baekri (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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kkaeppsong2015-06-30 09:58 pm
baekri) wrote in kkaeppsong2015-06-30 09:58 pm
trade mistakes
trade mistakes
sugakookie
2705 words
jeongguk was seventeen years old when he met min yoongi.
he wasn’t anything special. just another kid with a dream, a foreigner who moved to l.a. on a whim with his parents’ wishes, a heavy suitcase and a desire to improve. dancing was his passion. all he wanted to do was dance. he had never bet on anything more.
he still remembers the thrill of panic that shot down his spine when someone sat next to him, the way that his entire being seemed to freeze when he looked up and realized that a celebrity - min fucking yoongi - was sitting next to him and casually introducing himself. he remembers stumbling over his name, spilling out his life story in an instant as soon as yoongi asked where he was from because he was so anxious he couldn’t think straight.
a month later he got his first spot as a backdancer in a music video. it was nothing special. just one cut, one small segment of choreography but it was enough. he was hot, breathing heavily after the first seven takes, trying to pat away the sweat dripping down his neck during an extended break.
the formation changed without a warning. everyone scrambled to reblock the routine. he was in the front, now clearly visible, the camera tracking his every move.
jeongguk’s mind had gone into overdrive, so much that he barely registered the way that yoongi sent a pointed look and a smile in his direction.
three months later, yoongi kissed him for the first time. jeongguk felt the butterflies rise and scatter in his stomach, wings fluttering so fast that they could have picked him up and carried him away.
▁▁▁
jeongguk was eighteen when everything started to fall apart.
it was a slow burn, like everything else. the fire that lit him up from the inside out started to get too close, igniting and illuminating parts of himself that were better left hidden away in the dark.
it started with one phone call. one “hyung, can i see you later?” met with an uncharacteristic sigh, a pause that wasn’t familiar. yoongi’s voice was straight to the point as always. it was one of the things jeongguk loved about him, but he still had to mask his disappointment.
“i’m sorry, jagi. i have a schedule tonight. i’ll probably be at the studio until morning.. i’ll make it up to you, okay?”
yoongi never did make it up to him. or maybe that was just the bitterness talking.
one sorry, jagi turned into another, and then another, and then text messages that went unanswered and days, weeks that dragged on without jeongguk seeing yoongi at all. he was busy, and jeongguk knew that. he was busy but it didn't mask the irritation, the bitter coil of something deep in his chest that only wound itself tighter every time that yoongi brushed him off.
when they did see each other, yoongi was different. he was tired, distracted, checking his phone just in case his manager contacted him or he got word from that up-and-coming producer on their collab. his popularity was skyrocketing, opportunities flying in left and right.
yoongi was happy. his music was his life, his love, his everything. jeongguk knew that even before he handed yoongi his heart, but he never would have imagined that things would change like this. he had thought that maybe yoongi was handing over his heart, too. maybe they were in this together.
he was young and stupid.
he felt stupid every time he tried to let yoongi know how he felt, every time the words caught on his tongue and in his throat until he could have choked on them. he did choke on them, over and over again, the coil winding tighter and making it hard to breathe.
"i know, jagi," yoongi would finally sigh. "i'm sorry."
his words always sounded more like defeat than really understanding, but jeongguk still gave in every time, leaning against yoongi and trying to find the familiar comfort in the way his fingers combed through his hair.
some days were better than others. like the days when yoongi would see his messages and respond to them, usually after one of their arguments while the feeling was still fresh in his mind. days when yoongi would actually let jeongguk know what his mysterious schedules were, when he somehow felt closer, more included despite no real physical distance closing between them at all. days when it started to seem like maybe things could be the way they used to, or at least better.
jeongguk was stupid. he was an idiot because he let himself fall into it every single time. and then it would drop off again. yoongi would get busy again.
i'm sorry, jagi.
i'm sorry, jagi.
i'm sorry.
that day was one of the bad ones. jeongguk remembers, even if he doesn’t want to. even if he does everything that he can to stop remembering.
it was mid august, two weeks before his birthday. he hadn’t heard much of anything from yoongi for a few days and the weight of it in his chest was getting closer and closer to unbearable. he did his best not to flood yoongi’s phone with messages or missed calls. he had only done that once or twice, and it never made anything better. it only seemed to make their arguments worse.
but that day, he was weak.
