006 - 010; infinite fic challenge
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006. wanting; woohyun/myungsoo; 412 words; g
Myungsoo wasn’t a kid who asked for much. In fact, he hardly spoke at all. Ever since Woohyun had picked him up from where he’d been sleeping behind a dumpster, Myungsoo had simply followed Woohyun around wordlessly, eyes wide and a hand clinging tightly to the back of Woohyun’s shirt.
(Myungsoo never told Woohyun why he had been sleeping alone in an alleyway, or what had happened to his parents, and Woohyun never asked. The older boy had always just assumed that Myungsoo’s parents had died from radiation sickness like most people did; like they, too, probably eventually would.)
Myungsoo didn’t ask for more food, even when Woohyun heard his stomach growling late at night, or complain of the cold when the two of them were huddled together and shivering on the floor of an abandoned apartment building. Instead he watched Woohyun with something akin to awe as Woohyun taught him how to effectively beg, pickpocket, or scavenge for edible food in the trash. And although he was all of about nine (Woohyun wasn’t actually sure of his own age, since no one other than the elites bothered with things such as calendars since the fallout) Woohyun found himself desperately wishing he could offer the younger boy something better, anything better than this life they were so desperately living.
So when they decided on a whim to wander through a nicer part of town one day, gawking at all the fancy shops and pressing dirty fingerprints all over the windows, and Myungsoo stared with avid fascination at the vividly colored sweets on display at a candy store, Woohyun didn’t even hesitate to slip inside the shop. Myungsoo wasn’t a kid who asked for much, that was true, but in those few brief seconds there had been such a strong sense of want swirling behind the usually unreadable surface of Myungsoo’s eyes that Woohyun felt his heart breaking.
The shopkeeper kept a close eye on him - a dirty and battered boy who was so painfully out of place here that it was obvious he was up to no good - but Woohyun waited until a crowd came in and distracted her before quickly swiping two lollipops off the window display. It wasn’t the first time he’d stolen, and it definitely wouldn’t be his last, but as he watched Myungsoo unwrap the candy later with the reverence one would pay to something holy, Woohyun thought that this particular time had probably been the most rewarding.
007. cigarettes; dongwoo/woohyun; 1,129 words; pg
When Woohyun opens the side-door he’s immediately hit with a feeling akin to being wrapped up in a wet blanket. The humid city air clings to him as he shuts the door behind himself, leaving behind the air-conditioned kitchen of the fried chicken joint he works at to crouch down on the doorstep in the alleyway. He doesn’t necessarily want to leave the relatively cool refuge of the kitchen, but it’s 9 p.m. and he still has two hours left of his shift before he needs to head off to perform at a gig in Hongdae, and Woohyun desperately needs a break from the ever constant sizzle and pop of cooking chicken.
He pulls a package of cigarettes from his pocket, shaking one out and lighting it up. Woohyun inhales deeply then rests his elbows on his knees, letting the cigarette dangle from his fingertips. Breathing out, he watches the smoke disperse out into the city. The smoke from his cigarette feels heavy in his lungs, almost as suffocating as the thick humidity pressing down on him from all directions. Beyond the alley he can see and hear the bustle of Seoul, bright lights moving past at high speeds and people heading home or coming out to enjoy the sticky-hot August night. It’s dark already, but the glow from the city reflects against the bottom of low clouds, promising a thunderstorm in the near future.
Woohyun smokes in silence, not even bothering to check his phone. He can already guess what kind of messages will be waiting for him, and what kind of replies he’ll be expected to send. It’s tiring, really, all the expectations. He sighs and taps his cigarette, letting the ashes flutter to the ground.
The doorway across from Woohyun’s perch suddenly bursts open, releasing a shockwave of sound and light into the night before slamming shut once more. A boy with a head of dark blue hair leans against the door and lets out a relieved sigh before spotting Woohyun and waving cheerfully.
“Hi,” he says, his face taken over by a wide grin.
“Hey,” Woohyun replies, schooling his face into an acceptably happy expression.
The boy slides down the door until he’s sitting, eyes now on the same level as Woohyun’s. “We managed to take our breaks at the same time again, huh?” he says brightly, laughing, and Woohyun nods. The two had met before, briefly, in the alleyway. They hadn’t really talked much, though, and all Woohyun knows about the other is that his name is Dongwoo, his parents own the seafood restaurant next door, and he sometimes comes in to work for them on the weekends.
Woohyun’s cigarette has burned down enough to almost singe his fingers so he drops it to the pavement and pulls out another. He hesitates, then offers the box to the blue haired boy sitting across from him.
“Want one?” Woohyun asks, but Dongwoo just shakes his head.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
Woohyun shrugs and puts the pack back into his pocket. He lights up and brings the cigarette to his lips.
“Isn’t that bad for your voice?”
The question catches Woohyun off guard and he’s so surprised that he almost drops his cigarette. He stares at Dongwoo and the other meets he gaze evenly, curious.
