unorthodox part II
“Yah.”
Jackson carefully guides his eyeballs to the right, unable to do much more, seeing as he’s imprisoned in a stylist’s chair right now, having his hair done.
“Uh, what?” he replies, stifling a cough through a mouthful of BB powder. A makeup artist’s come round now, too, dabbing at his face with an expensive looking powder puff.
Jaebum’s eyes are closed as another stylist does his eyeliner, one putting finishing touches into his hair, but he still manages to hold a decent conversation. It’s unfair. Probably those two extra years of experience, Jackson gripes.
“You need to talk to Yugyeom.”
Jackson wants to sigh, but upon inhaling, snorts some powder, and sneezes violently, jettisoning himself off the chair. The hair stylist lets out a cry of despair.
“It’s not my fault,” Jackson grumbles, after apologising profusely to the stylists. “Who told you about that, anyway?”
“I noticed,” Jaebum says simply, and Jackson is wholly impressed for the entirety of about a second. “That and Bambam ratted you guys out.”
“That brat,” Jackson mutters.
“That brat has a point,” Jaebum’s eyes are still closed, entire body perfectly still. Jackson has no idea how he does it. “You do realise we need all of us to be together for this team to work. And Yugyeom’s second only to Jinyoungie when it comes to holding grudges.”
“How would you know,” Jackson rubs his nose, and the makeup artist almost shrieks right then and there.
“You would too, if you were in training studio six that night last month,” Jaebum says casually, and Jackson scrunches up his nose, having been shunted back into his seat by a noticeably fiercer stylist. He obligingly closes his eyes when the eyeliner’s poked dangerously close to his pupils.
“The one with all the old gym mats and springboards?” he says, eyes still closed. “And I still don’t get what I have to do-…I mean, talking’s out of the question, because damn, getting that kid to talk is like squeezing water out of a rock. I just don’t know how to deal with him, hyung, I’m scared I’ll just piss him off further-…for shit’s sake, why can’t these kids just say what’s on their mind, so we can settle this like men- what do you think, hyung? How’d you deal with him that time?”
A long silence follows, and Jackson’s eyelid twitches, tempted to open- he immediately receives a sharp verbal warning. He remains obediently motionless then.
“Hyung?” he chances again, eyes still closed. “Like I don’t get it, what should I say to make it better? We don’t even get an excuse to talk, and Gyeommie just makes everything more awkward- if he just talked to me for a minute or something, we’d probably be able to iron things out. Hyung, what should I do?”
Jackson’s starting to get uncomfortable from the silence, so when the makeup artist moves away, his eyes fly open, ignoring the thirty second wait period for the eyeliner to dry.
Sitting in Jaebum’s seat, now, looking thoroughly amused, is Bambam.
“Shit,” Jackson wails so loudly that a passing staff member pokes his head into the room to check if everything’s alright.
“Jackson hyung,” Bambam simpers, crossing his long legs as a stylist comes to help with his makeup (mostly to praise what he’s already been able to do for himself, attention that the younger boy laps up eagerly). “If that’s the way you really feel about Gyeommie, you should just express your true feelings, and that’ll clear up everything!”
“If you tell anyone what I said just now, I’ll string you up,” Jackson threatens, before being wrenched back into a straight position by the hairstylist. “And you don’t think I’ve tried? He just keeps walking out of every conversation I try to have. Why can’t he be more like you,” Jackson bemoans, “though I’ll probably die from noise pollution, then.”
“You’re one to talk about noise pollution,” Bambam inspects his nails, immediately striking an aegyo pose for the hairstylist who’s come to help him, earning a sweet coo and a promise to do his hair well in return. “And this is why I’m the best friend,” he points to himself, looking straight ahead at the mirror, before pointing at Jackson. “And you’re the peasant.”
“Excuse-…” Jackson starts, affronted, head held in a vicelike grip by his own hairstylist.