12:08pm
can we can get together for my birthday?
12:10pm
i’m asking in advance, so maybe …
2:43pm
do you have schedules tonight?
4:27pm
call me later?
8:52pm
i miss you
every message wound the coil inside of him tighter and tighter. the 1’s lingered next to the chat, like they were haunting him every time he checked just to make sure. yoongi was busy. yoongi was working. yoongi didn’t see any of them, and by eleven his mind was made up.
his fingers were shaking slightly when he pressed the call button. his chest was tight and his stomach heavy, nauseous because the weight of his decision had settled there, testing the fractures in his already-fragile state of being.
he didn’t expect yoongi to answer. the click of the call being picked up was almost enough to shake jeongguk’s resolve but instead he swallowed hard and did his best to act like everything was alright.
“hyung, i -”
“jeongguk?”
it was the tone of yoongi’s voice that halted him more than the interjection itself. yoongi sounded busy. he sounded tired.
he sounded like he did every time he answered one of jeongguk’s calls, and the slow, sinking feeling of realization started to trickle into his consciousness.
ask him if he can meet up with you tonight. if he says yes, tell him everything. if he says no, you have to go.
that’s what jeongguk had told himself. it was his own last attempt. and it was better that yoongi didn’t know, because at least this way his response would be honest and not triggered by some fear of losing him.
he didn’t get to ask. he opened his mouth to try and yoongi got there first.
“hey, jagi.”
the nickname was starting to become more like acid, something that dripped into him and sizzled on contact, eating away a little more every time he heard it. it used to make those butterflies in his stomach erupt. now it just made him volatile.
“my schedule is running over tonight ...i probably won’t even make it home until tomorrow.”
the answer was clear. there was no point in asking, so jeongguk didn’t. instead he said “okay” and there was a beat of surprised silence from the other end of the line.
normally, he would have protested. he would have made some snappy comment at least, started one of their routine arguments that always went in circles without ending up anywhere. but all of the fire had drained out of him. he didn’t have the energy to fight with yoongi anymore, not when he was too focused on trying to keep his voice from shaking long enough to hang up.
“jeongguk, i’m -”
“it’s fine. it’s okay. don’t worry about it.”
jeongguk didn’t want to hear yoongi say that he was sorry again. it was already too much to handle, and he pressed the end call button quickly, threw his phone down. yoongi didn’t call back. the screen didn’t light up with an incoming message.
his fingers were shaking when he bought the ticket, and it took too long to pack when everything reminded him of too many things. it was a snap decision, but it was one he had been considering for a while, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.
he missed his family. he missed yoongi.
but at least there was a guarantee that, if he went back to busan, his family would be there.
it hadn’t been difficult to figure out where yoongi was. the studio was a safe bet, because even if he had gone somewhere else for shooting, he always ended up back there. he was a workaholic, and claimed that it was less distracting to get things done when he didn’t have a bed in the room, tempting him. jeongguk remembered laughing when yoongi told him that, with his nose pressed against jeongguk’s neck and breath warm against his skin. he had still felt warm all over, then.
he told the cab driver to stop and paid him an extra tip for the detour. it wouldn’t take long, just five minutes. despite everything, it felt too wrong to leave without seeing yoongi one more time.
by chance, like some ironic stroke of luck, he ran into yoongi in the hallway. he was clearly rushed, busy, and looked like someone had smacked him in the face when they locked eyes.
“jeongguk..”
his voice was more an exasperated sigh than anything else, like he had been sure he knew why jeongguk was there. like he was primed to turn him away without even so much as hearing him out.
“i know.”
jeongguk had cut him off quickly, hoped that his voice was steady enough and that his eyes weren’t too bloodshot from too much crying and absolutely no sleep. it was nearing two a.m. and he needed to get going.
“i’m not here to interrupt your schedule. i just … wanted to see you, for a second.”
he had swallowed hard, trying not to look too closely at the confused expression written all over yoongi’s face, in his eyes.