“I mean, you’re a singer, right? For some indie rock band?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Woohyun nods anyway.
“Yeah, I am,” he confirms and Dongwoo smiles.
“My sister is a huge fan of yours. She nearly had a heart attack when she realized you work right next door to our restaurant. Too bad you’re a kitchen slave hiding in the back, or she would probably be your guys’ number one customer.”
They both laugh a bit before settling into a comfortable silence. Woohyun’s chest starts to ache because it’s so easy, just being here and laughing without needing to force anything. Not having to make himself into a clown to bring smiles to his friends’ faces, because he simply can’t bear to see them sad or upset. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it at first, overstepping the lines between silly to ridiculous, sacrificing himself for the sake of laughter. Now it’s become a habit, an expected part of him, and he can feel it slowly draining more of his energy away each day.
But out here in the alleyway smelling of compost and car exhaust and the heavy promise of rain, he can simply smile because he feels like it; because Dongwoo doesn’t know that Woohyun’s the ‘lovable idiot’ who will routinely embarrass himself in public in exchange for a couple smiles. Dongwoo doesn’t know, and it’s such a relief that Woohyun almost feels like crying.
“You should come see us sometime,” Woohyun suddenly says and Dongwoo glances up from where he’s pulling a loose thread from the hem of his shirt. Woohyun takes another drag of his cigarette and then adds, “Sometime soon,” as an afterthought.
Soon, while we still have the energy to try to work things out. While we’re still desperately holding ourselves together and are willing to try to glue our broken pieces back together instead of just letting everything shatter. Before we become another dream lying broken on Hongdae’s streets.
“Soon?” Dongwoo inquires with raised eyebrows. Woohyun just shakes his head with a small, tight-lipped smile.
Dongwoo doesn’t push it, instead stretching his arms out over his head. He leans from side to side before dropping his arms back to his sides and rolling his shoulders. Finally he stands up and brushes off his pants.
“Ok, but if I come you have to let my sister come backstage and sign a CD or something for her.”
“Sure,” Woohyun replies with a laugh. And it’s so simple to just laugh with Dongwoo like this that even as the other turns to open the door Woohyun has to stop himself from reaching out a hand and grabbing his shirt, begging him to stay for just a little longer.
“It’s a deal then,” Dongwoo confirms as someone from inside yells something that sounds vaguely like his name. “That’s my cue,” he grins, pulling the door open. “I’ll see you around.”
“Bye,” Woohyun says, raising his cigarette in some sort of mock salute. Dongwoo’s laugh rings through the alleyway and then he’s gone, leaving Woohyun alone once more.
With a sigh Woohyun tilts his head back, running his free hand through his hair. His phone buzzes in his pocket, undoubtedly a new text message, but he doesn’t bother to check it. He brings his cigarette to his lips again and inhales deeply before releasing a lungful of smoke into the humid city air and watching it float away into the night sky.
08. pride; hoya/sunggyu; 483 words; pg
Hoya tightens his grip on the steering wheel as he slides smoothly out of a turn, weaving over the double yellow line to maneuver easily between two of the cars in front of him. He knows this stretch of the road better than anyone else, and it shows in his confidence as he navigates the dangerous twists and curves.
The first time he had come into this race he’d been a rookie, some small fry hardly even worth a glance from the other drivers. He had won that year, turning the track into complete chaos as he screeched across the finish line. The crowd gathered at the end had erupted in confusion, screaming and cheering as Hoya yanked open the door and desperately searched the crowd for his best friend, the person who had convinced him to enter in the first place. When he had finally spotted Sunggyu he had run to him and picked him up, adrenaline and the thrill of victory still pumping through his veins as he spun his friend around, yelling, “I did it! I did it!”
Hoya had won the next two years as well, making him the favorite going into his fourth year. And he probably would have won that year too, except -
Hoya pushes in the clutch and pulls back hard on the brake, turning the wheel sharply and drifting around the curve at high speed. There are only two cars left in front of him now, and he’s closing the distance quickly.
Before the race Sunggyu had pulled him aside, staring him down with eyes that had become so much more serious lately. ‘I know this is a matter of pride for you,’ he’d said, hands resting lightly on Hoya’s shoulders. ‘But please just try to be careful. Your life is more important than a stupid race, Howon-ah. I won’t try to stop you, but just, please. I don’t think I can survive going through that again.’
Because a year ago, during his fourth year of driving in this race, Hoya had gotten just a little too eager, a little too greedy. He had lost control and flipped his car, skidding off the track and mangling the metal to the point where he’d needed to be cut free. The crash had put him in the hospital for more than a month, and it had taken another six months for him to fully recover.
‘Your life is more important than a stupid race, Howon-ah.’
Right now, though, Howon doesn’t exist. There’s only Hoya, a street racer determined to win back his title. He overtakes the car closest to him and edges them out, and now there’s only one person left between him and victory.
