Milky Way Sorrows Tomorrow
Title: Milky Way Sorrows Tomorrow
Rating: PG
Focus/Pairing: Daehyun/Youngjae
Words: 6200+
AU: !You Who Came from the Stars
Summary: Daehyun's life is a sequence of poorly timed jokes with other worldly elements.
Note: For the Brownie Bunch fic exchange \o/
Milky Way Sorrows Tomorrow (or A Brief History of Constellations)
There are tv rocket ships with glowing lights and strikingly white steel and then there are real ships as tall as Godzilla. As far as Daehyun is concerned, his ship is somewhere in between. Although it’s not exactly white, it has a kind of endearing charm to it with its cardboard brown. It’s a true vessel worthy of space glory.
Daehyun looks up at the clear sky and fastens his bicycle helmet on with pride. Space. And safety. But mostly space. When he told his mom about his dangerous trip to Saturn, there were no tears or concerns for his safety, just for his guarantee to come home before supper. It’s not the exact reaction he expects from his mother, but it’s a promise he’s going to keep.
(Also there's fried chicken for dinner tonight, plus, his mom mentioned cheesecake for dessert. Daehyun bets that all astronauts get victory feasts after their brave missions, too. After all, heroes deserve the absolute best; fighting aliens and protecting the universe is tough work.)
The stars above him fade in and out of his field of view. They blink out of existence and then reappear the next, twinkling along with some unheard rhythm. On this night, they shine with greater radiance, displaying colors more vibrant than usual, like red and blue. Oh, wait, nevermind, those are just airplanes. But the actual stars are still beautiful, too (albeit less colorful). Against the dark backdrop of night, they act like guides made of pure light. He wishes the star map in his bedroom was as pretty and true.
As the clusters of stars connect, more of space reveals itself to him. He points to the celestial body resembling his cat--who, by the way, mewed incessantly to accompany him, however, space travel is just too dangerous for an itty bitty kitty cat. Anyways: he vows to visit that same spot in space and touch the very stars that comprise his imagination. His mom can’t yell at him to wash his hands after, too.
Stars are definitely germ free.
He closes the folds of his cardboard spaceship down and prepares for lift off. His arms and legs are tucked securely up against his body. His eyes peer out the crudely cut window and he prepares for the second his grassy field of view transforms into the sky. He counts down: five, four, three, two, one, blastoff!
But his box doesn’t move, except for maybe an inch on his own accord. He can still hear the radio playing softly from the kitchen (some stupid trot) and the chirping cicadas. He pops his head out of the box; none of his books ever said the galaxy looked so much like his backyard.
(And for good reason because his yard is littered with his toys and the remnants of his mom’s garden after all the bugs got to it.)
Daehyun is seven and is pretending to be an astronaut. The space helmet on his head, that's supposed to carry oxygen, smells a lot like his goldfish, rather than the sanitary procedures of any credible space program. And he never reaches the stars, or gets of his back yard, for that matter.
That night, Daehyun mercilessly grinds through chicken like a wood chipper, as his parents stare at his curious behavior. Okay, he doesn’t get to stars that night, and maybe not the day after, or the day after that either, and his fried chicken doesn’t taste nearly as good as it should. But he knows eventually that he will and it will be like nothing he ever hoped for because it’ll be better. Ten folds. A hundred folds. And maybe there’ll be two cats instead of one.
Dream big because the sky’s not the limit, and as far as Daehyun knows: the universe has no edge.
He’s gonna reach the stars, in time.
With a swift tap Daehyun posts the management’s approved tweet about his approaching comeback, and within seconds the retweets and favorites flood his feed.
“Hi, my Celestial Bodies! I hope you're excited for my comeback~ You didn't cheat on me while I was gone right? Cause that would be bad <3”
(#daehyun, #oppa, #triplecrown, #comeback, #celestialbodies, #celebi)
After scrolling through a couple of mentions, he throws his phone to the side, falling flat onto his blankets, and sighs. All he wants in the world at this moment is some snacks of the artificial flavoring kind. But the home is empty and there's a photoshoot at six am tomorrow. His manager has lectured him about his eating habits several times, food just tastes better at three in the morning, though. Blah, blah, responsibilities, blah, stardom, blah, blah, sleep more. Bleh. Besides, Daehyun hasn’t needed sleep in the past six years, no reason to start now. He hears his phone vibrates and he leaves without checking it.
It's three in the morning, and forty plus hours before he makes his name relevant in the industry again and then more obscurity. And all he’s craving for is a cheap cup of instant ramen and maybe some barbeque chips (if he’s feeling extra rebellious). The cycle continues; he is Jung Daehyun, a tiny speck on an insignificant rock in a vastly expanding universe that doesn’t give two shits about him. Well, at least it knows how to provide some fantastic junk food. God bless.
There’s a convenience store two block from his penthouse of which he is a known regular. He knows all the employees and their nights, along with how long each sausage has been rotating in the rack for and whether or not the nacho cheese is fresh---
The cheese is microwave warm and the hot dogs must have been made sometime in the afternoon. None of their items are in their peak conditions and neither is the face of the cashier tonight. He isn’t the old guy that works to just pass the time, the one college student locked in debt, or the other student with loans, or even the third one. Man, there’s a lot of guys with debt.
“Who are you?” follows the ding of the automatic doors.
“Your oh so courteous server of the night?” the kid replies without sparing a glance from his tough task of restocking the packages of cigarettes stored behind the counter. He finishes his tobacco stacked pyramid with a nod of approval, “Welcome. How may I help you?”
It's cheesy, rehearsed, and his smile blinds Daehyun (or maybe it’s the store’s crummy lighting, hard to decide).
Daehyun recomposes himself, “I--uhhh--has the microwave been fixed yet?”
A song that isn’t his plays through the speakers; something poppy, similar to the snap of bubblegum with hints of sugar coated lyrics. It matches the guy’s shiny blond hair and age. Daehyun does a quick double take to make sure he’s in the right store. The music is different, the guy is different, but the snacks are still the same as last night’s.
The air conditioning sends chills down his spine.
“Microwave?” the cashier repeats, “Oh, yeah! I fixed it this morning. Good to go. If you’re interested in using it, there’s some good chicken to be had still.” He throws in a flash of a thumbs up, too, to seal the deal.
As much as Daehyun enjoys the place’s chicken, he doubts the safety of a microwave repaired by someone that can’t be any older than him (or even fit to sell the cigarettes he was just arranging). That, and Daehyun was the one who broke the microwave so that discredits the repair guy even more (the thing was close to exploding, for reasons). “I’ll take your word for it.”
The boy shrugs, “Have it your way. I take home any perishables not sold.”
“So, are you new here, or…” he trails off.
“Nahhh,” he laughs, “I just like putting on the uniform for fun because I think stripes are flattering for my figure and that nametags are cool.” He gestures to it: Youngjae.
Daehyun looks him up and down. The dude is way too happy to be working the graveyard shift in such a dingy (but still Daehyun’s favorite) place. Plus his blond, bubbly hair clashes with the uninspiring uniform, flattering to figure or not. Daehyun stares a bit more before recalling his original midnight snack mission. He turns on his heel and strolls to his favorite aisle.
It’s two beautiful walls of colorful plastic, nevermind the cholesterol and heart failure hidden behind each beautiful package of delicious artificial flavoring and color. Yellow #5 all the way.
Aside from the lack of space travel, Daehyun is glad to live in the time he does. Daehyun grabs two ramen flavors (spicy beef and kimchi, one for now and another for later). He also purchases barbecue chips and some sour cream and onion while he’s at it because to hell with his skin.
Another song that isn't Daehyun's queues up but rather than a happy go lucky mix, it's a rock ballad.
He's sitting by the counter facing the window as he waits for his soy sauce flavored ramen (okay, so maybe he grabbed three packets of ramen (treat yo self)) to heat up and be ready to eat. The area is quiet and aside from the street lights, there’s really nothing much to see. However, the city is still very metropolitan and upscale so there are little to no stars to view either. It's just a dark sky with silhouettes of tall buildings.
The store's empty, but the seat next to him is occupied.
