Chapter Text
Seungkwan’s world ends in the kitchen at two o’clock in the morning. He’s getting ready to go to bed after a long day’s filming- he was out before anyone else woke this morning, and when he returned everyone was either in bed or out. In an attempt to relax enough to sleep, he’s frothing milk for hot chocolate with some expensive device with no other purpose that someone had purchased and put in a drawer and forgotten. A cough comes from behind him, and he pretends not to recognise it immediately.
“How was filming?” Hansol asks.
“Fine, I think it’ll be good. Tired though.” He flashes a quick, weary smile and carries on with his task.
“You work too hard. Make sure you sleep in tomorrow morning,” Hansol tells him, frowning deeply, and Seungkwan nods. He lingers.
“Do you need something? Want some too?” Seungkwan asks him, gesturing towards his mug, and Hansol’s eyes widen and he shakes his head.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Mmmm?”
“I’m seeing somebody.”
Seungkwan very carefully does not react. He keeps frothing the milk in short bursts, raises an eyebrow, and doesn’t move his cheeks or look away from his mug.
“Oh?” he asks, voice measured. Neutral. Inquiring, but not interested. Nailed it.
“She wants to meet you. She… I mean, I talk about you a lot, but also I think she might be a bit of a fan of yours,” Hansol laughs awkwardly.
This is fine. The milk is possibly not really milk anymore, more bubbles than liquid, but that’s fine! He likes it frothy!
“So do you think you could do dinner sometime? Or drinks maybe?”
“Of course!” Slightly too much enthusiasm, but it's better than the alternative. “I don’t know when, exactly. I think I’m free on Thursday, if she could make that work?”
He has no idea if he’s free on Thursday or not.
“I’ll see if she can,” Hansol says, grinning like he’s won the lottery, and it hurts to look at him, so Seungkwan doesn’t.
“What’s her name?” he asks him instead.
“Priya.”
“Pu-ree-yah?”
“Close enough. Her Korean isn’t great yet, but she’s learning fast, and your English is getting really good. I think you guys will really get on. Anyway,” he says, startling into a half aborted movement like he’s just remembered where and when they are. “You go to bed. I’ll text her about Thursday and see what she says.”
He squeezes his shoulder fondly and leaves, humming something unfamiliar as he makes his way to his own room.
Seungkwan very carefully mixes his drink, rinses the strange contraption and leaves it on the draining board. Ignores the cupboard that he knows has a crate of wine in. Takes the mug to his bedroom and locks the door.
He stands just inside the doorway, holding a mug of something that’s probably not even drinkable for far too long as he stares at his own reflection in the dark window, wondering how he ended up here.
He knows Hansol has seen people before, had happily ignored it when it happened, asked the right questions in the right tone of voice to show he cared but wasn’t too interested, and the other had seemed OK with that. This is the first time he’s ever suggested any kind of meeting, and Seungkwan fears what it means- obviously, that this is more serious, that she means more to him. He had seemed so happy at the idea of them meeting.
It’s fine. He slides into cold sheets, leaves the mug on his bedside table to be thrown away in the morning. His heart is contracting, constricting, turning to lead in his chest, but it's fine. It’ll be fine.
--
The bar is crowded, and he has a little trouble finding the right booth, until he sees a hand waving and looks down to connect it with the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
He catalogs her as he weaves his way towards them- long, luscious black hair that falls in thick curls, deep, smooth brown skin and enormous bright black eyes, a wide smile with shiny white teeth. Nose ring, big dangly earrings, a weird patchwork jacket that Seungkwan could never pull off in a thousand years but she makes look like couture.
As soon as he gets close enough, she reaches out and grabs his hand.
“Hello! It’s nice to meet you!”
It’s fluid, despite her thick accent, and she does the little awkward bow foreigners do when they aren’t used to it, a second too late, like an afterthought. He bows back and matches her smile, squeezing her hand.
“You are Vernon’s favourite friend. Says a lot about you,” she tells him, throwing a smile at the man in question, who returns it and squeezes her thigh where his hand is resting.