Pride.
Hoya sets his eyes on the last remaining car in front of him, eyes narrowing and a borderline maniac grin spreading across his face, and presses down harder on the accelerator.
09. fiction; sunggyu/myungsoo; 968 words; g
Sunggyu sighs and props his chin up on one hand. He debates just laying his head down on the circulation desk, but decides it isn’t worth the scolding he’ll get from the more senior librarians if any of them see him. Sunggyu loves his job at the library, he really does, but sometimes - like now, a mere twenty minutes before closing - it can be excruciatingly boring.
The stool he’s sitting on swivels slightly from side to side as Sunggyu pushes one foot idly against the backside of the desk. He could be (should be) re-shelving books or even reorganizing the desk supplies or something at least somewhat productive. He opts to stare around the library instead, observing the few people among the shelves.
A mother and her daughter are in the children’s book section, the mom urging her child to hurry up and choose something as the little girl browses through the shelves of picture books. An elderly woman is looking through books in the nonfiction section. Judging by where she’s standing, Sunggyu thinks she’s probably looking for a gardening book. A couple of high school boys are in bibliography section, discussing the project they’re trying to do research for in loud whispers.
Then there’s a guy maybe a couple years younger than Sunggyu, probably a university student, standing by the science fiction shelves. He’s wearing a blue and white plaid shirt and dark skinny jeans, his hair slightly messy like he hadn’t bothered styling it this morning. He runs a finger along the spines of the books, occasionally stopping to pull one out and read the back.
Sunggyu recognizes plaid-boy because he’s come in every week or so for almost as long as Sunggyu’s had this job. His name is Kim Myungsoo, according to his library card, and each time he comes in to the library he’ll drop off whatever book he’d checked out the week before, then head over to the science fiction section to choose another book to take home. It’s always science fiction without fail. By now he’s gone through all the Western classics Sunggyu vaguely remembers from the various classes he’d had to take in university to gain his degree in literature. Fahrenheit 451, Slaughterhouse-Five, 1984, Clockwork Orange, Brave New World, on and on until he’d moved beyond Sunggyu’s realm of knowledge.
Sunggyu’s never been a huge fan of science fiction - in fact, he had rather dreaded assignments related to the genre back in school - but sometimes he’ll take a book Myungsoo has returned out of the drop box and scan through a few pages. He’s curious as to what Myungsoo seems to find so compelling about the genre, but in the end he always just shakes his head and puts the book onto a cart to be taken back out to the shelves.
Myungsoo straightens up from where he’s skimming through the bottom shelf of the scifi section, a thin paperback book in hand, and starts over towards the circulation desk. Startled from his daydreaming, Sunggyu hastens to sit up straight and almost falls off his stool in the process. By the time he’s regained his balance Myungsoo has reached the desk and is setting the book down on the counter, his library card on top. Sunggyu grabs both items, quickly scanning the information into the computer system.
As he’s stamping the book with the due date Sunggyu suddenly asks on a whim, “Why do you read so much scifi, anyway?”
He glances up and Myungsoo is staring at him as if his eyes could bore holes into Sunggyu’s soul.
“Because I’m actually an alien stranded on Earth and I’m trying to research ways to get home,” Myungsoo replies, eyes still focused on Sunggyu. He says it so evenly and calmly that for a second Sunggyu actually believes him.
Then Myungsoo starts laughing and the effect is spoiled. Sunggyu is yanked back to reality for the second time in less than five minutes, feeling a bit like a fish that has just been pulled out of water and left to flop around on land. He tries to train his expression into nonchalance, raising his eyebrows as he hands the book over.
“I don’t really know,” Myungsoo finally says when he’s done laughing, taking the book from Sunggyu. “I just really like it. Reading scifi helps me de-stress, I guess?” He shrugs and turns the book over in his hands.
Sunggyu nods and lets out an “ahh” of understanding. He doesn’t really get how reading about post-apocalyptic societies and vicious aliens and totalitarian governments can be relaxing, but he can relate to the calming effect of simply picking up a book and reading a chapter in between homework assignments or before going to bed.
Something flickers in Myungsoo’s eyes, as if he’s seen something in Sunggyu’s expression that Sunggyu didn’t realize he was showing, and then he breaks out into a crooked smirk that makes him look like a cat that has gotten into the cream.
“Well then, I guess I’ll see you next week.” Myungsoo is still smirking and all Sunggyu finds himself capable of doing is nodding dumbly in response. Then Myungsoo is gone, the sliding doors closing behind him with a quiet whoosh of displaced air. Sunggyu stares at the closed doors for almost an entire minute, left with a distinct feeling of “what the heck just happened?”
Then the little girl still over in the children’s section starts screaming because her mom says she can only pick two books and she wants three, and Sunggyu swivels his stool back to face the main part of the library. He glances at the clock - ten minutes until closing now - and goes back to watching the two highschoolers bicker over which books will be better material for their project with a sigh.
