Ship/Member: verkwan Major Tags: breakup (probably rated an ao3 M but just barely--I'll say NSFW just in case) Additional Tags: angst (kind of a given) Permission to remix: Please ask
my first 17hols! frantically written between work projects lol. i didn't get quite as mean as these lyrics, but this is where my brain took me so i hope u enjoy. also the timeline is v nebulous and not meant to match any specific point in time.
*** 3:15 am, Banpo Han River Park. The air feels hollow, somehow, like the pit of Seungkwan’s stomach, as if all the oppressive humidity of the day had collapsed to the ground the moment it believed no one was looking. Seungkwan lets his nostrils flare as his lungs try to breathe it in. No audience, after all. No face upkeep needed. His phone buzzes next to where he’s sitting plaintively on the pavement, and something in him flutters, futile and bitter.
Seoul is a surprisingly quiet city. When Seungkwan first moved into the dorm, the noises of the streets—drunken squabbles, the smooth rumble of taxi cabs and scooters loaded with delicious yasik, footsteps on floors above him and voices on floors below—kept him up in fits. He spent more time gazing at the dark, angular confines of the room and its mess of beds and boys than getting any sleep at all. When it felt too suffocating, he’d throw off all the covers and squeeze his eyes tight, imagining the vastness of the ocean, its shining surface bleeding onto the cool cheek of the night sky. In Jeju, you can at least see the stars.
The river is the next best thing, here. There are no stars, but enough pinprick lights on the bridges and buildings and the slinky highways framing the water that he can almost remember the stars back home. As a child, he had been afraid of the dark, especially the kind that came too quick in winter, always dashing home to find refuge in the soft, warm arms of his mother or sisters when he’d stayed out too late playing to notice the sun going down and stars blinking awake. It was only just before he left, as he felt his voice start to grow and his body race to catch up, that he fell in love with starlight. Never moving and powerfully bright, the stars kept him company night after night as he hurtled into the last perilous lap of boyhood.
At the company, what Seoul lacked in stars was made up for by other trainees—all mini stars in their own right, or at least wannabes. Skinny kids with long hair and good genes and enough orthodontics to barricade the practice room door shut, in Seungkwan’s dreams. Their boundless energy both fed Seungkwan’s soul and stressed him out to the brink of no return. Hansol was, of course, different. He was still a kid, raucous and reckless, but even his childish words and worries held weight. Perhaps it was the way he was raised, by parents who simply said okay when Hansol wanted to stop going to school, or the way he was still struggling with the way everyone saw him, with eyes that turned him over slowly as if appraising a diamond, but there was a quiet depth to him that plucked all of Seungkwan’s taut heartstrings loose. They grew up, they debuted, they grew up some more, circling each other in near-nervous orbits, alternately giving the other space but always coming back for some small sip of each other. Casual childhood skinship turned to furtive touches—the slip of a finger into the front pocket of Hansol’s jeans, an almost inquisitive palm rubbing the nape of Seungkwan’s neck, hard—then a kiss. It was later than you would have thought, but they both grew up slowly in all areas except their career. Seungkwan had wanted to feel fireworks. Instead, he opened his eyes and found Hansol’s also open, in the dark, and his gaze was so heavy that it was almost as good.
That was two years ago, and they’ve done a lot more since. Hansol took him on a real date—steak and lobster and red wine—and couldn’t hide his little vampire teeth the whole time, he was that chuffed about it. They visited Seungkwan’s family in Jeju, and Seungkwan has spent many nights in Hansol’s childhood bedroom in Hongdae.
“Why is this weird for me,” he mused once, rucked up under Hansol on a bed in a heavy plastic frame. Mom and Dad out for a recital with Sophia. “I literally spent years of our childhood sleeping next to you. Seeing your other bedroom shouldn’t be that different.”
Hansol paused with his hands all up Seungkwan’s shirt. “Are you not into this? We don’t have to.”
“Pabo-ya,” Seungkwan rolled his eyes, craning upwards for a kiss that had Hansol crushing him into the baby-blue sheets again. “How many times do I have to tell you? I want you to want me. Just do it.”
Seungkwan supposes, now, that was probably part of the problem.
His phone buzzes again. "Nearly there. Took a bike. By the bridge right." Under it, the last message reads: "Do we really have to make a big deal about this."
“I’m not trying to make a scene,” Seungkwan snaps when Hansol arrives, rattling down the pavement on a Ttareungi bike with its flashing little spotlight. Hansol dismounts coolly, his face impassive, and it makes Seungkwan want to scream, or kick him in the shins, or fuck him til his facade breaks. Something in him stings like heartburn.