Her Korean is obviously not that great judging by the words she uses, some missing, some overly formal for her tone. But it rattles off her tongue like she has no self-consciousness over it, and despite everything it's this that sets a pit of jealousy rolling in Seungkwan’s stomach. He doesn’t let it show.
Hansol slides a ceramic shot glass towards him and picks up a bottle of Soju, pouring three out.
“You should get the watermelon one next time,” Priya tells him. Her English is different to his, and to Joshua’s, and her accent is divine, her voice so much richer in it than it is over the unfamiliar syllables of Korean. She turns to Seungkwan.
“Subak Soju. My favourite, first word I know,” she says with a cute smile, dimples pressing her smooth cheeks.
He laughs despite himself and throws his shot back, letting it burn his throat in punishment.
He learns a lot over the next few hours. That she’s from the south of India, that she’s a sound engineer, but has a masters degree in actual engineering and ran away to Korea to work in the music industry instead of building bridges or planes or whatever. That despite her fluency, English isn’t even her first language, the overachiever. That she smells wonderful, includes him in every conversation, watches half his shows, and drops random words in English or Hindi or one of the other two languages she speaks that Seungkwan has forgotten the names of into sentences when she can’t think of the right Korean one.
He learns that they met through Seungyoun. That Hansol looks at her like she personally hung the moon in the sky. That she leans into him and wrinkles her nose cutely when she’s telling stories about the two of them. That Hansol never stops touching her the whole night, always has a hand on her leg or an arm round her waist. That it’s natural for them. Comfortable.
She’s a self-proclaimed lightweight, and lets the two of them finish most of the soju. Seungkwan isn’t normally, but he had been unable to make himself eat before he came, and this many shots on an empty stomach make him glad he has nothing to do until the evening tomorrow. He can’t stop drinking, every time his mind starts clearing somewhat he throws back more alcohol, hoping it lands on the emotions and weighs them down.
--
“You’re so pretty,” he says, laying his cheek on one arm. The background noise seems louder, although the individual sounds are harder to pick out, and the lamplight round the bar looks smudgy. He and Priya have been holding hands across the table for the past fifteen minutes while Hansol looks at them in fond exasperation. Neither of them have yet noticed that they stopped trying to speak the other’s language a while ago, Seungkwan speaking in Korean, Priya replying in English.
“You’re so pretty,” she insists, and Seungkwan shakes his head. “Honey, tell him he’s pretty, he doesn’t believe me,” she whines at Hansol.
He chuckles and smooths a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“You’re very pretty, Kwan-ah,” he says softly.
Seungkwan hides his face in his forearm to pretend his stomach isn’t flipping, and hopes he can blame the inevitable flush on the alcohol.
“And your voice is so good, I want to make a song with it. Let's work together! Let's make an album!”
“What kind of album?”
“Fuck knows! All the kinds! Hip-hop, experimental Jazz, Celine Dion Tribute act? A different genre for every track!”
He misses some of the words but he gets the gist, and he rolls his head to look at her.
“You should be on it too, can you sing?”
“Karaoke?”
“Nooo, recording! For our album!”
“Okay you two, come on.” Hansol is getting to his feet, attempting to usher the two of them with him.
“What? Why?” Seungkwan blinks at him in surprise, sitting up.
“Because they called last orders about half an hour ago? Nearly everyone else is gone! They’re shutting.”
“Oh.”
They stumble out holding onto each other, and Seungkwan squints at his phone, debating whether to use the uber app or call a local cab company.
“Hansol-ah, do you wanna ring a cab? Or shall I?” he asks, wobbling a little and leaning against the wall. Why won’t the pavement just stay flat?
He looks up into the ensuing silence, to see a sheepish looking Hansol and Priya giggling.
“Uh… Actually, Kwan, I’m going to go back to Priya’s. I’ve ordered you a taxi too though, to take you home.”
The night air suddenly feels cold, where before it had been a pleasant cool on his flushed skin. He, stupidly, hadn’t even considered that he might be going home on his own.
“Oh!” His drunken brain is possibly a beat too late, but he thinks the smile he pastes on is convincing. He’s wasted enough that any odd behaviour is going to be attributed to alcohol, at least.