“You obviously don’t know Gyeommie well enough,” Bambam sighs. “The age line affects him more than he lets on- he wouldn’t talk to you,” he catches Jackson’s reflection in his mirror with a snide look. Jackson’s about to explode from frustration and curiosity, when Bambam continues smoothly.
“You have to do something.”
“Yeah,” Jackson starts hotly. “So I was asking-…”
“Do something,” Bambam emphasises. “You ever heard of the love languages, hyung? You can’t talk your way around Yugyeom, he doesn’t buy that shit. Just do something for him, and he’ll listen.”
Jackson’s mouth is half open from his last retort, so when a makeup artist swoops down to fix the foundation on his nose, a majority of the powder goes in.
“So what do I do?” he coughs, wiping some of it off his tongue with a paper towel. “Bam?”
Bambam points meaningfully to the noona currently applying lipstain for him, with a look as though to say whoops, I would help, really, except I can’t.
Jackson makes a frustrated, repressed noise into his paper towel, and sits in grumpy silence at last, as the makeup is finished.
But then they’re rushed backstage by a harassed Noyoung, and Jackson, predictably, completely forgets the conversation.
*
Until three nights later, of course.
Jackson snorts awake from his (really short, he’s sure) catnap on the couch, emcee cue cards scattered on his lap, and realises, with a glance at the clock, that he’s “catnapped” for about three hours. Damn.
At least I’m not late for anything now, he stretches, wiping drool away using his sleeve, and smacks his lips. High time for a snack.
He stumbles into the kitchen, leaving a breadcrumb trail of cue cards from the couch in his wake, checking the clock on the wall as he goes. Eleven-thirty pm- technically, he’s not supposed to be eating anything now, but whatever. He’s a growing man. He has his rights.
But then Jackson stops in the doorway, catching sight of Yugyeom, in a hoodie and those terrible black skinnies he always likes to wear (terrible because Jackson can’t wear those without looking like a hippo, while they look like they were stitched specially to accentuate every inch of Yugyeom’s legs when he wears them), tossing a bottle into a bag.
“Oh, uh, hey,” he says, vaguely aware that his hair resembles a platinum blond bird’s nest on top of his head right now. Yugyeom makes a sound of acknowledgement, and Jackson braves on. “You going out right now?”
“Yeah, company building for a while,” Yugyeom slings the bag over his shoulder.
“Dance with the other trainees?” Jackson asks, as Yugyeom walks out past him to grab the roll of socks he’d placed on the table.
“Yeah,” Yugyeom nods, drawing out a chair to sit down and put them on, and Jackson hesitates.
He knows he looks like a mess right now- in the same shirt he came back in after his solo variety show hosting, plus a pair of greying boxers and striped socks because it was all he could do to take off his shoes and pants before flopping down onto the sofa (the pants are still on the floor), but all that’s at the back of his mind right now.
Jackson has more important things to take care of than his image.
“Wait,” he says pointedly, then, making a decision, and Yugyeom looks up with a slightly amused, mostly confused expression, as Jackson windmills back into the kitchen, grabbing the same lime green flask from its perch on the draining rack, quickly cobbling together several things from the cupboard.
He almost burns himself with hot water about thrice, and the countertop’s a bit of a mess, but by the time Yugyeom walks over, Jackson’s screwing on the cap, vaguely proud of himself.
“Here,” he thrusts the flask out at the maknae, suddenly self-aware. “Hot chocolate, with more milk and less hot water, uh, like how you always make it,” Yugyeom takes the flask, not without a hint of suspicion, and Jackson feels a stab of indignity. “It’s-…uh, it’s cold outside,” he gestures pointedly. “And if you get sick, Jinyoung will, uh, be cranky. It’s for the good of the team.”
“Sure,” Yugyeom opens the flask, as though checking for poison, before he notices something. “No marshmallows?”
“Yeah,” Jackson says, suddenly anxious. “I mean, you always say they get in the way of the chocolate, so…”
He trails off, and Yugyeom smiles a little then, undoing the worrisome knot in Jackson’s stomach.