"What are you doing?" Daehyun asks as the cashier sits next to him with his own plastic bowl of ramen heating up. Noodles are hanging down to the singer's chin and some of his broth splashes onto the employee's face.
Youngjae grins, "Eating alone is sad. So, I thought I'd join ya!"
Daehyun doesn't offer up a response but scoots an inch further away from Youngjae. He's thinking maybe he'll go away on his own. Youngjae doesn’t seemed discouraged, though, and the two eat together in silence with the sounds of their slurping and another random pop song ("dasi dorawa dorawa dorawa~").
By the time one of Daehyun's songs does come on, they're both on their second bowl of noodles.
The fluorescent lights buzz, the doors chime, and this is Daehyun’s “last supper” before kpop stardom claims him again.
"But, Daehyun, we can't make a food stop. We're already late for your photoshoot!" Manager Kang is pleading with the boy as they rush to the van.
"So? We're already late. What's five more minutes? You know I never go to any event without some chocolate!"
"You're not allowed chocolate anymore, Daehyun!"
"And I told you--to the closest convenience store, please--that I am the one who makes the decision of what I eat and when." Daehyun puts on his sponsored sunglasses and the conversation comes to an abrupt halt.
Two hours later at the same store and the kid is still working. "Back again so soon? Did you want to eat breakfast with me, too? I just put some pizza rolls in the oven!"
Daehyun's in and out in a second with a box of chocopies.
And maybe one pizza roll for the road.
He fucking loves pizza rolls.
(“You’re not allowed greasy snacks either!”
“What snack?” Daehyun asks with his mouth full indignantly.)
“Do you think I look fat in this photo?”
“No. I think your eating habits make you look fat.”
Kang patrols Daehyun’s lavish hallways. No saturated fats will pass by his lips this night; especially not with his comeback stage approaching the single digit hours.
Daehyun lounges on the balcony outside his bedroom. The cool night air brushes his hair and the drapes hanging by the door billows with the breeze. And the scent of the flowers decorating the area greet his senses.
Daehyun quietly hums the notes to his new song, but it’s drowned out by the uncharacteristic plane flying closely overhead tonight. The jet leaves behind a pale exhaust trail in an otherwise clear sky. It’s probably heading to some overseas destination far far away.
He slumps further into his patio chair, losing vision of the people on the streets and instead focuses in on the skyscrapers surrounding him. A few streets down is a small store wedged between two gigantic buildings and overflowing with comfort food. It’s neon sign flashes a hatefully green “open” with no interested passers by.
Kang’s footsteps echo from the hall and the star is reminded of tomorrow’s schedule. He drags himself away from the icy temperatures and flops onto his bed like some suffocated fish. The sheets smell nothing like chilled flowers and it’s a terribly painful transition. Daehyun blindly gropes around his bed until he’s dragging out a plastic bag from underneath. He’s supposed to be asleep by now (cause eye bags and dark circles equal ew), however everything just tastes and feels so much better at night--something so purely liberating and uninhibited. Although he has to admit, the cashier was onto something; eating alone is lonely.
He’s found the next morning with his limbs sprawled out like a contortionist with crumbs sprinkling his mouth and bed, and the morning breath that only dogs can bond over.
(“you son of a bitch.”)
Daehyun’s nodding off, head lolling to the side, as the stylist tries her best to not disturb him. The usual chatter of the dressing room comes off as white noise. Managers and coordinators rummage through the area, they move like blurs in Daehyun’s eyes.
The makeup artist earlier did a good job concealing the sleep under his eyes; she’s somehow managed to make him look half alive.
“You’re up after this group, Daehyun. You’ve got all the choreography memorized, right? Right? Good. How about the lyrics? Great? Great. Great.”
The hairdresser finishes off his look with a spritz of hairspray and one last tease of a brush. He’s supposed to be embodying the tortured rocker look but all Daehyun feels is the tortured part. And he may be slightly off his rocker from the lack of sleep. Huh, maybe he is a tortured rocker, afterall.
He sleepwalks out of the room.
The halls are no different from the waiting room, filled with bodies and disembodied voices. He makes his way to the stage, greeting his senior and junior singers, in between whispering words of encouragement to himself. And the stage is like everywhere else he’s ever been, loud, noisy, and bright. But he supposes he feels at home here.
And so he he sings some song about love and the fans eat it up.
God. He hates the smell of hairspray.
He rests his eyes. The room is much quieter than before. The majority of the staff have packed up their belongings, leaving behind turmoiled divas and used makeup wipes.
“Daehyun, that was a great comeback stage!” Kang exuberates in a high pitch of praise. “You were completely in the zone. I felt your pain, the heart break, the tragic loss of it all!”
“You’re just happy I didn’t trip over my own feet…” Daehyun grumbles from the waiting room’s couch. His makeup is smudged and dirtied from constantly rubbing at it and his hair is sticking in weird directions. He looks like the same pique of perfection nonetheless, grunge is messy fab.
He feels nauseous after being on his feet so much. It’s a hollow feeling in his gut, like an ever widening sink hole. He just wants to leave.
Kang clears his throat, “That may be so, but hey, I’m happy that you just breath, too. Who would have thought that some country bumpkin like yourself would make it this far? Not me, for sure.”
“Gee, thanks.” The idol rolls over onto his side after much effort. “Can we have barbeque for dinner now?”
Barbeque dinner is pizza delivery in your boxers alone in your apartment. Well, at least Kang was decent enough to pay for it. But, of course, the bastard ordered from Daehyun’s second favorite pizza place. Typical.
His doorbell won’t stop ringing to what sounds like the purposeful reconstruction of “Yankee Doodle” with its careful pauses and beats.
The door opens and the song ends.
“Hey! Nice bunny boxers! I have the same ones. Except mine are white instead of yellow.”
Daehyun is greeted with a familiar mop of blond hair. “You work the nightshift at the convenience store and you deliver pizza? What other minimum wage job do you do?” Daehyun snorts as he grabs the box of pizza out of Youngjae’s hands.
The airhead cashier looks up and thinks, “Let’s see… I busboy at a fried chicken place, work at a carwash, had a brief stint as a telemarketer, babysit, occasional bartender, was a crossing guard…”
Daehyun chews on a slice of his meat-lovers special pizza as Youngjae continues to count his adventures on his fingertips, “That’s fantastic, man. But does it look like I have the time to listen to all your career mishaps?” A speck of tomato sauce lands on Youngjae’s cheek, neither care.
Youngjae sticks his head through the doorway and looks around the empty home and then surveys Daehyun up and down, “Yes.”
The door slams shut. “Yankee Doodle” via doorbell plays for about half a minute before it stops. “Bye-bye!”
Daehyun eats five slices out of eight and sprawls himself onto on his couch. The lingering taste of tomato sauce and mushrooms fog his mind and stain his lips. And Daehyun thinks to himself, why the fuck are there no bread sticks. And the lack of extra carbs coincide with the cold, lumpy for-show sofa, like some poetic injustice. Thus he wonders, why doesn’t the company let me write songs? I’m a genius.
He lets out a reverberating belch that burns his insides before he crashes. This has to be one of the more enjoyable dinners of this week. No hassle, just food. He’s a very busy and important person and doesn’t have time to listen to silly stories or entertain guests during dinner time.
The showroom designer fabric of the couch leaves him with an ugly, red splotch on his right side in the morning, plus a dumb crick in his neck.
He’s buying indigestion pills and energy drinks at six am, half an hour before Kang is supposed to whisk him away at dawn for schedules. The boy behind the counter ringing him up is one of the many college students sinking in debt, “Morning, Junhong.” Daehyun mutters as he eyes the assortment of glazed and frosted donuts. “Where’s that new guy? Thought he worked these dead hours.”
“Youngjae? Oh, he’s not really an employee here. He’s a friend of the manager and gets a kick out of working apparently. Comes and goes whenever he wants. Weird guy, but nice. Tutors me and Jongup for free on occasion, too. Guy’s a jack of all trades. He’s got a billion ‘jobs,’ but I doubt he’s employed by anyone.” Junhong’s words trail off with the crumpling of a paper bag. “You ever thought about eating healthier, might help with the stomach pains, ya know.”