10. fear; hoya/sungjong; 930 words; g
Sungjong fights back a yawn, staring out with glassy eyes from his post in front of the shopping mall’s haunted house attraction. Behind him the soundtrack of creaking floorboards and heavy footsteps plays on loop, but Sungjong’s heard it so many times that he doesn’t even notice it anymore. He vaguely wonders if the people working inside the “house” (an empty store that had been converted into a short maze full of appropriately spooky fixtures) are as bored as he is. Business is painfully slow today.
A couple approaches his station and Sungjong forces himself to look alert, albeit dour as per his job description.
“Two please,” the guy says when they reach Sungjong. His girlfriend is clinging to his arm, tittering nervously about how she’s really bad at dealing with scary things. The guy is practically gloating under his attention, projecting excessive amounts of MACHO-MANLY-MAN vibes.
“That will be twelve thousand won,” Sungjong replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
The guy pulls out his wallet to pay, and Sungjong gestures for them to enter as soon as the cash register draw shuts. They push past the first heavy black curtain and Sungjong starts to count in his head. Right when he reaches five there’s a loud, high-pitched scream from just beyond the entrance. Sungjong bites back a smile, adjusting the collar of his costume. He figures they probably won’t last the entire walk and will end up escaping through one of the safety exits when the girl starts having a mental breakdown partway through.
The air-conditioning is blasting inside the mall, but Sungjong’s outfit is stuffy and his makeup feels like it’s melting on his face. He’s sure that if he touched his cheek right now his fingers would come away covered in white paint. He blows his bangs out of his eyes and tries not to think about what the makeup is doing to his skin. His friends like to make fun of his nightly face cleansing routine, but after spending entire afternoons caked with gunk Sungjong has found that all the different skincare products are an absolute necessity.
Bored once more, Sungjong starts to play with the hem of one of his sleeves. He rolls the black fabric then unrolls it again, not even bothering to look up as he hears someone push aside the curtain and come out to the entrance.
“I give them five minutes, tops,” a voice says from behind Sungjong.
“Are you kidding? They won’t even last three minutes,” Sungjong shoots back, turning to face a guy wearing an outfit similar to his own, although the newcomer’s makeup is sloppy and smudged.
“Three minutes, are you sure?” Sungjong nods. “Alright, it’s a bet then.”
“Don’t cry when you lose, Howon hyung,” Sungjong says with a bright smile. The other - Howon - reaches out to hit Sungjong lightly in the arm.
“Worry about yourself,” Howon retorts, grinning. Right on cue there’s more hysterical screaming from inside.
“They’ve already been in there a minute,” Sungjong says, pulling his cell phone out from under the table to check the time. Howon just hums in acknowledgement, rocking back on his heels.
They descend into silence, Sungjong using his phone to check his email and Howon watching the mall-goers passing by. Some people give them weird looks, but Sungjong’s used to it. He keeps a wary eye out, though, so that if anyone seems to be approaching the haunted house he can shoo Howon back inside to his station.
“You should really do a better job with your makeup,” Sungjong comments offhandedly, giving Howon’s face a critical look. Howon just shrugs.
“I’m in the dark, so it’s not like anyone can really see it. Besides, they’re too busy screaming to pay attention to my face.”
Sungjong rolls his eyes and checks the time on his phone again. The couple has been in the haunted house for two and a half minutes.
There’s a loud crash from somewhere beyond the entrance curtain, and what sounds like a mix of screaming and crying. Sungjong smiles - he can tell that he’s just won the bet.
“Are you getting enjoyment out of other people’s fear again?” Howon admonishes jokingly.
“Only because their fear is getting me a free dinner,” Sungjong replies, his smile widening.
“Oh?”
“Yup, because -” a door off to their left opens, and the couple stumble out. The girl is clinging to her boyfriend and sobbing into his shoulder. “- you just lost the bet. Two minutes and forty-seven seconds.”
Howon sighs as Sungjong shoves the phone into his face, pointing to the time. Sungjong tilts his head to the side slightly, still smiling brightly.
“Please treat me to dinner, hyung!”
“Don’t do that while wearing your costume makeup, you look terrifying,” Howon says blankly, and Sungjong laughs. “But sure, because I’m a good hyung I’ll buy you dinner after we get off shift.”
“Let’s get mul naengmyun,” Sungjong declares happily.
“Fine, fine.” Howon flaps an arm dismissively, trying to calculate in his head how much money he has on him right now and whether he’ll have to stop by an ATM before they eat.
“Ok, great, now go back to your station before someone comes and we get in trouble,” Sungjong says, ushering Howon back towards the entrance. Howon grumbles something about ungrateful kids, but he’s smiling as he ducks back behind the curtain.
Sungjong is grinning too when he turns back to look out over the mall walkway. He’s still smiling when the next group of people approaches the haunted house. They give him concerned looks.