“don’t worry. i’m leaving. um … good luck, okay?”
jeongguk had tried to smile at him. it was halfway there, an attempt that barely made it before staff were coming to look for yoongi, calling for him, pulling him back to his life. it was easy for jeongguk to duck out and weave his way between them, disappearing through the front door.
he hadn’t heard the way that yoongi had called out after him, his voice lost in the momentary chaos.
two hours later he was on a red-eye flight with two connections that would eventually land him back in south korea, and he was set on leaving every piece of yoongi behind.
the last trace of him was the pile of yoongi’s clothes neatly folded and placed on his kitchen counter, the ones he had left at jeongguk’s place or that jeongguk had stolen in an attempt to keep him close.
he hadn’t left a note, but his spare key was nestled neatly on top of the fabric.
▁▁▁
jeongguk is twenty years old.
he’s living in a single apartment in busan, taking general ed classes towards nothing in particular and working a shitty part time job at a small convenience store to keep himself going. his birthday is in three weeks, and it’s almost been long enough that l.a. feels like a dream, like a distant reality, a lifetime that isn’t related to his at all and never happened.
he wanted it to be that way. that’s why the first thing that he did when his parents picked him up from the airport was throw out his old cell phone and get a new one. new number, no pictures, no chat logs, no reminders of anything that used to be a part of his life.
it’s been almost two years since he danced. he only tried once after he came back to south korea, in the studio that he used to frequent more than his own home. three counts in and everything came rushing back full force, a wave of emotion strong enough to crash over him and leave him lying on his back on the wooden floorboards, trying to catch his breath.
it felt like he was drowning. his body remembered how, remembered the motions but going through them hurt too much. every movement was linked to something that he had to forget.
he was drowning, drowning, drowning.
his chest was heavy, weighed down with a year and a half that filled his lungs. there was something lingering above the surface, something like the memory of yoongi’s smile, distorted by the aqua blur.
he closed his eyes and held his breath.
it’s been almost two years. his birthday is in three weeks, and jeongguk still doesn’t regret his decision. he’s still glad to be home, even if it means subjecting himself to this kind of life. the kind of life he never wanted in the first place.
it’s better than remembering.
the door chimes cheerfully, alerting him to the presence of a customer. he can’t be bothered to look up from the magazine he’s reading, lazily flipping through the pages with his body draped over the counter, chin resting in his hand.
his eyes are still trained on the magazine even when the customer approaches and he straightens up, allowing room for them to place their purchases on the counter top.
"did you find everything okay?"
the rehearsed question is little more than a monotone, fingers slipping around the can of iced coffee and ringing it up.
"yeah, thanks."
jeongguk freezes. his gaze snaps up and away from the magazine. it's been almost two years, but he would recognize that low, sleepy voice anywhere.
yoongi is standing in front of him. he's wearing his favorite beanie, the one jeongguk always used to steal. his hair is dyed and a little longer than he remembers but he's here. he's standing in front of jeongguk, in front of the counter in his shitty convenience store in busan.
they lock eyes. suddenly jeongguk feels like his knees might give out, feels a steady panic rising in the back of his throat.
"hey," yoongi says, and tries to offer a grin. he's at least a thousand times more.composed than jeongguk feels.
of course he is. he's doing well. jeongguk's heard enough to know that.
his fingers go slack against the can of coffee. he drops it onto the counter with a loud thud.
"fuck," he says, and promptly turns and makes his way into the back storage room.
▁▁▁
jeongguk doesn't know how much time he spends crouched in between two precariously stacked piles of boxes. he keeps his head between his knees and his eyes squeezed shut, trying to remember how to breathe. his heart is racing. the panic has set in, leaving his mind whirring and racing so fast that his thoughts are like white noise.
by the time he comes out, yoongi is gone.
the owner's daughter, the only person he ever seems to share shifts with gives him a confused look of concern when he takes his place behind the counter again.
"sorry," he says, and wipes some of the sweat from his forehead.