“You ever consider a real job?” Daehyun sneers.
Junhong rolls his eyes, “I’ll see you in ten years when I’m your doctor, Mr. Flavor of the Month.”
“And you’ll still be owing someone money by then, won’t you?”
The pair laugh and wish each other a good day.
If Daehyun wasn’t so sure that Youngjae had no clue who he was, what so ever (“What’s a Gangnam Style?”), he’d be sure that the blondie was stalking him. Baader-Meinhof phenomenon---his name be Youngjae.
“I don’t need your help crossing the street.” Daehyun grumbles as a boy clad outrageously in orange guides him across.
“Safety is my middle name: Youngjae Safety Yoo!”
“You’re not funny.”
“But it’s true. Wanna see my birth certificate?”
Daehyun’s phone rings, “Hello?”
“Hi. My name is Youngjae. Are you satisfied with your cellphone carrier and or internet provider? In order to ensure excellent customer service, your call may be monitored or recorded.”
“Goodbye.”
“Can I take that as a no?”
“Daehyun, have you been flossing daily?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Lovely. This routine cleaning should go on fine without a hitch. Let’s get started. My dental assistant Youngjae will be helping us today.”
“Hello, Daehyun!”
“Gurururahaheu??”
“Say, Daehyun, what’s a handsome guy like yourself doing eating instant ramen alone so often?”
The singer slurps his noodles, “What’s a kid like you doing working here instead of going to school.”
Youngjae tilts his head, “Gee, I wonder. I guess we’re a couple of mysteries, huh?”
“That doesn’t really answer my question, though.” Daehyun counters.
Youngjae’s fingering the sleeve of his uniform, straightening out the cuffs and checking the buttons before assuring that he is indeed wearing clothes. “And you didn’t answer my question either. Why do you think we’re both avoiding these important questions?”
“Listen, I’m here to eat not listen to your cryptic bullshit. Besides,” Daehyun looks up from his soup, “I'm not really ‘eating alone’ if you’re bothering me each night.”
“What can I say? I just love the company.”
Daehyun’s life involves cycling through constant schedules and devouring quick and easy meals accompanied by a couple dozen cups of coffee and energy drinks. His heart jitters erratically, but that’s just what stardom feels like when it rushes through your veins. Fame, fortune, fun. You can’t experience the world when you’re busy sleeping.
The company van drives past the convenience store often. The signs hanging on the windows, advertising their newest snacks, change on a weekly basis. Five posters have been posted and removed since Daehyun’s stepped foot inside. He tries to imagine how good pizza croissants might actually taste.
His mouth waters. He falls asleep. He drools.
(“This stupid kid, always making a mess. Wake up! Time for the interview with the magazine.”)
Daehyun doesn’t sleep long enough to dream.
The interviewer’s fingers are drumming against his laptop’s cover and slouching over the table by the time Daehyun sets foot through the door. The man skips the formalities and gets straight to the question, “What’s the concept of your latest album?”
Daehyun blinks and takes a second to gather himself, “Well, the song I’m currently promoting centers around the feeling of nostalgia with hints of yearning and the concept of a first love. The gentleness of the song skillfully hides the tinges of despair and longing as it takes a mature outlook on love, on how falling in love is bound by the implicit possibility of falling out of it. How time turns a lover’s proclamation from a confident ‘I know’ to a distant ‘I think’; memories fade away details and leave only the larger picture.*” His words are well rehearsed and memorized, given the multitude of other interviews asking the same question.
“Oh, wow. That’s very interesting.” The interviewer deadpans. “This talk of a past love, though, does any of this have to do with the rumors of you supposedly having dated SISTAR’s Hyorin?”
“Wait. What? How does this have anything to do with my album?”
The interviewer starts typing.
“What are you writing down?” Daehyun stares at the fast hands of the writer.
“Nothing. Just observations and such. So, what are you thoughts of Hyorin?”
Daehyun shifts in his seat, “She’s a nice girl, I guess.”
“Hm. Is that so.” Typing continues. “Have you ever thought about pursuing a relationship with her?”
“Why would I do that?” He furrows his brows.
The ticking clock hanging on the wall intensifies in volume and Daehyun’s frustrations along with it. Daehyun takes a deep breath to calm himself down and hopes that the next question would have some sort of relation to his music.
“What? Is something wrong with Hyorin? Do you not like how she looks? Not your style?” Kang is off doing manager business and there’s still an hour left of the ordeal.
“Can we please discuss something besides my potential love life?”
“Potential?” Type. Type. Type.
Daehyun’s leg starts to twitch out of bad habit. He clears his throat. “I’d really appreciate it if we could return to the topic of this meeting: my album?”
The reporter stares at him, “Please, kid. Everyone’s already read about that about a hundred times. If you really want people to listen to you, you gotta make waves. So what if you tell me you and some female idol did have some kind of relationship, your name becomes the most searched thing for at least a week or two. So who do you like? Hyorin, Jessica, Eunji?”
“I leave you alone for the first five minutes of the interview and you attack the man before I even return?” Kang is livid. His veins are popping from his face. “Do you have any idea what the headlines are gonna say tomorrow? Idol Jung Daehyun Assaults Reporter!”
“I barely touched the guy! I closed his laptop and told him I was done with the interview. He’s just looking for some dumb fucking excuse to get his name on the front page. He knows the only reason people would be remotely interested in what he has to say is if it’s yellow journalism and blatant lies!”
Kang pinches the bridge of his nose, “It doesn’t matter. We have to end the promotion of your song early and you can’t leave your home for the next few months until the inevitable hate you’ll draw from this dies down. Hell, we might as well make you join the army if it turns out worse than we think.”
Daehyun doesn’t join the army but it’s takeout every night. He supposes there’s no difference to life before promotion and life after abrupt halt to promotion. His songs play with less frequency and his schedules have trickled down. Kang is off managing the company’s duo, Yongguk and Himchan, as they’re off promoting their own new single trying to compensate for the money wasted on Daehyun this comeback cycle.
“I should get a dog.” Daehyun mutters as he takes a sip of his beer. It’s bitter and disgusting and just what he needs to get through the rest of this night.
The doorbell rings and at the door is Youngjae. No matter the restaurant (be it Thai, Chinese, or Korean), without fail the blond is the one at his door. Daehyun is no longer surprised anymore.
“What’s a handsome guy like you doing eating delivery by yourself twenty-seven nights in a row?”
It’s always the same snarky greeting and door slammed to the face.
“Have a nice night!” is the muffled goodnight.
Youngjae comes every night with his dinner and they speak for all of five minutes and sometimes hours depending on what level of tipsy Daehyun is.
They sit on his balcony and drink a bottle of soju. Whether Youngjae is old enough or not, is not really his concern. Daehyun never remembers these nights, just the impact they have on him. It’s like being seven again and enamored with space. It’s an airy feeling that keeps him light on his toes, weightless like gravity. He doesn’t have to care if the words coming out of his mouth have any meaning at all.
Daehyun has plenty of leftovers sitting in his fridge, but he still orders a new meal every night.
“You know what fills the hole in me?”
“I don’t know if I like where this is going, Daehyun.”
“Donuts.”
“Oh.”
And you know what fills the hole in donuts?”
“Uhhhh…”
“Me.”
“This is exactly where I thought this conversation was going.”
Seven pm and there’s some drama playing on the television about some pretty actress who plays a pretty actress in love with some pretty actor who plays a pretty alien. They have pretty problems. Daehyun scoffs, he could totally act too, if he wanted to. He should call Kang up about getting some acting lessons. Wait. Skip the acting lessons. He’s ready now.
It’s been a couple months since the incident, after all.
He’ll probably just start himself off slow with some dumb rom-com and then move onto the melodramatic stuff after the home audience has fallen in love with him. He’d be perfect for the role of the tragic hero who sacrifices his own needs for that of his lover. Fuck yeah.
He takes another swig.
And he’d do the soundtrack of every drama. Hell, he could even write all of the show himself. Genius. Amazing. Someone needs to listen to his gold.