006. wanting; woohyun/myungsoo; 412 words; g
Myungsoo wasn’t a kid who asked for much. In fact, he hardly spoke at all. Ever since Woohyun had picked him up from where he’d been sleeping behind a dumpster, Myungsoo had simply followed Woohyun around wordlessly, eyes wide and a hand clinging tightly to the back of Woohyun’s shirt.
(Myungsoo never told Woohyun why he had been sleeping alone in an alleyway, or what had happened to his parents, and Woohyun never asked. The older boy had always just assumed that Myungsoo’s parents had died from radiation sickness like most people did; like they, too, probably eventually would.)
Myungsoo didn’t ask for more food, even when Woohyun heard his stomach growling late at night, or complain of the cold when the two of them were huddled together and shivering on the floor of an abandoned apartment building. Instead he watched Woohyun with something akin to awe as Woohyun taught him how to effectively beg, pickpocket, or scavenge for edible food in the trash. And although he was all of about nine (Woohyun wasn’t actually sure of his own age, since no one other than the elites bothered with things such as calendars since the fallout) Woohyun found himself desperately wishing he could offer the younger boy something better, anything better than this life they were so desperately living.
So when they decided on a whim to wander through a nicer part of town one day, gawking at all the fancy shops and pressing dirty fingerprints all over the windows, and Myungsoo stared with avid fascination at the vividly colored sweets on display at a candy store, Woohyun didn’t even hesitate to slip inside the shop. Myungsoo wasn’t a kid who asked for much, that was true, but in those few brief seconds there had been such a strong sense of want swirling behind the usually unreadable surface of Myungsoo’s eyes that Woohyun felt his heart breaking.
The shopkeeper kept a close eye on him - a dirty and battered boy who was so painfully out of place here that it was obvious he was up to no good - but Woohyun waited until a crowd came in and distracted her before quickly swiping two lollipops off the window display. It wasn’t the first time he’d stolen, and it definitely wouldn’t be his last, but as he watched Myungsoo unwrap the candy later with the reverence one would pay to something holy, Woohyun thought that this particular time had probably been the most rewarding.
007. cigarettes; dongwoo/woohyun; 1,129 words; pg
When Woohyun opens the side-door he’s immediately hit with a feeling akin to being wrapped up in a wet blanket. The humid city air clings to him as he shuts the door behind himself, leaving behind the air-conditioned kitchen of the fried chicken joint he works at to crouch down on the doorstep in the alleyway. He doesn’t necessarily want to leave the relatively cool refuge of the kitchen, but it’s 9 p.m. and he still has two hours left of his shift before he needs to head off to perform at a gig in Hongdae, and Woohyun desperately needs a break from the ever constant sizzle and pop of cooking chicken.
He pulls a package of cigarettes from his pocket, shaking one out and lighting it up. Woohyun inhales deeply then rests his elbows on his knees, letting the cigarette dangle from his fingertips. Breathing out, he watches the smoke disperse out into the city. The smoke from his cigarette feels heavy in his lungs, almost as suffocating as the thick humidity pressing down on him from all directions. Beyond the alley he can see and hear the bustle of Seoul, bright lights moving past at high speeds and people heading home or coming out to enjoy the sticky-hot August night. It’s dark already, but the glow from the city reflects against the bottom of low clouds, promising a thunderstorm in the near future.
Woohyun smokes in silence, not even bothering to check his phone. He can already guess what kind of messages will be waiting for him, and what kind of replies he’ll be expected to send. It’s tiring, really, all the expectations. He sighs and taps his cigarette, letting the ashes flutter to the ground.
The doorway across from Woohyun’s perch suddenly bursts open, releasing a shockwave of sound and light into the night before slamming shut once more. A boy with a head of dark blue hair leans against the door and lets out a relieved sigh before spotting Woohyun and waving cheerfully.
“Hi,” he says, his face taken over by a wide grin.
“Hey,” Woohyun replies, schooling his face into an acceptably happy expression.
The boy slides down the door until he’s sitting, eyes now on the same level as Woohyun’s. “We managed to take our breaks at the same time again, huh?” he says brightly, laughing, and Woohyun nods. The two had met before, briefly, in the alleyway. They hadn’t really talked much, though, and all Woohyun knows about the other is that his name is Dongwoo, his parents own the seafood restaurant next door, and he sometimes comes in to work for them on the weekends.
Woohyun’s cigarette has burned down enough to almost singe his fingers so he drops it to the pavement and pulls out another. He hesitates, then offers the box to the blue haired boy sitting across from him.
“Want one?” Woohyun asks, but Dongwoo just shakes his head.
“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
Woohyun shrugs and puts the pack back into his pocket. He lights up and brings the cigarette to his lips.
“Isn’t that bad for your voice?”
The question catches Woohyun off guard and he’s so surprised that he almost drops his cigarette. He stares at Dongwoo and the other meets he gaze evenly, curious.