Priya sways slightly, holding onto Hansol’s arm and swings herself round to lean on Seungkwan.
“We’re gonna have seeeex,” she whispers loudly, winking badly before collapsing face first into his shoulder and laughing.
“We absolutely are not, you’re drunk,” Hansol admonishes, pulling her in with an arm about her waist.
Weirdly, the lack of her on his shoulder makes him feel even colder, and he stares at his phone to avoid acknowledging the conversation. Perhaps it's the way Hansol hadn’t addressed him at all, even though it had been him Priya was talking to. Or how they’re now huddled together, lost in a quiet, fond conversation. How he had walked into tonight ready for the worst few hours of his life, and yet this is the first time he has felt so utterly extraneous, so unnecessary. Like they wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t here.
A taxi pulls up to the curb and he genuinely contemplates just getting in it and leaving without saying goodbye. However, his mama may have raised a coward but by god she raised a polite one, so he calls out to them, waving wordlessly at the car in front.
“Oh NO!” Priya cries, like she’s just realised that going home means separating. She throws herself on him in a fierce hug, and it's only then that he notices how tiny she is, the only reason she can reach him the heels he hadn’t seen she was wearing. Her silky hair tickles his cheek and he breathes in her scent and she smells like jasmine and soju and niceness and this is all just so unfair.
She lets him go with reluctance, babbling unintelligibly. He thinks he hears the words “text” and “fun” and “again”, so he just nods and swings dazedly towards his car, pitching a dangerous angle toward the pavement.
He’s saved by a strong hand in his, and it takes a lot of effort not to grab it for all he’s worth. He wordlessly lets Hansol help him into the taxi, shielding his head with his other hand as he ducks under the door and slamming it behind him. The taxi driver must have been given the location ahead of time, because as soon as he’s in it sets off, Priya waving in the rear view mirror.
Now, Seungkwan has watched Pride and Prejudice (2005) many, many times. He doesn’t believe in guilty pleasures, but there is some tiny sense of embarrassment over the time he watched it once and, when the film was finished and it looped back to the start, just hit play and watched it all over again. All this to say, he is something of a scholar of this particular film, and yet he has never before truly understood the scene where Darcy hands Elizabeth off into the carriage and then walks away clenching his fist, the music swelling around him like it’s the most meaningful moment of his life. As he sits in the cab massaging his hand, still feeling the phantom warmth of Hansol’s in his, he finds himself developing a newfound sympathy for poor old Fitzwilliam.
In a moment’s spontaneous decision, he sends a message, and as soon as he receives the reply he asks the taxi driver to change course and make for a different address. He then promptly locks his phone, as the combination of reading and movement with a stomach full of soju is making him dangerously nauseous. He shuts his eyes and breathes, waiting for the ride to be over.
--
“Moooon Biiinnn… Binnie Binnie Binnieeeee!”
The door is wrenched open and he nearly falls inside as his support disappears from under him.
“Will you keep it down! We have neighbours!”
His friend is already in pyjamas, but Seungkwan knows he was up late this morning and working late tonight, and that he won’t be going to bed just yet. He follows him through to their living room, swaying as he decides which sofa to sit on before collapsing onto his bottom on the floor.
“You’re drunk.”
Bin looks solidly unimpressed, thick glasses on and a fluffy pink hairband on his head, standing over him with his arms crossed.
“I am really, very, immensely, very drunk, my friend. My lovely friend.” He looks up at the grumpy face and the impressive biceps and he sighs. “Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with you?”
Bin’s face softens and he joins Seungkwan on the floor.
“Because you’d already met him. Besides, being in love with me wouldn’t solve your problem, only transfer it.”
“Are you saying you wouldn’t want me?” He pouts up at his friend, weirdly offended by the dismissal.
“We’d be a terrible couple.”
“We’d be a great couple. We’d go on cute biking dates, we’d always dress well, you would actually play sports with me… what could go wrong?”
“You mean, other than the fact we have zero interest in each other that way?” Bin snorts. “Yeah, perfect couple.”