(“Kaaaaaaaaangggg…”
“What do you want Daehyun?”
“I want to write dramas and shit. Not in that order. And not the literal shit. Do you hear me? Make it happen! Hello? Kang? You there?”)
The doorbell rings, “Pizza deliver--”
The doorbell no longer rings.
“And then the thunder and lightning will cue and the rain falls even heavier! Flood heavy! Like the tears I feel inside as I watch the one I love leave my plane of existence because they’re a mermaid! No! Wait--a seahorse! Unicorn? Centaur…” Daehyun paces back and forth across his oriental rug as he firmly holds onto his third bottle of beer. His face is completely red (with passion).
Youngjae’s eyes follow him as he nods his head to every detail leaving Daehyun’s mouth, completely enamored with the story he is weaving. He’s like a little kid hearing a classic for the first time, the pizza box is wrapped around his arms like a teddy bear, “What if she was half-seahorse-half-human?”
“I think you’re onto something, Youngjae! Okay. So my half-seahorse-half-human lover has to return to the sea because… because--”
“She misses her people!”
The drunkard snorts, “Are you saying I don’t fill the void in her life enough?”
Youngjae taps his chin with his finger lightly, “Hmmm… what if---now just bear with me---what if it turns out she isn’t actually half-seahorse-half-human but is actually half-sea urchin-half-human? And she’s so ashamed of her discovery she can’t bear to tell you and decides to run off back home so that you may continue living your life believing that you loved something amazing like a seahorse and not an urchin.”
Youngjae is sober.
“This script could win an Oscar!”
Takeout boxes start stacking up and Daehyun’s favorite pizza place is left forgotten. The script for the half-sea urchin-half-human romance expands wildly each night. However, an ending hasn’t been brought up yet, so whether if it’s happy or not is undecided. But all they know for sure is that---
“Explosions! We need huge ones that go off with a bang, accompanied by pretty ones like fireworks. Girls swoon over explosions!”
“What about mean teenage girls being mean?”
“Love it.”
“Evil step mothers?”
“Amazing.”
“Rival love interests?”
“Not a real drama without one.”
“Potentially gay bromance?”
“What every quality television show strives for.”
“We need celebrity guest stars! I should call up that one kid Taemin. I hear he has a large fanbase. Wait. He might steal the spotlight from me, though. We need someone hot but not as hot as me. We’ll get Yongguk up in this masterpiece! He can be the guy with a deep voice but a heart of gold. Okay, maybe not gold gold because that’s my heart. He can have like fool’s gold.”
Youngjae perks up, “Ooooh! Ooooh! Let me be an extra in the background! I promise I’m good at blending in and being unnoticed.” His hand is raised like a student waiting to be called.
Daehyun bits his lip, “I don’t know. You’re kind of a weirdo. How well are you at keeping your mouth shut?”
“So good!”
“Your blond hair will make you stick out like a sore thumb. Only the main cast can have distracting hair colors, ya know? Or else the attention will be drawn away from them during boring scenes.”
Youngjae crosses his arms, pouting on Daehyun’s sofa, “I promise I can be normal in public situations. C’mon, let’s go to a cafe tomorrow and I’ll prove it!”
Daehyun sighs, “Fine.”
Daehyun adorns the accepted celebrity outfit for public outings: facemask, sunglasses, and a hat. He is completely hidden from everyone’s prying eye. No one would ever recognize him.
“Daehyun!” Youngjae shouts from across the street, arms waving wildly. People glance at his direction before quickly walking away. Daehyun slumps his shoulders tiredly.
It’s a Sunday and people are out and about, crowding busy shopping districts. Unfortunately, Youngjae has no perception for other people or oncoming traffic, for that matter.
“Gosh. Do you have to be so rough?” Youngjae moans as he rubs his sore shoulder, “I think you dislocated something!”
“You’re such a brat.” The idol mutters as he grabs ahold of Youngjae’s wrist to keep him from running into more people. “This is why you’re never gonna be in any of my dramas.”
Daehyun drags Youngjae all the way to the cafe, smiling the whole way.
Youngjae doesn’t prove himself stable enough for the honor of being a backdrop character, too chaotic and outspoken. So they go out again and still Daehyun says, “It’s too early to judge your talents at being boring. We have to go out again; how does the aquarium sound to you?”
“Fishy.”
Youngjae’s possibly the strangest person Daehyun’s ever met and he’s not the least bit perturbed. Then again, Daehyun’s the one voluntarily holding onto his hand. It’s the only way to keep the public safe.
They’re sitting on Daehyun’s balcony and the wind nips at their necks. They’re enjoying the quiet night after a day of traveling around the city. They visit all of Youngjae’s workplaces, well the food ones, and he never knew how much company really does improve food (that is if Youngjae’s not trying to eat off his plate).
Youngjae’s breath wisps through the cold air, “You ever heard of the drama You Who Came from the Stars?”
Daehyun smiles, “That cheesy drama? Are you a fan of it or something?”
“Just an avid lover of romance. What do you think it’s like to fall in love with someone from outer space?” Youngjae looks seriously up at the stars, for once without an expression resembling a smile, something more serious.
Daehyun taps his chin, “Well, if that drama taught me anything, it’s that all aliens look Korean.” He smiles before noting the blond’s solemn appearance, “But I imagine that despite the billions of miles separating me and my alien lover, I have to say that it doesn’t affect the love in anyway. They’re still a being with a heart and I have one too and we just so happen to want to share it with each other. I guess it’s like interracial dating? But very different cultures clashing. What’s with your sudden contemplation?”
Youngjae shrugs, “I don’t know. I guess I’m in a questioning mood today. You got any life questions needing answers?”
“Do you think the stars in space are any different from the stars on earth? Or are they both just romanticized pouches of hot gas?”
“Whoa there. I’m asking about dating aliens and you’re questioning the aesthetics of humans and the universe as we know it? Comparing them together like an answer exists? God. You are indeed drunk. Luckily for you, I’ve had a couple myself. You know what I really think? The world beyond earth is vast and scary and distant. But, despite how dark it seems, stars still shimmer against the backdrop and illuminate the sky. Stars may be over romanticized to some, however, nothing else really compares. Space continues forever, hiding behind it mysteries and possibilities with stars just leaving behind a trail of their own bread crumbs.”
Daehyun admires the way Youngjae looks as he rambles his opinions off, his complexion looking pale against the moon. What few stars there are outline his shape. Maybe Youngjae is a constellation. Maybe Daehyun is drunk. And maybe maybe means yes.
However, it’s his intoxication that makes Daehyun hyper aware of how close his fingers are to holding Youngjae’s hand. Only the sparse distance between their chairs keeping them away. They’re right next to each other, barely a meter apart. He’s held his hands hundreds of times, but this is different. Daehyun can feel his own fingers twitching, but he holds back. There’s something about this moment that he doesn’t feel like breaking, or maybe he’s just scared. At any rate, Daehyun doesn’t want to change anything for the world.
Youngjae tilts his head, “Do you think it would be weird if we kissed? Because something tells me we should right now. I blame the moon.”
“You’re drunk. I’m drunk. Things happen.”
“The most logical thing I’ve ever heard.”
It may be the alcohol but when Daehyun kisses him, it feels like the universe is expanding and exploding, all at the same time. The intricate swirls of the nebulas unravel and overflow, drowning him within the stars and dust. The pure fire which heats up the galaxies sears his tongue, bathing it in a warmth he’s never felt before. His tongue and lips are tingling from his kisses just like how the bubbles of soda is slightly acidic and pops.
“Do you think alcohol makes people more poetic?”
“Ask Hemingway.”
“Daehyun, Daehyun! How about at the end of your drama, it turns out that she was never half-seahorse or half-sea urchin. She was half-starfish all along!”
“You mean just like how ended up not being an alien despite all the facts pointing to you to being one?”
“Yep.”
Daehyun never gets to the stars and that’s okay. Dreams change and expand and it just so happens his grew to include Youngjae, who is probably lying about being human.
“lol jk I’m totes an alien.”
