c r o o k e d

she wishes to complain, to protest, to say how cruel it is that they’re both deprived of proper freedom, but she won’t, she can’t — as the weather is nearly perfect and the sun keeps on colouring her cheeks as though it has nothing better to do. when it’s all over, when they head back home and forget the brutal heat of a tropical world, she’ll be replaying these scenes over and over again inside of her head and treasure them as if they’re her most beloved jewels, for is there anything more precious in the world than a beautiful memory? well yes, yes there is and it’s called the fleeting present. 

“i won’t get sunburned because…” she trails off, mouth slightly agape as she considers how to neatly dance around the subject like a feline caught in narrow passage. “because you see, i have my hair and it’s painfully long, and it keeps me perfectly protected,” almost playfully and with a kittenish charm, seona shakes her head in an attempt to prove her point, allowing silken strands of black hair to conceal her face. “so absolutely yes.”   

but her attention is divided. half of it is focused on her almost foolish attempts to make him accept her offer and the other half can only drift back to their intertwined fingers and how they fit perfectly, as if her hand was always meant to be held by his. for an ephemeral moment and as he secures her hat in place, she closes her eyes, lashes fluttering briefly against her rosy cheeks, so briefly that in the next moment, she’s blinking again, even chuckling at his following words.

“easily. do you really think that a little sun and some staff could keep us apart? wouldn’t you then try to find me?” despite the sudden temptation, she adamantly refuses to think about his apartment, saving the act of reminiscing about all the heady nights they had spent together hidden underneath his sheets for later. but relying on the element of surprise, she quickens her pace and closes even the smallest distance between them, taking off his baseball cap promptly and with swift precision. “you’ll get this back later. but you know, i don’t remember you being so tall,” she admits and laughs and it’s the sound of pearls scattering across a marble floor. 

but in moments like these, there are never enough hands and so with an almost palpable reluctance she lets go of his hand and reaches for her own hat — and plants it firmly atop his head. “perfect. it’s the least you deserve for carrying all those things.”   

“Wouldn’t you then try to find me?”

He’d search through stars and desserts alike, cast off into seas of uncertainty and reckless abandon. He’d search high and low, in the darkest of places, in the lightest of times. Nothing would stop him in his eternal quest to find her once more, to hold her hand and then her heart, both precious objects yet one more important than the other, for the latter controlled the former and all else that made up Seona.

That, of course, was not to say that she was not of quick wit and sound mind, wielding its power and glory like no other, a mind quite the adversary to his own, which tinkered and walked taunt lines of uncertainty to understand the complexity of her’s. The search would continue as their relationship did, constantly forming and twisting to meet the adversaries that confronted them, that sought to tear them apart. Yet like their fingers now intertwined, there was little that could successfully pull them from one another.

The hat swap caused his brows to raise, eyes widening slightly as he watched her claim his and place her own atop his head. If it had been any other he would have reached for the baseball cap the moment it was removed, a flicker of terror would have flashed in his eyes. But this was different. She was, of course, different than the rest that inhabited his realm of existence, coming as going as they wished and yet she had chosen to stay. How odd indeed.

tw mention of abuse

The Particle dorms – in the very beginning – had been a mess. Seungyong hadn’t known any of his groupmates prior, having been absent while they’d started training with KMG, and he’d had trouble adjusting to their constant presence. Even after four years of constantly rooming with other people, sometimes friends and sometimes strangers, he couldn’t get used to it; there had been more smoke breaks than would’ve been necessary, but he did a lot to try and get out of the dorm they shared. Outside, at least he’d felt like he was able to breathe.

And there had been more issues with the others. Bandit pushing his boundaries, the language barrier with Shiyuan, Minho being so painfully shy that all he really did was try to get out of everyone’s way. Over the years, they’d fallen together and turned into a cohesive team, but it had taken work and time. Back then, Seungyong hadn’t told Deoksu that much about it; he’d shared worries about their management, their schedules, but not about the group dynamic. It had felt much too private.

“Minho likes to clean, it calms him down. That was never an issue.” Cooking was too messy for Seungyong, though, who tended to feel overwhelmed easily back then. “In my experience, people avoid those who clean so they don’t get dragged into it, and bother cooks to snack and taste test. But I liked laundry best. Even when it was impossible to tell the socks apart.”

Pushing back off the rickety table, he glanced over at Deoksu’s work, a little dubious in his own ability to judge the food. “Is it done?”

There hadn’t been a time when he’d had to share a living space with so many people, not even when he was back in Iksan. His grandparents had passed on when he was young, something he barely remembered aside from the fact that his parents had grieved for a long time — well, his mother had. His father had given a week or so to compose himself before replacing his shield with stone and going about his work once more, as if nothing had happened. Of course, on their anniversaries he would visit them, but aside from that it often felt as if they had never existed. It had perturbed and angered his mother, his father’s apparent lack of pain or sorrow, and some friends said that was what caused her to be bedridden years later, pent up anger she hadn’t been able to pour out elsewhere.