“You don’t need interest, you just need to look good together,” Seungkwan hiccups imperiously. “Trust me, straight people do it all the time.”
“Don’t ever take life advice from straight people!”
A new voice joins the fray, as Myungjun wanders in in a pair of leggings and an enormous t-shirt, a sweatband around his forehead. He heads straight for their fridge and devours a cold bottle of water out of it.
“Pilates,” he tells them by way of explanation. “And extreme sexual frustration. Jinnie was doing it without a shirt.”
A door opens somewhere on the other side of the apartment, and Jin-Jin’s voice echoes along the hallway.
“Bring me a bottle!” He calls.
“No, I’m mad at you!”
There’s a pause, and Seungkwan is rapt, like he’s watching a soap opera before his eyes. Bin has a palm over his face, buried in his knees.
“Why are you mad?” comes the tentative reply.
“You made me very sexually frustrated, thats why!” Myungjun yells. “Learn to keep your clothes on!”
Bin sighs and tips his face heavenward.
“Could you please stop shouting this conversation across the whole house? We have neighbours,” He pleads for the second time that night, but his hyungs either don’t hear him or don’t care.
“Well bring me a bottle back here and we can fix that!”
“Why, what are you going to do with it?”
There is a distinct look of resigned disgust on Moonbin’s face- it's the look of someone who has heard this conversation before, and expects to keep hearing it again in the future. Seungkwan’s just starting to feel sad. Sadd-er.
“I will leave you hanging, Myungjun, don’t test me.”
The door slams shut, and Myungjun smirks at them.
“No he won’t,” he says, fetching another bottle and gesturing down his body. “He can never resist all this.”
In truth, the leggings and headband combination make him look like an Auntie from the 80’s, but he kind of makes it work.
“If you need to crash here, my inebriated little duckling, then my bed will be free all night,” he tells Seungkwan, patting him gently on the head and then leaving with a distinct sway in his hips.
“God they’re embarrassing,” Bin says. He drags both hands down his face and shakes his head, like he's trying to get the conversation out of his ears.
“They’re like… goals.”
Seungkwan is once again, although for different reasons, broiling in envy. He wants that ease, that security, the ability to shout about his sex life down a corridor in front of guests and know that it's not going to cause an argument, because he knows his partner so well that he knows exactly where the lines are and is never scared he might cross them. He wants to be able to wander around in an ugly headband with that utter confidence that he will still be wanted ardently.
Most of all, he just wants Hansol.
He wants to get in a cab with him and go in the same direction, and he’s horrified at how shaken he was by such a tiny thing. Maybe he’s just drunk and maudlin, but it felt significant to get in and ride off alone, leaving them together looking stupidly beautiful under the streetights, outside their trendy Itaewon bar he’d never heard of before.
“How can I feel like I’m losing him when he was never mine to begin with?” He whispers, tipping his head onto Bin’s shoulder. “Why did he make me meet his stupid perfect girlfriend who I really like, and I want to be friends with because she’s just so cool, but I can’t because I’m in love with her boyfriend. I wanted to tell her that, that I’ve been in love with him longer than she’s even known him, isn’t that awful? I’m so pathetic. Why am I pining after a stupid straight boy?”
“I think we both know Vernon isn’t straight,” Bin tells him. “It’s not nice to deny someone's sexuality for your own convenience.”
Seungkwan knows. It's a fact he tries to ignore for purposes of self preservation, and he ignores his guilt over doing so to try and stay sane. It’s not like he’s ever claimed to be a good person. He’s just trying to survive here, dancing around his potential breakdowns one step at a time like everybody else.
“If he’s straight,” he tries to explain, tongue heavy. “If he’s straight then it's like- he can’t help it, it's just fate being cruel, life’s a bitch, nothing anyone can do. If he’s not…”
“Which he isn’t,” Moonbin unhelpfully reminds him.
“If he’s not then he could, he just doesn’t. If he’s not, then I’ve been here as a possibility for a decade, waiting and loving him and he’s just looked at me and gone ‘nah’. And that’s - that’s just sad.”