* the quote Daehyun reads about his album is actually an exerpt from a review about one of Nell's albums. I hope this was an acceptable AU, sorry for steering of course so much :x
Rating: PG
Focus/Pairing: Daehyun/Youngjae
Words: 6200+
AU: !You Who Came from the Stars
Summary: Daehyun's life is a sequence of poorly timed jokes with other worldly elements.
Note: For the Brownie Bunch fic exchange \o/
Milky Way Sorrows Tomorrow (or A Brief History of Constellations)
There are tv rocket ships with glowing lights and strikingly white steel and then there are real ships as tall as Godzilla. As far as Daehyun is concerned, his ship is somewhere in between. Although it’s not exactly white, it has a kind of endearing charm to it with its cardboard brown. It’s a true vessel worthy of space glory.
Daehyun looks up at the clear sky and fastens his bicycle helmet on with pride. Space. And safety. But mostly space. When he told his mom about his dangerous trip to Saturn, there were no tears or concerns for his safety, just for his guarantee to come home before supper. It’s not the exact reaction he expects from his mother, but it’s a promise he’s going to keep.
(Also there's fried chicken for dinner tonight, plus, his mom mentioned cheesecake for dessert. Daehyun bets that all astronauts get victory feasts after their brave missions, too. After all, heroes deserve the absolute best; fighting aliens and protecting the universe is tough work.)
The stars above him fade in and out of his field of view. They blink out of existence and then reappear the next, twinkling along with some unheard rhythm. On this night, they shine with greater radiance, displaying colors more vibrant than usual, like red and blue. Oh, wait, nevermind, those are just airplanes. But the actual stars are still beautiful, too (albeit less colorful). Against the dark backdrop of night, they act like guides made of pure light. He wishes the star map in his bedroom was as pretty and true.
As the clusters of stars connect, more of space reveals itself to him. He points to the celestial body resembling his cat--who, by the way, mewed incessantly to accompany him, however, space travel is just too dangerous for an itty bitty kitty cat. Anyways: he vows to visit that same spot in space and touch the very stars that comprise his imagination. His mom can’t yell at him to wash his hands after, too.
Stars are definitely germ free.
He closes the folds of his cardboard spaceship down and prepares for lift off. His arms and legs are tucked securely up against his body. His eyes peer out the crudely cut window and he prepares for the second his grassy field of view transforms into the sky. He counts down: five, four, three, two, one, blastoff!
But his box doesn’t move, except for maybe an inch on his own accord. He can still hear the radio playing softly from the kitchen (some stupid trot) and the chirping cicadas. He pops his head out of the box; none of his books ever said the galaxy looked so much like his backyard.
(And for good reason because his yard is littered with his toys and the remnants of his mom’s garden after all the bugs got to it.)
Daehyun is seven and is pretending to be an astronaut. The space helmet on his head, that's supposed to carry oxygen, smells a lot like his goldfish, rather than the sanitary procedures of any credible space program. And he never reaches the stars, or gets of his back yard, for that matter.
That night, Daehyun mercilessly grinds through chicken like a wood chipper, as his parents stare at his curious behavior. Okay, he doesn’t get to stars that night, and maybe not the day after, or the day after that either, and his fried chicken doesn’t taste nearly as good as it should. But he knows eventually that he will and it will be like nothing he ever hoped for because it’ll be better. Ten folds. A hundred folds. And maybe there’ll be two cats instead of one.
Dream big because the sky’s not the limit, and as far as Daehyun knows: the universe has no edge.
He’s gonna reach the stars, in time.
With a swift tap Daehyun posts the management’s approved tweet about his approaching comeback, and within seconds the retweets and favorites flood his feed.
“Hi, my Celestial Bodies! I hope you're excited for my comeback~ You didn't cheat on me while I was gone right? Cause that would be bad <3”
(#daehyun, #oppa, #triplecrown, #comeback, #celestialbodies, #celebi)
After scrolling through a couple of mentions, he throws his phone to the side, falling flat onto his blankets, and sighs. All he wants in the world at this moment is some snacks of the artificial flavoring kind. But the home is empty and there's a photoshoot at six am tomorrow. His manager has lectured him about his eating habits several times, food just tastes better at three in the morning, though. Blah, blah, responsibilities, blah, stardom, blah, blah, sleep more. Bleh. Besides, Daehyun hasn’t needed sleep in the past six years, no reason to start now. He hears his phone vibrates and he leaves without checking it.
It's three in the morning, and forty plus hours before he makes his name relevant in the industry again and then more obscurity. And all he’s craving for is a cheap cup of instant ramen and maybe some barbeque chips (if he’s feeling extra rebellious). The cycle continues; he is Jung Daehyun, a tiny speck on an insignificant rock in a vastly expanding universe that doesn’t give two shits about him. Well, at least it knows how to provide some fantastic junk food. God bless.
There’s a convenience store two block from his penthouse of which he is a known regular. He knows all the employees and their nights, along with how long each sausage has been rotating in the rack for and whether or not the nacho cheese is fresh---
The cheese is microwave warm and the hot dogs must have been made sometime in the afternoon. None of their items are in their peak conditions and neither is the face of the cashier tonight. He isn’t the old guy that works to just pass the time, the one college student locked in debt, or the other student with loans, or even the third one. Man, there’s a lot of guys with debt.
“Who are you?” follows the ding of the automatic doors.
“Your oh so courteous server of the night?” the kid replies without sparing a glance from his tough task of restocking the packages of cigarettes stored behind the counter. He finishes his tobacco stacked pyramid with a nod of approval, “Welcome. How may I help you?”
It's cheesy, rehearsed, and his smile blinds Daehyun (or maybe it’s the store’s crummy lighting, hard to decide).
Daehyun recomposes himself, “I--uhhh--has the microwave been fixed yet?”
A song that isn’t his plays through the speakers; something poppy, similar to the snap of bubblegum with hints of sugar coated lyrics. It matches the guy’s shiny blond hair and age. Daehyun does a quick double take to make sure he’s in the right store. The music is different, the guy is different, but the snacks are still the same as last night’s.
The air conditioning sends chills down his spine.
“Microwave?” the cashier repeats, “Oh, yeah! I fixed it this morning. Good to go. If you’re interested in using it, there’s some good chicken to be had still.” He throws in a flash of a thumbs up, too, to seal the deal.
As much as Daehyun enjoys the place’s chicken, he doubts the safety of a microwave repaired by someone that can’t be any older than him (or even fit to sell the cigarettes he was just arranging). That, and Daehyun was the one who broke the microwave so that discredits the repair guy even more (the thing was close to exploding, for reasons). “I’ll take your word for it.”
The boy shrugs, “Have it your way. I take home any perishables not sold.”
“So, are you new here, or…” he trails off.
“Nahhh,” he laughs, “I just like putting on the uniform for fun because I think stripes are flattering for my figure and that nametags are cool.” He gestures to it: Youngjae.
Daehyun looks him up and down. The dude is way too happy to be working the graveyard shift in such a dingy (but still Daehyun’s favorite) place. Plus his blond, bubbly hair clashes with the uninspiring uniform, flattering to figure or not. Daehyun stares a bit more before recalling his original midnight snack mission. He turns on his heel and strolls to his favorite aisle.
It’s two beautiful walls of colorful plastic, nevermind the cholesterol and heart failure hidden behind each beautiful package of delicious artificial flavoring and color. Yellow #5 all the way.
Aside from the lack of space travel, Daehyun is glad to live in the time he does. Daehyun grabs two ramen flavors (spicy beef and kimchi, one for now and another for later). He also purchases barbecue chips and some sour cream and onion while he’s at it because to hell with his skin.
Another song that isn't Daehyun's queues up but rather than a happy go lucky mix, it's a rock ballad.
He's sitting by the counter facing the window as he waits for his soy sauce flavored ramen (okay, so maybe he grabbed three packets of ramen (treat yo self)) to heat up and be ready to eat. The area is quiet and aside from the street lights, there’s really nothing much to see. However, the city is still very metropolitan and upscale so there are little to no stars to view either. It's just a dark sky with silhouettes of tall buildings.
The store's empty, but the seat next to him is occupied.