“Wow, thanks hyung.”
“I was,” Jackson flaps an arm back meaninglessly. “Going to make something, anyway, so I thought,” he fumbles with his words, shrugging. “Anyway, you’re going to the company building?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting Momo-noona and a couple of trainees there,” Yugyeom divulges the information with a slight bit more ease, and Jackson feels oddly proud. “Just to dance for a bit.”
“Yeah, uh, well,” Jackson nods quickly to the window in the kitchen for emphasis. “It’s cold outside, so make sure you’re bundled up. And uh, don’t stay out too late- I-…I know I’m not supposed to lecture you, or whatever, but uh, it’d be great if you both could come back earlier.”
“You’re one to talk, you filmed for Roommate at four in the morning,” Yugyeom chuckles, before he seems to catch himself, and shrugs, nodding towards the door. “I’d probably better get going.”
“Yeah, uh, yeah,” Jackson steps aside, letting him go. A little noise escapes the back of his throat, then, and Yugyeom turns back questioningly. “By the way, uh,” he inhales, steeling himself, from the top of his bird nest hair to the tips of his yellowing striped socks. “I’m-sorry-about-what-I-said-that-night,” he tries to play this off immediately to avoid the potential awkwardness to follow. “I mean, I noticed you were kinda upset, and yeah, I was being a bit of a jerk, but I was tired, and Noyoung always gets up on my case whenever I’m late, and-…”
He trails off, noting Yugyeom watching him, half embarrassed, half amused, and feels the tips of his ears grow hot.
“If you’re not going to-…”
“I’m sorry too, hyung,” Yugyeom says, hefting his bag a little higher, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll stop bothering you so much- you’re just cute when you’re annoyed,” he shrugs, like this is the most normal thing a maknae could say to a band member three years older than him. “Anyway, bye, and thanks for the hot chocolate.”
He leaves, then, door closing softly behind him, like he’s contemplating if there’s something else he should say. Jackson waits one second, two, then lets out a long breath, before doing a small victory whoop. That went particularly swell.
“By the way,” Yugyeom suddenly pops back in, and Jackson immediately snaps to attention, pretending he hadn’t been doing anything embarrassing. “Nice underwear, hyung,” he gives Jackson a pointed look, before closing the door again, humming as he goes.
Jackson sticks out his tongue at him after he goes, but smiles, anyway.
*
Bambam frowns.
“You know,” he announces loudly, in the direction of where Jackson and Yugyeom are on the couch, deeply immersed in the latest video game Mark’s doting siblings have sent him. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to play too.”
By some means of witchcraft and wizardry, Jackson swears, Yugyeom manages to lazily throw an arm around Bambam’s waist, give his butt a reassuring squeeze, and decimate Jackson’s avatar with a 5-hit combo. It’s ridiculous.
“Yeah, how about like, tomorrow, Bam,” Jackson says distractedly, as they start another game. “I’m two games away from victory.”
“More like five, hyung.”
“Shut up, you.”
Bambam huffs, scandalised at this latest show of neglect, before storming off to Mark to try and wheedle out some attention, grumbling about useless best friends.
Meanwhile Jackson grabs a cheese crisp from the bowl between them, navigating his cursor to the busty Japanese girl in the character selection page, and chews leisurely.
“Best two out of three?”
“I’ve already won four,” Yugyeom reminds him.
“And I won, like, uh, one,” Jackson turns up his nose, trying to gloss over that fact. “Best two of three or nothing.”
Yugyeom shrugs, grinning. “Whatever you say, hyung.”
Jackson threatens to tip over Yugyeom’s cup of chocolate milk, then, and Yugyeom replies drily that he’d have to deal with Jaebum regarding the spoilt video game controllers.
(Yugyeom ends up winning two of the three games, and Jackson swears the maknae just lets him win the last one out of pity, but he’s the one who jams Yugyeom’s head under a cushion when it’s over, anyway, both of them yelling and laughing, so he guesses they both win.)