“I mean, you’re a singer, right? For some indie rock band?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Woohyun nods anyway.
“Yeah, I am,” he confirms and Dongwoo smiles.
“My sister is a huge fan of yours. She nearly had a heart attack when she realized you work right next door to our restaurant. Too bad you’re a kitchen slave hiding in the back, or she would probably be your guys’ number one customer.”
They both laugh a bit before settling into a comfortable silence. Woohyun’s chest starts to ache because it’s so easy, just being here and laughing without needing to force anything. Not having to make himself into a clown to bring smiles to his friends’ faces, because he simply can’t bear to see them sad or upset. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it at first, overstepping the lines between silly to ridiculous, sacrificing himself for the sake of laughter. Now it’s become a habit, an expected part of him, and he can feel it slowly draining more of his energy away each day.
But out here in the alleyway smelling of compost and car exhaust and the heavy promise of rain, he can simply smile because he feels like it; because Dongwoo doesn’t know that Woohyun’s the ‘lovable idiot’ who will routinely embarrass himself in public in exchange for a couple smiles. Dongwoo doesn’t know, and it’s such a relief that Woohyun almost feels like crying.
“You should come see us sometime,” Woohyun suddenly says and Dongwoo glances up from where he’s pulling a loose thread from the hem of his shirt. Woohyun takes another drag of his cigarette and then adds, “Sometime soon,” as an afterthought.
Soon, while we still have the energy to try to work things out. While we’re still desperately holding ourselves together and are willing to try to glue our broken pieces back together instead of just letting everything shatter. Before we become another dream lying broken on Hongdae’s streets.
“Soon?” Dongwoo inquires with raised eyebrows. Woohyun just shakes his head with a small, tight-lipped smile.
Dongwoo doesn’t push it, instead stretching his arms out over his head. He leans from side to side before dropping his arms back to his sides and rolling his shoulders. Finally he stands up and brushes off his pants.
“Ok, but if I come you have to let my sister come backstage and sign a CD or something for her.”
“Sure,” Woohyun replies with a laugh. And it’s so simple to just laugh with Dongwoo like this that even as the other turns to open the door Woohyun has to stop himself from reaching out a hand and grabbing his shirt, begging him to stay for just a little longer.
“It’s a deal then,” Dongwoo confirms as someone from inside yells something that sounds vaguely like his name. “That’s my cue,” he grins, pulling the door open. “I’ll see you around.”
“Bye,” Woohyun says, raising his cigarette in some sort of mock salute. Dongwoo’s laugh rings through the alleyway and then he’s gone, leaving Woohyun alone once more.
With a sigh Woohyun tilts his head back, running his free hand through his hair. His phone buzzes in his pocket, undoubtedly a new text message, but he doesn’t bother to check it. He brings his cigarette to his lips again and inhales deeply before releasing a lungful of smoke into the humid city air and watching it float away into the night sky.
08. pride; hoya/sunggyu; 483 words; pg
Hoya tightens his grip on the steering wheel as he slides smoothly out of a turn, weaving over the double yellow line to maneuver easily between two of the cars in front of him. He knows this stretch of the road better than anyone else, and it shows in his confidence as he navigates the dangerous twists and curves.
The first time he had come into this race he’d been a rookie, some small fry hardly even worth a glance from the other drivers. He had won that year, turning the track into complete chaos as he screeched across the finish line. The crowd gathered at the end had erupted in confusion, screaming and cheering as Hoya yanked open the door and desperately searched the crowd for his best friend, the person who had convinced him to enter in the first place. When he had finally spotted Sunggyu he had run to him and picked him up, adrenaline and the thrill of victory still pumping through his veins as he spun his friend around, yelling, “I did it! I did it!”
Hoya had won the next two years as well, making him the favorite going into his fourth year. And he probably would have won that year too, except -
Hoya pushes in the clutch and pulls back hard on the brake, turning the wheel sharply and drifting around the curve at high speed. There are only two cars left in front of him now, and he’s closing the distance quickly.
Before the race Sunggyu had pulled him aside, staring him down with eyes that had become so much more serious lately. ‘I know this is a matter of pride for you,’ he’d said, hands resting lightly on Hoya’s shoulders. ‘But please just try to be careful. Your life is more important than a stupid race, Howon-ah. I won’t try to stop you, but just, please. I don’t think I can survive going through that again.’
Because a year ago, during his fourth year of driving in this race, Hoya had gotten just a little too eager, a little too greedy. He had lost control and flipped his car, skidding off the track and mangling the metal to the point where he’d needed to be cut free. The crash had put him in the hospital for more than a month, and it had taken another six months for him to fully recover.
‘Your life is more important than a stupid race, Howon-ah.’
Right now, though, Howon doesn’t exist. There’s only Hoya, a street racer determined to win back his title. He overtakes the car closest to him and edges them out, and now there’s only one person left between him and victory.