"What are you doing?" Daehyun asks as the cashier sits next to him with his own plastic bowl of ramen heating up. Noodles are hanging down to the singer's chin and some of his broth splashes onto the employee's face.
Youngjae grins, "Eating alone is sad. So, I thought I'd join ya!"
Daehyun doesn't offer up a response but scoots an inch further away from Youngjae. He's thinking maybe he'll go away on his own. Youngjae doesn’t seemed discouraged, though, and the two eat together in silence with the sounds of their slurping and another random pop song ("dasi dorawa dorawa dorawa~").
By the time one of Daehyun's songs does come on, they're both on their second bowl of noodles.
The fluorescent lights buzz, the doors chime, and this is Daehyun’s “last supper” before kpop stardom claims him again.
"But, Daehyun, we can't make a food stop. We're already late for your photoshoot!" Manager Kang is pleading with the boy as they rush to the van.
"So? We're already late. What's five more minutes? You know I never go to any event without some chocolate!"
"You're not allowed chocolate anymore, Daehyun!"
"And I told you--to the closest convenience store, please--that I am the one who makes the decision of what I eat and when." Daehyun puts on his sponsored sunglasses and the conversation comes to an abrupt halt.
Two hours later at the same store and the kid is still working. "Back again so soon? Did you want to eat breakfast with me, too? I just put some pizza rolls in the oven!"
Daehyun's in and out in a second with a box of chocopies.
And maybe one pizza roll for the road.
He fucking loves pizza rolls.
(“You’re not allowed greasy snacks either!”
“What snack?” Daehyun asks with his mouth full indignantly.)
“Do you think I look fat in this photo?”
“No. I think your eating habits make you look fat.”
Kang patrols Daehyun’s lavish hallways. No saturated fats will pass by his lips this night; especially not with his comeback stage approaching the single digit hours.
Daehyun lounges on the balcony outside his bedroom. The cool night air brushes his hair and the drapes hanging by the door billows with the breeze. And the scent of the flowers decorating the area greet his senses.
Daehyun quietly hums the notes to his new song, but it’s drowned out by the uncharacteristic plane flying closely overhead tonight. The jet leaves behind a pale exhaust trail in an otherwise clear sky. It’s probably heading to some overseas destination far far away.
He slumps further into his patio chair, losing vision of the people on the streets and instead focuses in on the skyscrapers surrounding him. A few streets down is a small store wedged between two gigantic buildings and overflowing with comfort food. It’s neon sign flashes a hatefully green “open” with no interested passers by.
Kang’s footsteps echo from the hall and the star is reminded of tomorrow’s schedule. He drags himself away from the icy temperatures and flops onto his bed like some suffocated fish. The sheets smell nothing like chilled flowers and it’s a terribly painful transition. Daehyun blindly gropes around his bed until he’s dragging out a plastic bag from underneath. He’s supposed to be asleep by now (cause eye bags and dark circles equal ew), however everything just tastes and feels so much better at night--something so purely liberating and uninhibited. Although he has to admit, the cashier was onto something; eating alone is lonely.
He’s found the next morning with his limbs sprawled out like a contortionist with crumbs sprinkling his mouth and bed, and the morning breath that only dogs can bond over.
(“you son of a bitch.”)
Daehyun’s nodding off, head lolling to the side, as the stylist tries her best to not disturb him. The usual chatter of the dressing room comes off as white noise. Managers and coordinators rummage through the area, they move like blurs in Daehyun’s eyes.
The makeup artist earlier did a good job concealing the sleep under his eyes; she’s somehow managed to make him look half alive.
“You’re up after this group, Daehyun. You’ve got all the choreography memorized, right? Right? Good. How about the lyrics? Great? Great. Great.”
The hairdresser finishes off his look with a spritz of hairspray and one last tease of a brush. He’s supposed to be embodying the tortured rocker look but all Daehyun feels is the tortured part. And he may be slightly off his rocker from the lack of sleep. Huh, maybe he is a tortured rocker, afterall.
He sleepwalks out of the room.
The halls are no different from the waiting room, filled with bodies and disembodied voices. He makes his way to the stage, greeting his senior and junior singers, in between whispering words of encouragement to himself. And the stage is like everywhere else he’s ever been, loud, noisy, and bright. But he supposes he feels at home here.
And so he he sings some song about love and the fans eat it up.
God. He hates the smell of hairspray.
He rests his eyes. The room is much quieter than before. The majority of the staff have packed up their belongings, leaving behind turmoiled divas and used makeup wipes.
“Daehyun, that was a great comeback stage!” Kang exuberates in a high pitch of praise. “You were completely in the zone. I felt your pain, the heart break, the tragic loss of it all!”
“You’re just happy I didn’t trip over my own feet…” Daehyun grumbles from the waiting room’s couch. His makeup is smudged and dirtied from constantly rubbing at it and his hair is sticking in weird directions. He looks like the same pique of perfection nonetheless, grunge is messy fab.
He feels nauseous after being on his feet so much. It’s a hollow feeling in his gut, like an ever widening sink hole. He just wants to leave.
Kang clears his throat, “That may be so, but hey, I’m happy that you just breath, too. Who would have thought that some country bumpkin like yourself would make it this far? Not me, for sure.”
“Gee, thanks.” The idol rolls over onto his side after much effort. “Can we have barbeque for dinner now?”
Barbeque dinner is pizza delivery in your boxers alone in your apartment. Well, at least Kang was decent enough to pay for it. But, of course, the bastard ordered from Daehyun’s second favorite pizza place. Typical.
His doorbell won’t stop ringing to what sounds like the purposeful reconstruction of “Yankee Doodle” with its careful pauses and beats.
The door opens and the song ends.
“Hey! Nice bunny boxers! I have the same ones. Except mine are white instead of yellow.”
Daehyun is greeted with a familiar mop of blond hair. “You work the nightshift at the convenience store and you deliver pizza? What other minimum wage job do you do?” Daehyun snorts as he grabs the box of pizza out of Youngjae’s hands.
The airhead cashier looks up and thinks, “Let’s see… I busboy at a fried chicken place, work at a carwash, had a brief stint as a telemarketer, babysit, occasional bartender, was a crossing guard…”
Daehyun chews on a slice of his meat-lovers special pizza as Youngjae continues to count his adventures on his fingertips, “That’s fantastic, man. But does it look like I have the time to listen to all your career mishaps?” A speck of tomato sauce lands on Youngjae’s cheek, neither care.
Youngjae sticks his head through the doorway and looks around the empty home and then surveys Daehyun up and down, “Yes.”
The door slams shut. “Yankee Doodle” via doorbell plays for about half a minute before it stops. “Bye-bye!”
Daehyun eats five slices out of eight and sprawls himself onto on his couch. The lingering taste of tomato sauce and mushrooms fog his mind and stain his lips. And Daehyun thinks to himself, why the fuck are there no bread sticks. And the lack of extra carbs coincide with the cold, lumpy for-show sofa, like some poetic injustice. Thus he wonders, why doesn’t the company let me write songs? I’m a genius.
He lets out a reverberating belch that burns his insides before he crashes. This has to be one of the more enjoyable dinners of this week. No hassle, just food. He’s a very busy and important person and doesn’t have time to listen to silly stories or entertain guests during dinner time.
The showroom designer fabric of the couch leaves him with an ugly, red splotch on his right side in the morning, plus a dumb crick in his neck.
He’s buying indigestion pills and energy drinks at six am, half an hour before Kang is supposed to whisk him away at dawn for schedules. The boy behind the counter ringing him up is one of the many college students sinking in debt, “Morning, Junhong.” Daehyun mutters as he eyes the assortment of glazed and frosted donuts. “Where’s that new guy? Thought he worked these dead hours.”
“Youngjae? Oh, he’s not really an employee here. He’s a friend of the manager and gets a kick out of working apparently. Comes and goes whenever he wants. Weird guy, but nice. Tutors me and Jongup for free on occasion, too. Guy’s a jack of all trades. He’s got a billion ‘jobs,’ but I doubt he’s employed by anyone.” Junhong’s words trail off with the crumpling of a paper bag. “You ever thought about eating healthier, might help with the stomach pains, ya know.”