He’d never quite understood all of it, why these once important people were simply treated as if they hadn’t once been among them, and it caused the man to wonder if he, too, would be so easily forgotten one day.

He certainly had no problem forgetting his parents, and perhaps that was the best lesson he’d learn from all of that.

Turning over the meats once more, the soloist nodded, clicking off the grill as he reached for a plate. Carefully transferring the food onto the plate, the soloist simply nodded in response to his friend, offering a “mm” in confirmation.

Jae honestly felt like a student at the feet of his master, hanging on to every word that was delivered. He’d spent years following Deoksu’s career; he was his biggest influence when it came to becoming an idol and sticking with it. He wanted to create art like him, and he wanted to inspire others like he’d inspired Jae. 

“That’s very true. Having an on-call job like a lot of them do would be exhausting and pretty hard on their families, too. I think that’s probably why most managers are younger or don’t have kids to worry about,” he mused. “I don’t know. When my first company went bankrupt and we were all kicked out I almost considered becoming a choreographer or producer instead. The amount of work and contacts you need to have just to get to that point…” He shook his head and was about to continue when someone walked by him, knocking into his arm, and sending five of the coffees he’d been balancing on one hand tumbling down all over Deoksu.

The horror of the moment was written all over Jaemin’s face. It’s almost as if he watched it happen in slow motion. But as soon as he recognized what had just happened he quickly set the remaining drinks down and practically dove for the napkins sitting on the nearby table, apologies already tumbling from his lips.

Shock was, perhaps, not strong enough of a word to describe the look that flashed across his face. Everything moved so slowly and yet happened in the blink of an eye, his body a mess of live wires as the hot liquid splashed onto him, soaking through layers of fabric with such haste that the soloist was practically tearing off the jacket by the time it reached his skin. A stunted sort of shout was emitted from the man then, brow furrowed and eyes wide as he stumbled back a few steps, gently bumping into a pillar before stepping forward once more.

The true shock set in then, standing there arms outspread as he observed the brown drink that now adorned the white shirt and jeans. With his jaw hanging open in slight, the man had to force himself to close his mouth, dark eyes still wide as they turned their attention to the maknae.

Words were nearly impossible, even though there was plenty of frustration rattling through his bones in this exact moment. Noticing the napkins that had been splayed about the floor, the soloist slowly crouched down to collect a handful, attempting to wipe the coffee off his face and arms before rising and blotting the clearly ruined shirt.

seungyong hadn’t had to cook until he’d moved in with his father, but even then he had done so rarely; his mother had had a housekeeper who did the job, and on the rare occasion she’d tried her hand at it, he’d been told to sit far away and watch. it wasn’t like he would’ve found any enjoyment in staying close, without her letting him try the cookie dough in fear of salmonella. but even once he’d had a chance to use the stove in place of simply admiring it, he’d relied mostly on takeout, because it was quick and he hadn’t spent much time at home anyway, between the dorms and his friend’s places.

but then particle had been formed, and half of their members had still been in school or only barely graduated, and he’d used the little extra time he had in the mornings to at least get somewhat better. he still didn’t find much enjoyment in it, not when he ended up stressed, but he’d come to appreciate being able to make food himself with their schedule; it was a rare enough occurrence, and his diet had changed enough for him to have learnt a little more than the basics.

“they all are,” he responded to the question. even bandit, who was closest to him in age, was a full year younger than seungyong, and although it didn’t matter now, it had back then. he couldn’t imagine anything else at this point, because being the eldest had certainly shaped his behaviour, but sometimes he wished he could’ve let someone else carry more of the pressure placed on him. all of them had seemed to young, and seungyong had never been good about opening up.

he shrugged, smiled at the thought, and dropped himself into one of the chairs in view of the pool. “stews, stir fries. there’s seven of us and the schedules were tighter back then, so anything that wasn’t much work.” he’d been too exhausted most of the time; he still was, but their focus had shifted from practice to performances. “i was never eager to do it, but someone had to. and i got out of cleaning that way.”

A soft chuckle left the soloist as Seungyong reminded him of the age predicament of the group. Although Particle was under the same company as himself — and arguably the most popular idol group of their time if not ever — it wasn’t something he had looked into too closely and committed to memory. Sure, he’d read about them over the years, remembering bits and pieces and awards won and shows performed, but the ages of the members had never been of much importance to him. His main concern of Particle was Seungyong, and he certainly knew that man’s age, and that was perhaps the only one he truly cared about.

