We'll Never Sleep (Jihyo/Haha)

[warmboys]

Converted--thanks Jeny.

We’ll Never Sleep
Jihyo/Haha
950 words

She doesn’t know she’s lonely until she meets him because, you know, it takes someone good to remind you what you’re missing. And it takes her some time to come to terms with the fact, because the last man she dated with a real mustache ended up sleeping with her ex-best friend and naturally those things kind of superstitify themselves. “It’s either the facial hair or me,” she’s dreamed of saying before, but even in the dream he just kisses her fears away or does some of that crazy imp voodoo to distract her. Once she wakes up next to his hairy foot and thinks about shaving it off, all of it, everywhere, but doesn’t get so far as two steps from the couch before his arm swoops around her in this pseudo-possessive way like he needs to hold to her even in his sleep because she might disappear otherwise. Knowing they share fears should be comforting but it just makes her more nervous.

When he first asks her out, she doesn’t even know it until he’s paid the bill. “The soup was delicious,” she says, wiping her mouth, and he just looks at her with a curious smile like he’s waiting for something. “What?” she asks, but that look is familiar, and she can practically hear the gears in her head as they click into place.

“What? I can’t look at you?” he says.

“You said you were in the neighborhood,” she says. “But you . . . drove here. Just to see me.”

“Please,” he snorts, but his mouth is embarrassed and he’s avoiding her gaze. “You’re done eating right?”

“Oppa,” she says, but she doesn’t know what comes after. It’s been a while for her, too, and honestly it’s never been quite like this.

“Fine,” he says later. “I’ll admit I have a crush. But Song Jihyo-will you admit you’re shallow if you don’t fall for this?” He’s holding J'ai tué ma mere in one arm and a box of Munchkins they picked up at Dunkin Donuts in the other and waiting to be let into her apartment. She toes off a sneaker and tells him, “You’re an ass.” When he grins the mustache twitches like it knows.

“Gwangsu was right,” he says.

He licks the sugar off his fingers after every donut. She smears some on his nose, and he tries to lick that off, too, and then she slaps him, because they’re still pretending to be watching this movie.

It takes her by surprise, how fast this is happening. He’s still nervous about being completely naked with her, unless the lights are all off, which is funny because he’s always stripping in front of the camera. “That’s different,” he says, playing with her fingers, pressing down on the indents between knuckles.

“Why don’t you go on a diet then?” she suggests.

“Why can’t you love me for who I am?” he says in a deafening stage whisper, and she stiffens, because who said anything about love? It’s always the bad boys that surprise you, suddenly begging for commitment. Sometimes she wants anything but to be the man in the relationship, a role that’s been designated to her for the past decade and half, as early as when fresh-faced Jihoon from class 2-A asked for her phone number back in high school and then they talked every night until she ran out of things to say and patience to keep listening. He only talked about soccer and his family, like there was nothing about the world beyond his immediate grasp that he found interesting. And it’s been like this ever since, always been her who Just Wasn’t That Interested, her who bore the brunt of the bad girlfriend label just because she didn’t want her relationships to define her life.

She doesn’t say anything, just presses up against his chest until she’s comfortable, his fleshy chin resting lightly on her hair. “You make a good pillow,” she says. His breathing changes when he’s agitated (they’ve played enough games to know how this goes). “Just stay this way,” she adds, which is as close to an admission as she’ll allow herself to get. For now at least.

It’s hard, because they can’t do this on the show, because no one wants to see chubby people win happy endings. Chubby people are the comic relief, but everyone’s funny here so he doesn’t even really have that. So he makes his gestures bigger, crazier, with that raspy maniacal laugh and octopus arms, and she’s got Gary. Who’s also got a crush, but it’s just puppy love, and he’d never do that to a friend. But she wonders if she’ll slip up and one day the camera will catch Donghoon helping her out of a pool or tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, and if they zoom in on her expression, whether it will be of that unspeakable and inadmissible “I kind of adore you,” which is again three words removed from the truth because even in her daydreams she can’t say it, like her imaginary lips have been sealed shut by previous trauma or just, just plain cowardice. Maybe she really is a man.

So she’s careful on set, and it’s easy because acting’s what she does for a living and it’s her place he stumbles into later anyway when it’s already light outside but neither of them’s gotten any shuteye. “Nice shorts,” she says groggily from under the covers when he gently pushes open her bedroom door. He waits until her eyes are closed to change into the boxers she laid out for him on the chair and join her.