“You ever consider a real job?” Daehyun sneers.
Junhong rolls his eyes, “I’ll see you in ten years when I’m your doctor, Mr. Flavor of the Month.”
“And you’ll still be owing someone money by then, won’t you?”
The pair laugh and wish each other a good day.
If Daehyun wasn’t so sure that Youngjae had no clue who he was, what so ever (“What’s a Gangnam Style?”), he’d be sure that the blondie was stalking him. Baader-Meinhof phenomenon---his name be Youngjae.
“I don’t need your help crossing the street.” Daehyun grumbles as a boy clad outrageously in orange guides him across.
“Safety is my middle name: Youngjae Safety Yoo!”
“You’re not funny.”
“But it’s true. Wanna see my birth certificate?”
Daehyun’s phone rings, “Hello?”
“Hi. My name is Youngjae. Are you satisfied with your cellphone carrier and or internet provider? In order to ensure excellent customer service, your call may be monitored or recorded.”
“Goodbye.”
“Can I take that as a no?”
“Daehyun, have you been flossing daily?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Lovely. This routine cleaning should go on fine without a hitch. Let’s get started. My dental assistant Youngjae will be helping us today.”
“Hello, Daehyun!”
“Gurururahaheu??”
“Say, Daehyun, what’s a handsome guy like yourself doing eating instant ramen alone so often?”
The singer slurps his noodles, “What’s a kid like you doing working here instead of going to school.”
Youngjae tilts his head, “Gee, I wonder. I guess we’re a couple of mysteries, huh?”
“That doesn’t really answer my question, though.” Daehyun counters.
Youngjae’s fingering the sleeve of his uniform, straightening out the cuffs and checking the buttons before assuring that he is indeed wearing clothes. “And you didn’t answer my question either. Why do you think we’re both avoiding these important questions?”
“Listen, I’m here to eat not listen to your cryptic bullshit. Besides,” Daehyun looks up from his soup, “I'm not really ‘eating alone’ if you’re bothering me each night.”
“What can I say? I just love the company.”
Daehyun’s life involves cycling through constant schedules and devouring quick and easy meals accompanied by a couple dozen cups of coffee and energy drinks. His heart jitters erratically, but that’s just what stardom feels like when it rushes through your veins. Fame, fortune, fun. You can’t experience the world when you’re busy sleeping.
The company van drives past the convenience store often. The signs hanging on the windows, advertising their newest snacks, change on a weekly basis. Five posters have been posted and removed since Daehyun’s stepped foot inside. He tries to imagine how good pizza croissants might actually taste.
His mouth waters. He falls asleep. He drools.
(“This stupid kid, always making a mess. Wake up! Time for the interview with the magazine.”)
Daehyun doesn’t sleep long enough to dream.
The interviewer’s fingers are drumming against his laptop’s cover and slouching over the table by the time Daehyun sets foot through the door. The man skips the formalities and gets straight to the question, “What’s the concept of your latest album?”
Daehyun blinks and takes a second to gather himself, “Well, the song I’m currently promoting centers around the feeling of nostalgia with hints of yearning and the concept of a first love. The gentleness of the song skillfully hides the tinges of despair and longing as it takes a mature outlook on love, on how falling in love is bound by the implicit possibility of falling out of it. How time turns a lover’s proclamation from a confident ‘I know’ to a distant ‘I think’; memories fade away details and leave only the larger picture.*” His words are well rehearsed and memorized, given the multitude of other interviews asking the same question.
“Oh, wow. That’s very interesting.” The interviewer deadpans. “This talk of a past love, though, does any of this have to do with the rumors of you supposedly having dated SISTAR’s Hyorin?”
“Wait. What? How does this have anything to do with my album?”
The interviewer starts typing.
“What are you writing down?” Daehyun stares at the fast hands of the writer.
“Nothing. Just observations and such. So, what are you thoughts of Hyorin?”
Daehyun shifts in his seat, “She’s a nice girl, I guess.”
“Hm. Is that so.” Typing continues. “Have you ever thought about pursuing a relationship with her?”
“Why would I do that?” He furrows his brows.
The ticking clock hanging on the wall intensifies in volume and Daehyun’s frustrations along with it. Daehyun takes a deep breath to calm himself down and hopes that the next question would have some sort of relation to his music.
“What? Is something wrong with Hyorin? Do you not like how she looks? Not your style?” Kang is off doing manager business and there’s still an hour left of the ordeal.
“Can we please discuss something besides my potential love life?”
“Potential?” Type. Type. Type.
Daehyun’s leg starts to twitch out of bad habit. He clears his throat. “I’d really appreciate it if we could return to the topic of this meeting: my album?”
The reporter stares at him, “Please, kid. Everyone’s already read about that about a hundred times. If you really want people to listen to you, you gotta make waves. So what if you tell me you and some female idol did have some kind of relationship, your name becomes the most searched thing for at least a week or two. So who do you like? Hyorin, Jessica, Eunji?”
“I leave you alone for the first five minutes of the interview and you attack the man before I even return?” Kang is livid. His veins are popping from his face. “Do you have any idea what the headlines are gonna say tomorrow? Idol Jung Daehyun Assaults Reporter!”
“I barely touched the guy! I closed his laptop and told him I was done with the interview. He’s just looking for some dumb fucking excuse to get his name on the front page. He knows the only reason people would be remotely interested in what he has to say is if it’s yellow journalism and blatant lies!”
Kang pinches the bridge of his nose, “It doesn’t matter. We have to end the promotion of your song early and you can’t leave your home for the next few months until the inevitable hate you’ll draw from this dies down. Hell, we might as well make you join the army if it turns out worse than we think.”
Daehyun doesn’t join the army but it’s takeout every night. He supposes there’s no difference to life before promotion and life after abrupt halt to promotion. His songs play with less frequency and his schedules have trickled down. Kang is off managing the company’s duo, Yongguk and Himchan, as they’re off promoting their own new single trying to compensate for the money wasted on Daehyun this comeback cycle.
“I should get a dog.” Daehyun mutters as he takes a sip of his beer. It’s bitter and disgusting and just what he needs to get through the rest of this night.
The doorbell rings and at the door is Youngjae. No matter the restaurant (be it Thai, Chinese, or Korean), without fail the blond is the one at his door. Daehyun is no longer surprised anymore.
“What’s a handsome guy like you doing eating delivery by yourself twenty-seven nights in a row?”
It’s always the same snarky greeting and door slammed to the face.
“Have a nice night!” is the muffled goodnight.
Youngjae comes every night with his dinner and they speak for all of five minutes and sometimes hours depending on what level of tipsy Daehyun is.
They sit on his balcony and drink a bottle of soju. Whether Youngjae is old enough or not, is not really his concern. Daehyun never remembers these nights, just the impact they have on him. It’s like being seven again and enamored with space. It’s an airy feeling that keeps him light on his toes, weightless like gravity. He doesn’t have to care if the words coming out of his mouth have any meaning at all.
Daehyun has plenty of leftovers sitting in his fridge, but he still orders a new meal every night.
“You know what fills the hole in me?”
“I don’t know if I like where this is going, Daehyun.”
“Donuts.”
“Oh.”
And you know what fills the hole in donuts?”
“Uhhhh…”
“Me.”
“This is exactly where I thought this conversation was going.”
Seven pm and there’s some drama playing on the television about some pretty actress who plays a pretty actress in love with some pretty actor who plays a pretty alien. They have pretty problems. Daehyun scoffs, he could totally act too, if he wanted to. He should call Kang up about getting some acting lessons. Wait. Skip the acting lessons. He’s ready now.
It’s been a couple months since the incident, after all.
He’ll probably just start himself off slow with some dumb rom-com and then move onto the melodramatic stuff after the home audience has fallen in love with him. He’d be perfect for the role of the tragic hero who sacrifices his own needs for that of his lover. Fuck yeah.
He takes another swig.
And he’d do the soundtrack of every drama. Hell, he could even write all of the show himself. Genius. Amazing. Someone needs to listen to his gold.
(“Kaaaaaaaaangggg…”
“What do you want Daehyun?”