“You have to admit this is a little dramatic.” Hansol gestures toward the river. He’s wearing a beanie even though it’s August, and a line of sweat is curving delicately around his brow to his jaw.
Seungkwan wraps his arms around himself defensively. “And you know it’s practical. It’s not like I’m going to dump you at home where everybody can hear.”
The little o that appears on Hansol’s face brings Seungkwan a lightning strike of satisfaction, but then dread rushes over him suddenly, pushing the words out of his mouth with an almost manic urgency. “I’m breaking up with you, Vernon-ah.” He pauses, presses his lips together. “Fuck.”
Three months ago, Hansol had stopped looking at Seungkwan’s stories on Instagram and admitted that he didn’t keep up with his posts on Weverse either, had missed the last few episodes of Funstaurant. “I like my version of you,” he’d said, then shook his head with a frown. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean I like you in person. I love my Seungkwan, the one I get to see in real life.”
“But not me onscreen.” Seungkwan had said.
“I think you’re fucking great at what you do,” Hansol had responded, frustrated.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Two months ago, they’d fucked in a hotel, in the middle of the day with the blinds open like they wanted everyone to see even though they were too high up for it to really be possible. Afterwards, Seungkwan had broken into unending giggles, the thrill still curled tight in his chest where he used to believe he kept all his love, red and bloody and beating. Hansol was laying next to him, sheet across his waist like a fucking rom com hero. His eyes fixed to the ceiling, he opened his mouth and spoke, quietly. “Do you ever think that nobody would even want to see us, anyway?”
Seungkwan stopped laughing.
Last month, Seungkwan had made a list: I don’t like the way you wear brown shoes with blue jeans and I don’t like the way you correct Myungho-hyung’s Korean especially in public and I don’t like the way you make yourself look ugly sometimes and I don’t like the way you don’t believe it when people tell you you’re beautiful even though they’re coming from a weird place it’s still true and I don’t like the way you don’t tell me I’m beautiful and I don’t like the way you look at the camera even though it’s our job and I don’t like the way you never fucking answer the question “What do you want to eat?” and I don’t like the way you
Now, it’s 3:30 am at Banpo Han River Park. One of Seungkwan’s favorite places in the city. When he squeezes his eyes tight and finds a moment when no cars are humming by, the low language of the river sounds almost like that of the sea.
“Sorry I made you come all this way,” he whispers. His eyes are closed now, too.
[FILL] almost as good
Major Tags: breakup (probably rated an ao3 M but just barely--I'll say NSFW just in case)
Additional Tags: angst (kind of a given)
Permission to remix: Please ask
my first 17hols! frantically written between work projects lol. i didn't get quite as mean as these lyrics, but this is where my brain took me so i hope u enjoy. also the timeline is v nebulous and not meant to match any specific point in time.
***
3:15 am, Banpo Han River Park. The air feels hollow, somehow, like the pit of Seungkwan’s stomach, as if all the oppressive humidity of the day had collapsed to the ground the moment it believed no one was looking. Seungkwan lets his nostrils flare as his lungs try to breathe it in. No audience, after all. No face upkeep needed. His phone buzzes next to where he’s sitting plaintively on the pavement, and something in him flutters, futile and bitter.
Seoul is a surprisingly quiet city. When Seungkwan first moved into the dorm, the noises of the streets—drunken squabbles, the smooth rumble of taxi cabs and scooters loaded with delicious yasik, footsteps on floors above him and voices on floors below—kept him up in fits. He spent more time gazing at the dark, angular confines of the room and its mess of beds and boys than getting any sleep at all. When it felt too suffocating, he’d throw off all the covers and squeeze his eyes tight, imagining the vastness of the ocean, its shining surface bleeding onto the cool cheek of the night sky. In Jeju, you can at least see the stars.
The river is the next best thing, here. There are no stars, but enough pinprick lights on the bridges and buildings and the slinky highways framing the water that he can almost remember the stars back home. As a child, he had been afraid of the dark, especially the kind that came too quick in winter, always dashing home to find refuge in the soft, warm arms of his mother or sisters when he’d stayed out too late playing to notice the sun going down and stars blinking awake. It was only just before he left, as he felt his voice start to grow and his body race to catch up, that he fell in love with starlight. Never moving and powerfully bright, the stars kept him company night after night as he hurtled into the last perilous lap of boyhood.
