Ship/Member: Seungkwan/Vernon Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: angst, idol!seungkwan, past betrayal, internalized homophobia (?), open ending Permission to remix :Yes
i wrote it very spontaneously and i don't know how to tag it frankly. also, first-ever seventeen fic so I'm sorry if messed something up ***
Seungkwan isn't sure what he's doing in this district. What he can recount from yesterday's night is, in order, getting wasted, flirting with some guy, telling him about his idol years, and then somehow managing to end up in his apartment. Nothing came out of it in the end, he fell asleep on the couch and then woke up at 2 PM, made himself a pathetic breakfast consisting of a cup of black coffee and some cashews he found in the bowl standing on the coffee table. Then, he exited promptly, the doors with an electronic lock closing behind him. All he feels is burning shame.
He knows this street, its nooks permanently carved into his memory. He'd lived here for most of his teenage years. Until he debuted, until his life forever changed. He can't say whether it was for better or for worse because he doesn't know what would happen if he never auditioned. Maybe he would've stayed here or moved to a different country. Maybe he wouldn't have to hide behind a fake name when going to a hotel just to fuck some dude who's probably cheat—
Almost tripping on the pavement, Seungkwan feels his head throb. This is enough. If he thinks too much about it, he'll panic and end up making himself feel more miserable than he already feels due to the hangover.
Looking around, he can tell that while the asphalt on the street hasn't been renovated and the street lights are covered in even more gunk than he remembers, the whole area has changed. For some reason, his heart aches and the pain isn't hard to bear, but Seungkwan still would rather not think about its source. Nothing stays the same. Not the homes he grew up around, not the playground on which he used to fight wars with sticks and plastic guns. Not even his career has remained the same throughout over a decade.
It was a different time, he catches himself excusing his treatment, they didn't mean to—he didn't mean to betray him. But it's years too late, nothing he can do to change his actions at seventeen, right before his debut. He wonders what Hansol is doing now. Seungkwan thinks about it more than he cares to admit. Some days the questions fill his mind, making everything but shame or regret fuzzy and unfocused. There's no excuse for outing Hansol. There never had been even back then, almost fifteen years ago.
Even jealousy.
If Seungkwan remembers correctly, Hansol's father had a shop somewhere near. The two boys grew up playing together on the same street. They knew each other and maybe weren't close to call each other friends, but they got closer as teens. They both wanted to make music, see themselves one day on big billboards and perform on stage before a screaming crowd.
They auditioned together and both go in. Then, by some miracle that Seungkwan doesn't understand to this day they were selected to debut in the same group.
Seungkwan was too young to understand his feelings back then—didn't know what love felt like and what its consequences might be. He saw Hansol with another boy in their dorm. They were kissing, touching each other and Hansol looked at that boy so tenderly, with so much affection that Seungkwan's heart shattered, broke into million pieces like a car window after a crash.
His rage was blinding and just hours later he found himself talking with their manager with a slur staining his tongue. He hates himself for it. Maybe he always will.
He finds the shop, right where it stood a decade and a half ago. He opens the door and what greets him is the image of Hansol, sitting behind the cash register, scrolling on his phone. Behind him is an old ice cream commercial Seungkwan did four or five years ago. His face on the cardboard is faded, the colors washed off. Even despite that, Seungkwan thinks he didn't look as broken back then. His clean image never matched his turbulent private life.
"Hi," he says, hoping Hansol notices him.
He's older now, shallow wrinkles starting to appear around his eyes. His hair isn't dyed like it was in their pre-debut years. They both changed—Seungkwan probably for worse.
"You look like shit."
"You think I haven't noticed?" He smiles despite himself.
[Fill]
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: angst, idol!seungkwan, past betrayal, internalized homophobia (?), open ending
Permission to remix :Yes
i wrote it very spontaneously and i don't know how to tag it frankly. also, first-ever seventeen fic so I'm sorry if messed something up
***
Seungkwan isn't sure what he's doing in this district. What he can recount from yesterday's night is, in order, getting wasted, flirting with some guy, telling him about his idol years, and then somehow managing to end up in his apartment. Nothing came out of it in the end, he fell asleep on the couch and then woke up at 2 PM, made himself a pathetic breakfast consisting of a cup of black coffee and some cashews he found in the bowl standing on the coffee table.
Then, he exited promptly, the doors with an electronic lock closing behind him. All he feels is burning shame.
He knows this street, its nooks permanently carved into his memory. He'd lived here for most of his teenage years. Until he debuted, until his life forever changed. He can't say whether it was for better or for worse because he doesn't know what would happen if he never auditioned. Maybe he would've stayed here or moved to a different country. Maybe he wouldn't have to hide behind a fake name when going to a hotel just to fuck some dude who's probably cheat—
Almost tripping on the pavement, Seungkwan feels his head throb. This is enough. If he thinks too much about it, he'll panic and end up making himself feel more miserable than he already feels due to the hangover.
Looking around, he can tell that while the asphalt on the street hasn't been renovated and the street lights are covered in even more gunk than he remembers, the whole area has changed. For some reason, his heart aches and the pain isn't hard to bear, but Seungkwan still would rather not think about its source. Nothing stays the same. Not the homes he grew up around, not the playground on which he used to fight wars with sticks and plastic guns. Not even his career has remained the same throughout over a decade.
It was a different time, he catches himself excusing his treatment, they didn't mean to—he didn't mean to betray him. But it's years too late, nothing he can do to change his actions at seventeen, right before his debut.
He wonders what Hansol is doing now. Seungkwan thinks about it more than he cares to admit. Some days the questions fill his mind, making everything but shame or regret fuzzy and unfocused. There's no excuse for outing Hansol. There never had been even back then, almost fifteen years ago.
Even jealousy.
If Seungkwan remembers correctly, Hansol's father had a shop somewhere near. The two boys grew up playing together on the same street. They knew each other and maybe weren't close to call each other friends, but they got closer as teens. They both wanted to make music, see themselves one day on big billboards and perform on stage before a screaming crowd.
They auditioned together and both go in. Then, by some miracle that Seungkwan doesn't understand to this day they were selected to debut in the same group.
Seungkwan was too young to understand his feelings back then—didn't know what love felt like and what its consequences might be. He saw Hansol with another boy in their dorm. They were kissing, touching each other and Hansol looked at that boy so tenderly, with so much affection that Seungkwan's heart shattered, broke into million pieces like a car window after a crash.
His rage was blinding and just hours later he found himself talking with their manager with a slur staining his tongue. He hates himself for it. Maybe he always will.
He finds the shop, right where it stood a decade and a half ago. He opens the door and what greets him is the image of Hansol, sitting behind the cash register, scrolling on his phone. Behind him is an old ice cream commercial Seungkwan did four or five years ago. His face on the cardboard is faded, the colors washed off. Even despite that, Seungkwan thinks he didn't look as broken back then. His clean image never matched his turbulent private life.
"Hi," he says, hoping Hansol notices him.
He's older now, shallow wrinkles starting to appear around his eyes. His hair isn't dyed like it was in their pre-debut years. They both changed—Seungkwan probably for worse.
"You look like shit."
"You think I haven't noticed?" He smiles despite himself.