one in the morning. Myungsoo doesn’t bring up the past or Infinite or any of the other boys.
Other times, they do more than talk and the bed sheets are cool beneath his skin and Myungsoo is quiet next to him, their limbs entangled.
“Someone came up to me after class and said I reminded her of L,” Myungsoo says one evening, lying face-up on the bed next to Sungjong, who is flipping through a textbook on the human brain.
Sungjong looks up from the book. “What did you say?”
“I told her I’ve never watched Death Note.”
There’s a reason why Myungsoo does not answer his phone when certain numbers appear on screen, a reason why he lugs heavy psychology books to classes and back, a reason why there are times he is even darker now than L had ever been.
“Why?” Sungjong asks, after Myungsoo’s vibrating phone falls silent for the second time. It is midday, Sunday.
“You’ve never been the cryptic type. Why what?”
“Why don’t you keep in contact with the others?”
Myungsoo blinks. “What would we talk about?”
“Ordinary things.”
“Ordinary things like who is snoring too loudly or what we should really have for dinner and whose turn it is to do the dishes? We’ve all moved beyond that phase, Sungjong.” He goes back to making his careful notes from the hardcover book on his desk and Sungjong sits there, feet thumping against the side of the bed until he decides to do something about it and this and Myungsoo.
“We’re going out,” he announces and Myungsoo lifts his head.
Sungjong doesn’t wait for a reply because he stands and pulls Myungsoo to his feet and they make their way, Sungjong half-dragging Myungsoo, three blocks to the closest karaoke place. It’s dim and dingy and the windows are tinted and Sungjong grins. “Perfect.”
Myungsoo laughs.
They’re shown to smoky room, peanut shells littering the couch, and Sungjong thanks the dull-eyed host and shuts the door behind him. When he turns around, Myungsoo is already scrolling through the song list on the screen.
“I don’t sing,” Myungsoo says, eyes fixed on the screen, looking but not seeing.
“We used to-”
Myungsoo shakes his head. “I don’t sing now,” he says, voice placid and steady. It’s the same tone he remembers Myungsoo using in front of the cameras as L, because above singing and dancing, Myungsoo is an actor.
Sungjong is three months away from graduating high school and there is still a lot he doesn’t know, but if there is one thing he is sure of, it is that Myungsoo is barely coping.
“Well, you can watch me sing,” Sungjong says just as steadily, taking the remote from Myungsoo’s hand and searching the list for a particular song. It’s a familiar one, one Sungjong can sing in his sleep. The mike in his hands, heavy and cool, is enough to make his breath quicken but all he does is grip it tighter and when he sings, he thinks of Infinite but he tries not to think too hard.
Sungjong sings for the first time in months.
Myungsoo watches noiselessly, back pressed to the fraying couch, unmoving.
“I sang yesterday,” Sungjong says as a greeting when Sunggyu calls, which causes an excited Really? to blare through the receiver.
“It was just at the karaoke,” he replies, amused.
“Baby steps, Sungjong, baby steps back to show business.”
He laughs, but it dies away. “Myungsoo-hyung was with me.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “How is he?”
“He’s fine,” Sungjong says, even though what he really means is coping and coping and fine are opposite ends of the How-Is-Someone scale.
“I was thinking about a reunion, all seven of us. We could have a barbeque dinner, just like we used to on special occasions.” Sunggyu sounds enthusiastic, but it’s measured. “It’s already been half a year since-everything.”
Not long enough for Myungsoo, Sungjong thinks but he says, “That sounds great,” instead and then they run out of words.
Myungsoo is more weary than angry the next time Sungjong sees him.
He stands at the door of his apartment, staring at Sungjong and his overnight duffle bag in hand.
“Do you know how I found out the group was going to break up?” he says levelly, leaning against the doorframe and he doesn’t leave time for Sungjong to answer because he continues speaking.
“I didn’t eavesdrop or overhear it. They told me and this is exactly what they said: Infinite is going to break up and we’re telling you this now because we want to keep you. They were going to cut the group down from seven boys to one and they wanted me to stay.”
Sungjong’s grip on the duffle bag tightens because there are a myriad of different conversations he expects to have with Myungsoo after the Karaoke Incident but this is something he does not even consider. “You feel guilty.”
“It took me seven months of psychology classes and a trip to the karaoke place to figure that out,” Myungsoo says with a humourless smile. He steps to the side and Sungjong enters the apartment, toeing off his sneakers.
“It’s not your fault. Hyung, you know that.”
Myungsoo moves towards the bed and sits at the very edge. “In class, we learn that there are two things the human mind cannot comprehend: absolute certainty and the concept of forever.”
Sungjong climbs onto the bed and reaches out to touch Myungsoo, who bites his lip. “I know it’s not your fault,” Sungjong says, even though he knows he can’t argue against human psychology, “and they know it’s not your fault.”
Myungsoo turns to press his face to Sungjong’s shoulder. He is quiet and this is the first time it occurs to Sungjong how quiet Myungsoo’s apartment is. There are no ticking clocks, no muffled voices beyond the walls, no soft music playing from the radio.
Soon, Sungjong’s sleeve grows damp but everything is still steeped in silence because Myungsoo does not make a sound.
Life goes on.
Myungsoo excels in his classes but he still cannot bring himself to sing (“Everything is easier in theory,” he says) and Sungjong still sleeps over as often as he can. Sunggyu still calls but there is no more talk about reunions, not yet, and Sungyeol still ends every text with Tell Myungsoo I said hi! and Sungjong does.
“Tell him I said hey,” Myungsoo replies off-handedly one day, after Sungjong repeats Sungyeol’s message, causing Sungjong’s fingers to pause on the keypads. “What?” Myungsoo says with a grin, but his voice wavers and his smile is timid and Sungjong shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he says with a small smile of his own because in between Coping (denial) and Fine (a reunion) is Getting Better (Hellos and songs to sing and acceptance).
concrit is welcomed!