At the company, what Seoul lacked in stars was made up for by other trainees—all mini stars in their own right, or at least wannabes. Skinny kids with long hair and good genes and enough orthodontics to barricade the practice room door shut, in Seungkwan’s dreams. Their boundless energy both fed Seungkwan’s soul and stressed him out to the brink of no return. Hansol was, of course, different. He was still a kid, raucous and reckless, but even his childish words and worries held weight. Perhaps it was the way he was raised, by parents who simply said okay when Hansol wanted to stop going to school, or the way he was still struggling with the way everyone saw him, with eyes that turned him over slowly as if appraising a diamond, but there was a quiet depth to him that plucked all of Seungkwan’s taut heartstrings loose. They grew up, they debuted, they grew up some more, circling each other in near-nervous orbits, alternately giving the other space but always coming back for some small sip of each other. Casual childhood skinship turned to furtive touches—the slip of a finger into the front pocket of Hansol’s jeans, an almost inquisitive palm rubbing the nape of Seungkwan’s neck, hard—then a kiss. It was later than you would have thought, but they both grew up slowly in all areas except their career. Seungkwan had wanted to feel fireworks. Instead, he opened his eyes and found Hansol’s also open, in the dark, and his gaze was so heavy that it was almost as good.
That was two years ago, and they’ve done a lot more since. Hansol took him on a real date—steak and lobster and red wine—and couldn’t hide his little vampire teeth the whole time, he was that chuffed about it. They visited Seungkwan’s family in Jeju, and Seungkwan has spent many nights in Hansol’s childhood bedroom in Hongdae.
“Why is this weird for me,” he mused once, rucked up under Hansol on a bed in a heavy plastic frame. Mom and Dad out for a recital with Sophia. “I literally spent years of our childhood sleeping next to you. Seeing your other bedroom shouldn’t be that different.”
Hansol paused with his hands all up Seungkwan’s shirt. “Are you not into this? We don’t have to.”
“Pabo-ya,” Seungkwan rolled his eyes, craning upwards for a kiss that had Hansol crushing him into the baby-blue sheets again. “How many times do I have to tell you? I want you to want me. Just do it.”
Seungkwan supposes, now, that was probably part of the problem.
His phone buzzes again. "Nearly there. Took a bike. By the bridge right."
Under it, the last message reads: "Do we really have to make a big deal about this."
“I’m not trying to make a scene,” Seungkwan snaps when Hansol arrives, rattling down the pavement on a Ttareungi bike with its flashing little spotlight. Hansol dismounts coolly, his face impassive, and it makes Seungkwan want to scream, or kick him in the shins, or fuck him til his facade breaks. Something in him stings like heartburn.
“You have to admit this is a little dramatic.” Hansol gestures toward the river. He’s wearing a beanie even though it’s August, and a line of sweat is curving delicately around his brow to his jaw.
Seungkwan wraps his arms around himself defensively. “And you know it’s practical. It’s not like I’m going to dump you at home where everybody can hear.”
The little o that appears on Hansol’s face brings Seungkwan a lightning strike of satisfaction, but then dread rushes over him suddenly, pushing the words out of his mouth with an almost manic urgency. “I’m breaking up with you, Vernon-ah.” He pauses, presses his lips together. “Fuck.”
Three months ago, Hansol had stopped looking at Seungkwan’s stories on Instagram and admitted that he didn’t keep up with his posts on Weverse either, had missed the last few episodes of Funstaurant. “I like my version of you,” he’d said, then shook his head with a frown. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean I like you in person. I love my Seungkwan, the one I get to see in real life.”
“But not me onscreen.” Seungkwan had said.
“I think you’re fucking great at what you do,” Hansol had responded, frustrated.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Two months ago, they’d fucked in a hotel, in the middle of the day with the blinds open like they wanted everyone to see even though they were too high up for it to really be possible. Afterwards, Seungkwan had broken into unending giggles, the thrill still curled tight in his chest where he used to believe he kept all his love, red and bloody and beating. Hansol was laying next to him, sheet across his waist like a fucking rom com hero. His eyes fixed to the ceiling, he opened his mouth and spoke, quietly. “Do you ever think that nobody would even want to see us, anyway?”
Seungkwan stopped laughing.
Last month, Seungkwan had made a list: I don’t like the way you wear brown shoes with blue jeans
and I don’t like the way you correct Myungho-hyung’s Korean especially in public
and I don’t like the way you make yourself look ugly sometimes
and I don’t like the way you don’t believe it when people tell you you’re beautiful even though they’re coming from a weird place it’s still true
and I don’t like the way you don’t tell me I’m beautiful
and I don’t like the way you look at the camera even though it’s our job
and I don’t like the way you never fucking answer the question “What do you want to eat?”
and I don’t like the way you
Now, it’s 3:30 am at Banpo Han River Park. One of Seungkwan’s favorite places in the city. When he squeezes his eyes tight and finds a moment when no cars are humming by, the low language of the river sounds almost like that of the sea.
“Sorry I made you come all this way,” he whispers. His eyes are closed now, too.