"that guy left this for you," she responds, and holds out a slip of paper.
it's yoongi's handwriting, untidy scrawl on the back of his receipt. it's a phone number and an address, presumably the place he's staying while he's here.
underneath that, he wrote two sentences:
i'll be here for a while. i want to talk, if you'll let me.
sugakookie
2705 words
jeongguk was seventeen years old when he met min yoongi.
he wasn’t anything special. just another kid with a dream, a foreigner who moved to l.a. on a whim with his parents’ wishes, a heavy suitcase and a desire to improve. dancing was his passion. all he wanted to do was dance. he had never bet on anything more.
he still remembers the thrill of panic that shot down his spine when someone sat next to him, the way that his entire being seemed to freeze when he looked up and realized that a celebrity - min fucking yoongi - was sitting next to him and casually introducing himself. he remembers stumbling over his name, spilling out his life story in an instant as soon as yoongi asked where he was from because he was so anxious he couldn’t think straight.
a month later he got his first spot as a backdancer in a music video. it was nothing special. just one cut, one small segment of choreography but it was enough. he was hot, breathing heavily after the first seven takes, trying to pat away the sweat dripping down his neck during an extended break.
the formation changed without a warning. everyone scrambled to reblock the routine. he was in the front, now clearly visible, the camera tracking his every move.
jeongguk’s mind had gone into overdrive, so much that he barely registered the way that yoongi sent a pointed look and a smile in his direction.
three months later, yoongi kissed him for the first time. jeongguk felt the butterflies rise and scatter in his stomach, wings fluttering so fast that they could have picked him up and carried him away.
▁▁▁
jeongguk was eighteen when everything started to fall apart.
it was a slow burn, like everything else. the fire that lit him up from the inside out started to get too close, igniting and illuminating parts of himself that were better left hidden away in the dark.
it started with one phone call. one “hyung, can i see you later?” met with an uncharacteristic sigh, a pause that wasn’t familiar. yoongi’s voice was straight to the point as always. it was one of the things jeongguk loved about him, but he still had to mask his disappointment.
“i’m sorry, jagi. i have a schedule tonight. i’ll probably be at the studio until morning.. i’ll make it up to you, okay?”
yoongi never did make it up to him. or maybe that was just the bitterness talking.
one sorry, jagi turned into another, and then another, and then text messages that went unanswered and days, weeks that dragged on without jeongguk seeing yoongi at all. he was busy, and jeongguk knew that. he was busy but it didn't mask the irritation, the bitter coil of something deep in his chest that only wound itself tighter every time that yoongi brushed him off.
when they did see each other, yoongi was different. he was tired, distracted, checking his phone just in case his manager contacted him or he got word from that up-and-coming producer on their collab. his popularity was skyrocketing, opportunities flying in left and right.
yoongi was happy. his music was his life, his love, his everything. jeongguk knew that even before he handed yoongi his heart, but he never would have imagined that things would change like this. he had thought that maybe yoongi was handing over his heart, too. maybe they were in this together.
he was young and stupid.
he felt stupid every time he tried to let yoongi know how he felt, every time the words caught on his tongue and in his throat until he could have choked on them. he did choke on them, over and over again, the coil winding tighter and making it hard to breathe.
"i know, jagi," yoongi would finally sigh. "i'm sorry."
his words always sounded more like defeat than really understanding, but jeongguk still gave in every time, leaning against yoongi and trying to find the familiar comfort in the way his fingers combed through his hair.
some days were better than others. like the days when yoongi would see his messages and respond to them, usually after one of their arguments while the feeling was still fresh in his mind. days when yoongi would actually let jeongguk know what his mysterious schedules were, when he somehow felt closer, more included despite no real physical distance closing between them at all. days when it started to seem like maybe things could be the way they used to, or at least better.
jeongguk was stupid. he was an idiot because he let himself fall into it every single time. and then it would drop off again. yoongi would get busy again.
i'm sorry, jagi.
i'm sorry, jagi.
i'm sorry.
that day was one of the bad ones. jeongguk remembers, even if he doesn’t want to. even if he does everything that he can to stop remembering.
it was mid august, two weeks before his birthday. he hadn’t heard much of anything from yoongi for a few days and the weight of it in his chest was getting closer and closer to unbearable. he did his best not to flood yoongi’s phone with messages or missed calls. he had only done that once or twice, and it never made anything better. it only seemed to make their arguments worse.
but that day, he was weak.