Pride.
Hoya sets his eyes on the last remaining car in front of him, eyes narrowing and a borderline maniac grin spreading across his face, and presses down harder on the accelerator.
09. fiction; sunggyu/myungsoo; 968 words; g
Sunggyu sighs and props his chin up on one hand. He debates just laying his head down on the circulation desk, but decides it isn’t worth the scolding he’ll get from the more senior librarians if any of them see him. Sunggyu loves his job at the library, he really does, but sometimes - like now, a mere twenty minutes before closing - it can be excruciatingly boring.
The stool he’s sitting on swivels slightly from side to side as Sunggyu pushes one foot idly against the backside of the desk. He could be (should be) re-shelving books or even reorganizing the desk supplies or something at least somewhat productive. He opts to stare around the library instead, observing the few people among the shelves.
A mother and her daughter are in the children’s book section, the mom urging her child to hurry up and choose something as the little girl browses through the shelves of picture books. An elderly woman is looking through books in the nonfiction section. Judging by where she’s standing, Sunggyu thinks she’s probably looking for a gardening book. A couple of high school boys are in bibliography section, discussing the project they’re trying to do research for in loud whispers.
Then there’s a guy maybe a couple years younger than Sunggyu, probably a university student, standing by the science fiction shelves. He’s wearing a blue and white plaid shirt and dark skinny jeans, his hair slightly messy like he hadn’t bothered styling it this morning. He runs a finger along the spines of the books, occasionally stopping to pull one out and read the back.
Sunggyu recognizes plaid-boy because he’s come in every week or so for almost as long as Sunggyu’s had this job. His name is Kim Myungsoo, according to his library card, and each time he comes in to the library he’ll drop off whatever book he’d checked out the week before, then head over to the science fiction section to choose another book to take home. It’s always science fiction without fail. By now he’s gone through all the Western classics Sunggyu vaguely remembers from the various classes he’d had to take in university to gain his degree in literature. Fahrenheit 451, Slaughterhouse-Five, 1984, Clockwork Orange, Brave New World, on and on until he’d moved beyond Sunggyu’s realm of knowledge.
Sunggyu’s never been a huge fan of science fiction - in fact, he had rather dreaded assignments related to the genre back in school - but sometimes he’ll take a book Myungsoo has returned out of the drop box and scan through a few pages. He’s curious as to what Myungsoo seems to find so compelling about the genre, but in the end he always just shakes his head and puts the book onto a cart to be taken back out to the shelves.
Myungsoo straightens up from where he’s skimming through the bottom shelf of the scifi section, a thin paperback book in hand, and starts over towards the circulation desk. Startled from his daydreaming, Sunggyu hastens to sit up straight and almost falls off his stool in the process. By the time he’s regained his balance Myungsoo has reached the desk and is setting the book down on the counter, his library card on top. Sunggyu grabs both items, quickly scanning the information into the computer system.
As he’s stamping the book with the due date Sunggyu suddenly asks on a whim, “Why do you read so much scifi, anyway?”
He glances up and Myungsoo is staring at him as if his eyes could bore holes into Sunggyu’s soul.
“Because I’m actually an alien stranded on Earth and I’m trying to research ways to get home,” Myungsoo replies, eyes still focused on Sunggyu. He says it so evenly and calmly that for a second Sunggyu actually believes him.
Then Myungsoo starts laughing and the effect is spoiled. Sunggyu is yanked back to reality for the second time in less than five minutes, feeling a bit like a fish that has just been pulled out of water and left to flop around on land. He tries to train his expression into nonchalance, raising his eyebrows as he hands the book over.
“I don’t really know,” Myungsoo finally says when he’s done laughing, taking the book from Sunggyu. “I just really like it. Reading scifi helps me de-stress, I guess?” He shrugs and turns the book over in his hands.
Sunggyu nods and lets out an “ahh” of understanding. He doesn’t really get how reading about post-apocalyptic societies and vicious aliens and totalitarian governments can be relaxing, but he can relate to the calming effect of simply picking up a book and reading a chapter in between homework assignments or before going to bed.
Something flickers in Myungsoo’s eyes, as if he’s seen something in Sunggyu’s expression that Sunggyu didn’t realize he was showing, and then he breaks out into a crooked smirk that makes him look like a cat that has gotten into the cream.
“Well then, I guess I’ll see you next week.” Myungsoo is still smirking and all Sunggyu finds himself capable of doing is nodding dumbly in response. Then Myungsoo is gone, the sliding doors closing behind him with a quiet whoosh of displaced air. Sunggyu stares at the closed doors for almost an entire minute, left with a distinct feeling of “what the heck just happened?”
Then the little girl still over in the children’s section starts screaming because her mom says she can only pick two books and she wants three, and Sunggyu swivels his stool back to face the main part of the library. He glances at the clock - ten minutes until closing now - and goes back to watching the two highschoolers bicker over which books will be better material for their project with a sigh.