“I want to write dramas and shit. Not in that order. And not the literal shit. Do you hear me? Make it happen! Hello? Kang? You there?”)
The doorbell rings, “Pizza deliver--”
The doorbell no longer rings.
“And then the thunder and lightning will cue and the rain falls even heavier! Flood heavy! Like the tears I feel inside as I watch the one I love leave my plane of existence because they’re a mermaid! No! Wait--a seahorse! Unicorn? Centaur…” Daehyun paces back and forth across his oriental rug as he firmly holds onto his third bottle of beer. His face is completely red (with passion).
Youngjae’s eyes follow him as he nods his head to every detail leaving Daehyun’s mouth, completely enamored with the story he is weaving. He’s like a little kid hearing a classic for the first time, the pizza box is wrapped around his arms like a teddy bear, “What if she was half-seahorse-half-human?”
“I think you’re onto something, Youngjae! Okay. So my half-seahorse-half-human lover has to return to the sea because… because--”
“She misses her people!”
The drunkard snorts, “Are you saying I don’t fill the void in her life enough?”
Youngjae taps his chin with his finger lightly, “Hmmm… what if---now just bear with me---what if it turns out she isn’t actually half-seahorse-half-human but is actually half-sea urchin-half-human? And she’s so ashamed of her discovery she can’t bear to tell you and decides to run off back home so that you may continue living your life believing that you loved something amazing like a seahorse and not an urchin.”
Youngjae is sober.
“This script could win an Oscar!”
Takeout boxes start stacking up and Daehyun’s favorite pizza place is left forgotten. The script for the half-sea urchin-half-human romance expands wildly each night. However, an ending hasn’t been brought up yet, so whether if it’s happy or not is undecided. But all they know for sure is that---
“Explosions! We need huge ones that go off with a bang, accompanied by pretty ones like fireworks. Girls swoon over explosions!”
“What about mean teenage girls being mean?”
“Love it.”
“Evil step mothers?”
“Amazing.”
“Rival love interests?”
“Not a real drama without one.”
“Potentially gay bromance?”
“What every quality television show strives for.”
“We need celebrity guest stars! I should call up that one kid Taemin. I hear he has a large fanbase. Wait. He might steal the spotlight from me, though. We need someone hot but not as hot as me. We’ll get Yongguk up in this masterpiece! He can be the guy with a deep voice but a heart of gold. Okay, maybe not gold gold because that’s my heart. He can have like fool’s gold.”
Youngjae perks up, “Ooooh! Ooooh! Let me be an extra in the background! I promise I’m good at blending in and being unnoticed.” His hand is raised like a student waiting to be called.
Daehyun bits his lip, “I don’t know. You’re kind of a weirdo. How well are you at keeping your mouth shut?”
“So good!”
“Your blond hair will make you stick out like a sore thumb. Only the main cast can have distracting hair colors, ya know? Or else the attention will be drawn away from them during boring scenes.”
Youngjae crosses his arms, pouting on Daehyun’s sofa, “I promise I can be normal in public situations. C’mon, let’s go to a cafe tomorrow and I’ll prove it!”
Daehyun sighs, “Fine.”
Daehyun adorns the accepted celebrity outfit for public outings: facemask, sunglasses, and a hat. He is completely hidden from everyone’s prying eye. No one would ever recognize him.
“Daehyun!” Youngjae shouts from across the street, arms waving wildly. People glance at his direction before quickly walking away. Daehyun slumps his shoulders tiredly.
It’s a Sunday and people are out and about, crowding busy shopping districts. Unfortunately, Youngjae has no perception for other people or oncoming traffic, for that matter.
“Gosh. Do you have to be so rough?” Youngjae moans as he rubs his sore shoulder, “I think you dislocated something!”
“You’re such a brat.” The idol mutters as he grabs ahold of Youngjae’s wrist to keep him from running into more people. “This is why you’re never gonna be in any of my dramas.”
Daehyun drags Youngjae all the way to the cafe, smiling the whole way.
Youngjae doesn’t prove himself stable enough for the honor of being a backdrop character, too chaotic and outspoken. So they go out again and still Daehyun says, “It’s too early to judge your talents at being boring. We have to go out again; how does the aquarium sound to you?”
“Fishy.”
Youngjae’s possibly the strangest person Daehyun’s ever met and he’s not the least bit perturbed. Then again, Daehyun’s the one voluntarily holding onto his hand. It’s the only way to keep the public safe.
They’re sitting on Daehyun’s balcony and the wind nips at their necks. They’re enjoying the quiet night after a day of traveling around the city. They visit all of Youngjae’s workplaces, well the food ones, and he never knew how much company really does improve food (that is if Youngjae’s not trying to eat off his plate).
Youngjae’s breath wisps through the cold air, “You ever heard of the drama You Who Came from the Stars?”
Daehyun smiles, “That cheesy drama? Are you a fan of it or something?”
“Just an avid lover of romance. What do you think it’s like to fall in love with someone from outer space?” Youngjae looks seriously up at the stars, for once without an expression resembling a smile, something more serious.
Daehyun taps his chin, “Well, if that drama taught me anything, it’s that all aliens look Korean.” He smiles before noting the blond’s solemn appearance, “But I imagine that despite the billions of miles separating me and my alien lover, I have to say that it doesn’t affect the love in anyway. They’re still a being with a heart and I have one too and we just so happen to want to share it with each other. I guess it’s like interracial dating? But very different cultures clashing. What’s with your sudden contemplation?”
Youngjae shrugs, “I don’t know. I guess I’m in a questioning mood today. You got any life questions needing answers?”
“Do you think the stars in space are any different from the stars on earth? Or are they both just romanticized pouches of hot gas?”
“Whoa there. I’m asking about dating aliens and you’re questioning the aesthetics of humans and the universe as we know it? Comparing them together like an answer exists? God. You are indeed drunk. Luckily for you, I’ve had a couple myself. You know what I really think? The world beyond earth is vast and scary and distant. But, despite how dark it seems, stars still shimmer against the backdrop and illuminate the sky. Stars may be over romanticized to some, however, nothing else really compares. Space continues forever, hiding behind it mysteries and possibilities with stars just leaving behind a trail of their own bread crumbs.”
Daehyun admires the way Youngjae looks as he rambles his opinions off, his complexion looking pale against the moon. What few stars there are outline his shape. Maybe Youngjae is a constellation. Maybe Daehyun is drunk. And maybe maybe means yes.
However, it’s his intoxication that makes Daehyun hyper aware of how close his fingers are to holding Youngjae’s hand. Only the sparse distance between their chairs keeping them away. They’re right next to each other, barely a meter apart. He’s held his hands hundreds of times, but this is different. Daehyun can feel his own fingers twitching, but he holds back. There’s something about this moment that he doesn’t feel like breaking, or maybe he’s just scared. At any rate, Daehyun doesn’t want to change anything for the world.
Youngjae tilts his head, “Do you think it would be weird if we kissed? Because something tells me we should right now. I blame the moon.”
“You’re drunk. I’m drunk. Things happen.”
“The most logical thing I’ve ever heard.”
It may be the alcohol but when Daehyun kisses him, it feels like the universe is expanding and exploding, all at the same time. The intricate swirls of the nebulas unravel and overflow, drowning him within the stars and dust. The pure fire which heats up the galaxies sears his tongue, bathing it in a warmth he’s never felt before. His tongue and lips are tingling from his kisses just like how the bubbles of soda is slightly acidic and pops.
“Do you think alcohol makes people more poetic?”
“Ask Hemingway.”
“Daehyun, Daehyun! How about at the end of your drama, it turns out that she was never half-seahorse or half-sea urchin. She was half-starfish all along!”
“You mean just like how ended up not being an alien despite all the facts pointing to you to being one?”
“Yep.”
Daehyun never gets to the stars and that’s okay. Dreams change and expand and it just so happens his grew to include Youngjae, who is probably lying about being human.
“lol jk I’m totes an alien.”
* the quote Daehyun reads about his album is actually an exerpt from a review about one of Nell's albums. I hope this was an acceptable AU, sorry for steering of course so much :x