12:08pm
can we can get together for my birthday?
12:10pm
i’m asking in advance, so maybe …
2:43pm
do you have schedules tonight?
4:27pm
call me later?
8:52pm
i miss you
every message wound the coil inside of him tighter and tighter. the 1’s lingered next to the chat, like they were haunting him every time he checked just to make sure. yoongi was busy. yoongi was working. yoongi didn’t see any of them, and by eleven his mind was made up.
his fingers were shaking slightly when he pressed the call button. his chest was tight and his stomach heavy, nauseous because the weight of his decision had settled there, testing the fractures in his already-fragile state of being.
he didn’t expect yoongi to answer. the click of the call being picked up was almost enough to shake jeongguk’s resolve but instead he swallowed hard and did his best to act like everything was alright.
“hyung, i -”
“jeongguk?”
it was the tone of yoongi’s voice that halted him more than the interjection itself. yoongi sounded busy. he sounded tired.
he sounded like he did every time he answered one of jeongguk’s calls, and the slow, sinking feeling of realization started to trickle into his consciousness.
ask him if he can meet up with you tonight. if he says yes, tell him everything. if he says no, you have to go.
that’s what jeongguk had told himself. it was his own last attempt. and it was better that yoongi didn’t know, because at least this way his response would be honest and not triggered by some fear of losing him.
he didn’t get to ask. he opened his mouth to try and yoongi got there first.
“hey, jagi.”
the nickname was starting to become more like acid, something that dripped into him and sizzled on contact, eating away a little more every time he heard it. it used to make those butterflies in his stomach erupt. now it just made him volatile.
“my schedule is running over tonight ...i probably won’t even make it home until tomorrow.”
the answer was clear. there was no point in asking, so jeongguk didn’t. instead he said “okay” and there was a beat of surprised silence from the other end of the line.
normally, he would have protested. he would have made some snappy comment at least, started one of their routine arguments that always went in circles without ending up anywhere. but all of the fire had drained out of him. he didn’t have the energy to fight with yoongi anymore, not when he was too focused on trying to keep his voice from shaking long enough to hang up.
“jeongguk, i’m -”
“it’s fine. it’s okay. don’t worry about it.”
jeongguk didn’t want to hear yoongi say that he was sorry again. it was already too much to handle, and he pressed the end call button quickly, threw his phone down. yoongi didn’t call back. the screen didn’t light up with an incoming message.
his fingers were shaking when he bought the ticket, and it took too long to pack when everything reminded him of too many things. it was a snap decision, but it was one he had been considering for a while, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.
he missed his family. he missed yoongi.
but at least there was a guarantee that, if he went back to busan, his family would be there.
it hadn’t been difficult to figure out where yoongi was. the studio was a safe bet, because even if he had gone somewhere else for shooting, he always ended up back there. he was a workaholic, and claimed that it was less distracting to get things done when he didn’t have a bed in the room, tempting him. jeongguk remembered laughing when yoongi told him that, with his nose pressed against jeongguk’s neck and breath warm against his skin. he had still felt warm all over, then.
he told the cab driver to stop and paid him an extra tip for the detour. it wouldn’t take long, just five minutes. despite everything, it felt too wrong to leave without seeing yoongi one more time.
by chance, like some ironic stroke of luck, he ran into yoongi in the hallway. he was clearly rushed, busy, and looked like someone had smacked him in the face when they locked eyes.
“jeongguk..”
his voice was more an exasperated sigh than anything else, like he had been sure he knew why jeongguk was there. like he was primed to turn him away without even so much as hearing him out.
“i know.”
jeongguk had cut him off quickly, hoped that his voice was steady enough and that his eyes weren’t too bloodshot from too much crying and absolutely no sleep. it was nearing two a.m. and he needed to get going.
“i’m not here to interrupt your schedule. i just … wanted to see you, for a second.”
he had swallowed hard, trying not to look too closely at the confused expression written all over yoongi’s face, in his eyes.