“True,” he answered, the word humming on his lips as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Gaze fixed on the grill, he gingerly turned over the meats once more. He ran his free hand over the back of his neck. Sometimes he wondered if he got enough skin to peel that the art would remove itself, remove the weight that accompanied the so-called stain.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Deoksu replied after a moment, thinking back on his own days in the dorms and cooking back in Iksan. He scratched at the ink now, shaking his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his pants. “I’d rather cook than clean up after everything. When you cook people are more likely to leave you alone, and you get decide when there’s enough spice. What fits your pallet.”

Despite his inability to sleep, which had been sticking with Seungyong for a long time at this point and likely wasn’t related too closely to the trip, and the fact that work had been disguised as a vacation, he couldn’t complain too much. Being able to visit the tourist attractions required of them had been nice, mostly because he’d genuinely enjoyed the caves, and walking over the bridge had been wonderful, especially in the evening when the setting sun was tinting the world around them. It also meant that he got to see friends like Deoksu, whom he was in contact with but couldn’t often meet up with because of conflicting schedules. Taking a trip together was usually out of the question, and while that wasn’t something he mourned – he much preferred staying in an environment he knew over travelling – having been given the opportunity now wasn’t something he intended on wasting, especially when usually when they met up, at least one of them was tired: because they’d just gotten back from work, or because they’d spent the hours before holed up in the studio, and thus not able to concentrate on much anymore. This, at the very least, was a welcome change.

He handed over the tongs without complaint, ducking away to leave Deoksu room. Seungyong could imagine the bar in the dorms hadn’t been very high in the first place, but there was no need to mention that. “I can’t say I’ve ever set anything on fire, but I’m decent at best. And definitely not very used to this sort of thing.” He’d grown up in the city; grilling food like this wasn’t something they’d done very often, especially not with his mother. “I used to cook more when we were trainees, but that shifted at some point. Shiyuan is a good cook, it’s just that he likes chili a little too much.”

Iksan, while no Seoul, was a city in its own right. Not simply by designation or population, but also by the number of buildings and guests that visited for certain events, filling the city’s streets and hotels for festivals and other such occasions that drew eyes and bodies to the otherwise quaint city. Iksan, in a sense, had offered him little more than a desire to find a way out, although it had also taught him important skills, of the, cooking.

His mother had become bedridden by some point, a year he could barely lay a finger on anymore as it seemed the days in Iksan had been smudged like a fingerprint on glass: clear, present, but terribly not unique. To him at least. To him he carried the city with him everywhere, the scar on his back a reminder of one side of it, an the scars on his side and thighs another. But the skill of cooking had become somewhat of a freedom point, something he’d had to work on since his mother simply stayed in her room, and his father wouldn’t touch the stove if his life depended on it. So their son learned, at first poorly executing even the simplest of dishes before graduating to slightly more advanced ones, although in a house that seemed to rarely have more than beer in the fridge and rice in the cupboard, there weren’t necessarily a lot of options to try.

Yet living in the dorms in a city such as Seoul had opened his eyes to new opportunities, not to mention new markets. He’d garnered new skills over the years, some of them cooking, and some of them people skills he often still struggled with to this day.

“Shiyuan,” Deoksu echoed, gently turning the meat over on the grill, “He’s younger than you, right?”

In truth he hadn’t paid much attention to Particle near the beginning aside from congratulating Seungyong for debuting before disappearing back into his hole, and perhaps a part of him remained slightly bitter at the timing and reasoning behind their pushed up debut date. Unfounded frustration if there ever was any.

hiding under a large sun hat, in her summer dress that reveals as much as it hides, she cannot help but think how awfully and stiflingly hot it is; so much so that even she feels strange, less pretty in her own sticky skin. yet it’s a perfect day no matter how she tries to spin the story, for he is by her side and even a mere thought is enough to make her cheeks blush, but at least she could blame it now on the unrelenting sun. the world around her looks almost blurry, in shades of deep forest green, luxurious in ways no cities could ever be, and she feels as though she stands before an impressionist painting of an idle afternoon, mesmerized by the soft colours and almost lulled by the scenic beauty.

in truth, she’s never truly been an ardent lover of nature, far too used to the concrete and steel jungle that she calls home, but she swears that she could stay here for hours, perhaps even days in a state of daze, cherishing and deeply marveling at the way the forest hides and conceals, keeps them far away from the rest of the cruel and unforgiving world, a world that would viciously seek to tear them apart, if given the chance. 

but all it takes is the warmth and awfully familiar shape of his hand to pull her under his spell, a mutinous smile breaking across her lips despite her best efforts. the time they get to spend to together is always limited and achingly short  — and it deprives her of a blissful sort of happiness that she can only feel when his tender arms are around her, when she opens her eyes and sees only him, when they only speak in glances and touches, for mere words lack a certain depth and purpose. she doesn’t dare to recall nor talk about the days she usually spends toiling away when he’s not around, wishing now to focus on the forever fleeting present. 

she laughs when she hears his comment, continuing to walk with effortless grace as she begins to realize how foolish she must truly look. “well thank you, but i couldn’t really tell my team about my plan to take a detour with you. i’m mostly dressed for those spontaneous photoshoots,” seona explains with a sigh, putting conspicuous amount of emphasis on the word spontaneous. “it’s pretty painful and i’m actually crying on the inside, but i’ve been doing this since i was fifteen so  — all that i can say is that i’m used to it.”

she flashes him one of her classic seona smile, all charming, sweet and soigné, lightly pushing the subject of her discomfort away. “before i forget, take my hat please, i don’t need it and i don’t want you to get sunburns on the back of your neck.” 

