Work Text:
waking up in the wrong side of the bed
Hwang Intak watched as the silver moonlight glistened beneath Choi Jiung’s face. The evening sky has never been brighter, and it seemed that the stars were twinkling only for them. Intak remembered that night almost like a disease. A curse, and now it all appears before his eyes like a dream that would never end.
Dream is such a weird word. It's either that go-to phrase adults used to ask kids what they want to be when they grow up, or that feeling— the lucid sensation that haunts you in your sleep. Maybe they are the same thing altogether, because for Intak, Choi Jiung was his dream. He was fifteen years old when he first had a thought that went something like “I want to be like Jiung hyung when I grow up,” like a good, aspiring kid that he was. Jiung was the perfect sunbae he could ever hope for. He was kind to his fellow trainees, caring for his hoobaes, and he taught Intak the things he wouldn't have learned just by listening to their mentors and producers, or while standing in that bleak FNC practice room. Maybe it was in that perfection that made Intak realize that reaching his sunbae is a distance that he will never make. No matter how far he reaches out.
Jiung began appearing in his dreams like a Freudian ghost. Intak told his hyung about it once, Jiung simply asked “about what?”, what the dreams were about, and Intak didn't want to answer him honestly, instead he said “rainbows and sunshine.” Rainbows and sunshine, Jiung repeated and laughed at him, then began tackling Intak with his body, back in the days he would voluntarily allow his own hands to touch Intak himself, and so the truth flooded itself out of Intak’s mouth. “Are you happy now?” Jiung smiled and told him it was fine, laughing, like it was nothing. His laugh has always been infectious that Intak would laugh in turn, they're like butterflies flying around his ears, it's ticking, it's annoying, Intak wished that it wouldn't stop, like his flesh needed it, carving hollows into his ribs and filling them with birdsongs. In his dreams, Jiung's hair is always black. It can only be black—it was black when they first met each other, black as the star and moon fell on each strand like music, and the air billowed and made them dance. Intak allowed his fingers to float without knowing why. Jiung was close but somehow his fingers couldn't reach him at all. They sat on the rooftop of the company's building where they used to hang out, Jiung used to smoke but stopped after Intak started joining him. Sometimes Intak would see the two of them in the train stop, laughing at a private joke that he couldn't remember now. Sometimes, they're alone in Jiung's room, back when Keeho and the others haven't moved in the dorms yet. Finally, Jiung would give him a look, after all those years, smiling, why was he smiling? Intak wished he hadn't, it would've hurt less, probably.
Under the moonlight sky, Jiung closed his eyes and Intak found his own opening.
The first sensation that he took notice of was the cold sweat covering his whole body. His mind began to clear, like sobering out of a daze. There's an indescribable ache in his chest that he wished he could just carve out his body but Intak chose to do the thing he could only do after years and years of waiting. Intak get up from his bed and moved on.