“don’t worry. i’m leaving. um … good luck, okay?”
jeongguk had tried to smile at him. it was halfway there, an attempt that barely made it before staff were coming to look for yoongi, calling for him, pulling him back to his life. it was easy for jeongguk to duck out and weave his way between them, disappearing through the front door.
he hadn’t heard the way that yoongi had called out after him, his voice lost in the momentary chaos.
two hours later he was on a red-eye flight with two connections that would eventually land him back in south korea, and he was set on leaving every piece of yoongi behind.
the last trace of him was the pile of yoongi’s clothes neatly folded and placed on his kitchen counter, the ones he had left at jeongguk’s place or that jeongguk had stolen in an attempt to keep him close.
he hadn’t left a note, but his spare key was nestled neatly on top of the fabric.
▁▁▁
jeongguk is twenty years old.
he’s living in a single apartment in busan, taking general ed classes towards nothing in particular and working a shitty part time job at a small convenience store to keep himself going. his birthday is in three weeks, and it’s almost been long enough that l.a. feels like a dream, like a distant reality, a lifetime that isn’t related to his at all and never happened.
he wanted it to be that way. that’s why the first thing that he did when his parents picked him up from the airport was throw out his old cell phone and get a new one. new number, no pictures, no chat logs, no reminders of anything that used to be a part of his life.
it’s been almost two years since he danced. he only tried once after he came back to south korea, in the studio that he used to frequent more than his own home. three counts in and everything came rushing back full force, a wave of emotion strong enough to crash over him and leave him lying on his back on the wooden floorboards, trying to catch his breath.
it felt like he was drowning. his body remembered how, remembered the motions but going through them hurt too much. every movement was linked to something that he had to forget.
he was drowning, drowning, drowning.
his chest was heavy, weighed down with a year and a half that filled his lungs. there was something lingering above the surface, something like the memory of yoongi’s smile, distorted by the aqua blur.
he closed his eyes and held his breath.
it’s been almost two years. his birthday is in three weeks, and jeongguk still doesn’t regret his decision. he’s still glad to be home, even if it means subjecting himself to this kind of life. the kind of life he never wanted in the first place.
it’s better than remembering.
the door chimes cheerfully, alerting him to the presence of a customer. he can’t be bothered to look up from the magazine he’s reading, lazily flipping through the pages with his body draped over the counter, chin resting in his hand.
his eyes are still trained on the magazine even when the customer approaches and he straightens up, allowing room for them to place their purchases on the counter top.
"did you find everything okay?"
the rehearsed question is little more than a monotone, fingers slipping around the can of iced coffee and ringing it up.
"yeah, thanks."
jeongguk freezes. his gaze snaps up and away from the magazine. it's been almost two years, but he would recognize that low, sleepy voice anywhere.
yoongi is standing in front of him. he's wearing his favorite beanie, the one jeongguk always used to steal. his hair is dyed and a little longer than he remembers but he's here. he's standing in front of jeongguk, in front of the counter in his shitty convenience store in busan.
they lock eyes. suddenly jeongguk feels like his knees might give out, feels a steady panic rising in the back of his throat.
"hey," yoongi says, and tries to offer a grin. he's at least a thousand times more.composed than jeongguk feels.
of course he is. he's doing well. jeongguk's heard enough to know that.
his fingers go slack against the can of coffee. he drops it onto the counter with a loud thud.
"fuck," he says, and promptly turns and makes his way into the back storage room.
▁▁▁
jeongguk doesn't know how much time he spends crouched in between two precariously stacked piles of boxes. he keeps his head between his knees and his eyes squeezed shut, trying to remember how to breathe. his heart is racing. the panic has set in, leaving his mind whirring and racing so fast that his thoughts are like white noise.
by the time he comes out, yoongi is gone.
the owner's daughter, the only person he ever seems to share shifts with gives him a confused look of concern when he takes his place behind the counter again.
"sorry," he says, and wipes some of the sweat from his forehead.
"that guy left this for you," she responds, and holds out a slip of paper.
it's yoongi's handwriting, untidy scrawl on the back of his receipt. it's a phone number and an address, presumably the place he's staying while he's here.
underneath that, he wrote two sentences:
i'll be here for a while. i want to talk, if you'll let me.