Soft and gentle comes the breeze, whisking them away to memories past and trails ahead, pushing them ever further forwards as the path continued straight on, enclosing them in vegetation green and skies blue. The Sun, in Her form of utmost power, sent warm wishes laced in skin deep burns and smiles weak as the heat continued to beat down upon them, an element he’d hoped the trees and leaves would have effectively blocked out, but in certain patches they were open to Her will.

A tattooed hand reached up to wipe the gathering sweat from the back of his neck, fingertips gently brushing the art burrowed deep beneath his skin. Even without the sun high above, the piece would burn forevermore. At the suggestion he wear her hat, the soloist found a soft laugh breaking from his lips, eyes growing slightly behind his sunglasses.

“At let you get burned?” Deoksu replied, taking his baseball cap and turning it around to shield the back of his neck. The man smirked, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before observing the luscious greenery around them — and if it hadn’t been for the warm color the weather had brought to his cheeks, she perhaps would have easily noticed the pink hue that colored them. The pause between them lingered a moment longer before he made a soft click with his mouth. “Absolutely not.”

Hidden from plain sight, dark eyes watched the manner in which she moved, graceful as ever in heels despite the terrain he would have thought nearly impossible to traverse, but he supposed she was far from the typical person. Thumbing away the thin sheen of sweat that collected on his upper lip, Deoksu gave the top of her head a gentle pat, playfully securing the hat in place.

“If you get sunburned your staff will never let you out of their sight, and how are you supposed to sneak over to my apartment then?”

The summer heat was getting to him in ways few other things could. Seungyong had always enjoyed the cold of winter; with the world looking to empty that it felt truly cleaned up, and his breath visible in the air. Summer, in comparison, had to be his least favourite; he often wished he could shed his skin or cool down properly, but the pool had never been inviting, and the sea was downright terrifying. The way the air got stuffy within the confinement of their tent certainly didn’t help any.

But heat was something he’d grown used to. He was never cold on stage, not with the lights turned onto him, and sweating was something he had long started accepting, between their performances and his trips to the gym. None of that changed the fact that the closer he stepped to the grill, the worse it got, and he grimaced as he picked up the tools. How Deoksu had been able to stand it for so long was a mystery - at the very least they’d be done soon. A repeat would be as fun as it was work, so it was questionable whether they’d go for it, especially with the amount of times they spent at restaurants that offered this very service.

He flipped their food, then watched a few of the younger idols in the pool while he waited on Deoksu; it wasn’t something he envied them for, but it was nice, to see everyone so uncharacteristically relaxed. It certainly showed in Deoksu’s behaviour, as well – the trip was work, and they were well aware of that, but at least it was the kind of work that was easily palatable, and not a huge hassle to do. Although he would’ve preferred to be able to sleep in a little more.

“You can get back out here soon enough.” He frowned, raised the edge of a cut of meet to examine the underside. “I honestly have no idea when this is done. I mean, it looks like it is, but who knows what’s going on inside?”

The proximity to others would forever remain an oddity, the tension felt between skin not touching yet within the same vicinity, something that shouldn’t have been an issue and yet it often made his innards shiver and fingers furl inwards. Following Seungyong’s gaze, his own rested on the younger idols that were enjoying their time in the campground’s pool. It was difficult to blame them for being so joyous, for around this hour there seemed to be less cameras around as staff took shifts to get lunch and out of the sun. He’d done his best to ensure he’d finished his mandatory activities early in the trip in order to enjoy the rest of his time, something he would evidently have little of regardless.

Hiking with Seona earlier that day had been enjoyable, a pleasant opportunity to spend away from prying eyes and quick trigger fingers on the camera shutter. It was, if nothing else, a miracle that they’d been able to sneak away from their staffs with equally convincing tales that would allow for them to wander off on their own. The cool water bottle on the back of his neck reminded him of the misted sprinkle that’d fallen on them at Cheonjeyeon Waterfall earlier, causing a soft smile to spread across his face, lingering for but a moment before his friend’s comments pulled him back once more.

After taking another sip of water, the soloist sighed lightly, setting the bottle on the picnic table before moving to the grill with his dominant hand outstretched in request of the tongs.