10. fear; hoya/sungjong; 930 words; g
Sungjong fights back a yawn, staring out with glassy eyes from his post in front of the shopping mall’s haunted house attraction. Behind him the soundtrack of creaking floorboards and heavy footsteps plays on loop, but Sungjong’s heard it so many times that he doesn’t even notice it anymore. He vaguely wonders if the people working inside the “house” (an empty store that had been converted into a short maze full of appropriately spooky fixtures) are as bored as he is. Business is painfully slow today.
A couple approaches his station and Sungjong forces himself to look alert, albeit dour as per his job description.
“Two please,” the guy says when they reach Sungjong. His girlfriend is clinging to his arm, tittering nervously about how she’s really bad at dealing with scary things. The guy is practically gloating under his attention, projecting excessive amounts of MACHO-MANLY-MAN vibes.
“That will be twelve thousand won,” Sungjong replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
The guy pulls out his wallet to pay, and Sungjong gestures for them to enter as soon as the cash register draw shuts. They push past the first heavy black curtain and Sungjong starts to count in his head. Right when he reaches five there’s a loud, high-pitched scream from just beyond the entrance. Sungjong bites back a smile, adjusting the collar of his costume. He figures they probably won’t last the entire walk and will end up escaping through one of the safety exits when the girl starts having a mental breakdown partway through.
The air-conditioning is blasting inside the mall, but Sungjong’s outfit is stuffy and his makeup feels like it’s melting on his face. He’s sure that if he touched his cheek right now his fingers would come away covered in white paint. He blows his bangs out of his eyes and tries not to think about what the makeup is doing to his skin. His friends like to make fun of his nightly face cleansing routine, but after spending entire afternoons caked with gunk Sungjong has found that all the different skincare products are an absolute necessity.
Bored once more, Sungjong starts to play with the hem of one of his sleeves. He rolls the black fabric then unrolls it again, not even bothering to look up as he hears someone push aside the curtain and come out to the entrance.
“I give them five minutes, tops,” a voice says from behind Sungjong.
“Are you kidding? They won’t even last three minutes,” Sungjong shoots back, turning to face a guy wearing an outfit similar to his own, although the newcomer’s makeup is sloppy and smudged.
“Three minutes, are you sure?” Sungjong nods. “Alright, it’s a bet then.”
“Don’t cry when you lose, Howon hyung,” Sungjong says with a bright smile. The other - Howon - reaches out to hit Sungjong lightly in the arm.
“Worry about yourself,” Howon retorts, grinning. Right on cue there’s more hysterical screaming from inside.
“They’ve already been in there a minute,” Sungjong says, pulling his cell phone out from under the table to check the time. Howon just hums in acknowledgement, rocking back on his heels.
They descend into silence, Sungjong using his phone to check his email and Howon watching the mall-goers passing by. Some people give them weird looks, but Sungjong’s used to it. He keeps a wary eye out, though, so that if anyone seems to be approaching the haunted house he can shoo Howon back inside to his station.
“You should really do a better job with your makeup,” Sungjong comments offhandedly, giving Howon’s face a critical look. Howon just shrugs.
“I’m in the dark, so it’s not like anyone can really see it. Besides, they’re too busy screaming to pay attention to my face.”
Sungjong rolls his eyes and checks the time on his phone again. The couple has been in the haunted house for two and a half minutes.
There’s a loud crash from somewhere beyond the entrance curtain, and what sounds like a mix of screaming and crying. Sungjong smiles - he can tell that he’s just won the bet.
“Are you getting enjoyment out of other people’s fear again?” Howon admonishes jokingly.
“Only because their fear is getting me a free dinner,” Sungjong replies, his smile widening.
“Oh?”
“Yup, because -” a door off to their left opens, and the couple stumble out. The girl is clinging to her boyfriend and sobbing into his shoulder. “- you just lost the bet. Two minutes and forty-seven seconds.”
Howon sighs as Sungjong shoves the phone into his face, pointing to the time. Sungjong tilts his head to the side slightly, still smiling brightly.
“Please treat me to dinner, hyung!”
“Don’t do that while wearing your costume makeup, you look terrifying,” Howon says blankly, and Sungjong laughs. “But sure, because I’m a good hyung I’ll buy you dinner after we get off shift.”
“Let’s get mul naengmyun,” Sungjong declares happily.
“Fine, fine.” Howon flaps an arm dismissively, trying to calculate in his head how much money he has on him right now and whether he’ll have to stop by an ATM before they eat.
“Ok, great, now go back to your station before someone comes and we get in trouble,” Sungjong says, ushering Howon back towards the entrance. Howon grumbles something about ungrateful kids, but he’s smiling as he ducks back behind the curtain.
Sungjong is grinning too when he turns back to look out over the mall walkway. He’s still smiling when the next group of people approaches the haunted house. They give him concerned looks.