Chapter Text
May 2017
This story starts on a perfectly pleasant spring night, perhaps a quarter of an hour after Bambam leaves the restaurant he’s been employed at for the past eight months. It’s not a particularly long walk home, and Bambam is inclined to amble – he’s tired, and even the knowledge that his bed awaits isn’t enough to get him to pick up his pace.
Maybe he hears it precisely because he’s strolling, or maybe he would have heard it regardless – the night is quiet, after all. Either way, there’s plenty of time for him to halt in his tracks and peer around curiously when an odd sound catches his attention – an odd sound coming from an ominously dark alley that should really have him turning away without a second glance.
Not that anyone who knows Bambam would actually be surprised when he doesn’t take the sensible option right away (that is, to leave).
“Hello?” he calls, head cocked, brows furrowed. He is still standing along the main road; there’s nothing to be afraid of.
A moment passes, and then he hears it again – the soft, strained whimper of an animal in pain.
Bambam rather likes animals; he’s actually been thinking of getting a dog if he moves back to Thailand in the future. Maybe a husky or something. There’s barely a pause before he whips his phone out, enables the torchlight function, and is being swallowed up by the blackness of the alley before anyone can utter ‘stop’. (Not that anyone else is around to utter any such thing.)
Despite its doom-laden entrance, the alley is passably clean – no oil-slicked puddles, mounds of trash or dripping pipes in sight – merely badly lit, probably because no one has ever had reason to traverse its length after dark. Until now.
The alley takes a sharp right at its end, and Bambam makes to follow suit, except he freezes one step into the turn as the beam of light before him shines on ebony fur and hostile amber eyes. Slowly, quietly, he takes a step back, raising his phone to better illuminate the trapped creature before him.
It’s…large. Large pony large, maybe, although he isn’t exactly thinking in terms of animal size comparison at the moment. He’s still reeling from the fact that there appears to be an honest-to-god werewolf right in front of him. Either that, or a mutated giant regular wolf, but that seems less likely somehow.
Everyone knows werewolves exist – it’s just one of those things that no one talks about even though it’s common knowledge. It’s a disgrace to have one in your family, a major faux pas to have one as a friend, although the rumours say that it’s near impossible to pick them out of a crowd when they’re in human form anyway.
This one is definitely not in human form, and it doesn’t look like it’s in good shape either. It lets out another whine as the phone sends another stream of light washing past its narrow-eyed gaze, flinching back and rattling the trap clamped firmly around its bloodied paw. The sight makes Bambam slightly sick to his stomach, and the very faint scent of iron that he’s only just noticing isn’t helping.
Hunters and their traps – another thing that everyone pretends doesn’t exist. Apparently, it doesn’t matter that werewolves used to be human too, that they’re someone’s son or daughter or friend, as long as they’re quietly taken care of. Out of sight and out of mind.
It’s sickening, is what it is. Bambam doesn’t actually know any werewolves, but his imagination isn’t dead. If Youngjae or Mark or Jackson got attacked and turned, he’d tear the world apart if anyone dared to hurt them like how the poor creature in front of him is hurting now.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice hushed even though there’s no one around to hear him. “I’m not – I’m here to help.” To try to help, anyway, if he can even get close.
The werewolf is staring at him, ears flat against its head, the fur about its neck stiff and ruffled, and Bambam wonders if it actually even understands what he’s saying. Is the human mind in there, or just a wild beast’s?
But he also wonders if anyone would worry, if this one wolf just ups and disappears tonight. If a family out there will tearfully put up missing posters in the morning, if a seat in a classroom will remain empty for the rest of the term.
Slowly, he crouches down, wanting to look like less of a threat. He thinks about putting his hand out, but decides not to tempt fate. Instead, he just shuffles forward slowly, carefully, watching the wolf all the while. The wolf’s upper lip curls as he moves, exposing too-large fangs, and he immediately freezes, not quite knowing what he’s waiting for.
He’s locked in an awful staring contest with that knife-sharp, wary glare for what feels like three hours but must really only be three seconds, but then just as slowly, the werewolf lowers its head onto its uninjured paw, as if in acquiescence. (He feels like he’s just re-enacted that one scene in Harry Potter, the one with the Hippogriff.) The piercing stare fades, leaving its eyes limpid and wide with pain.
The thing is, Bambam has a reputation for being a bit of a diva, a memelord, someone always good for a laugh or a prank – but he is also an absolute bleeding heart, and he’s not about to leave this pitiful creature alone without rescue, risk of a gruesome death be damned.
Carefully, he inches forward, setting his phone against the wall so it’s shining right on the trap, gleaming deadly silver. The wolf’s head is just inches from his elbow as he inspects the contraption – he can feel its hot breath puffing anxiously on his bare skin – but it remains motionless, the swift rise and fall of its side the only hint of movement in the corner of his eye. It’s hard to resist the urge to touch that silky black coat, but he manages somehow.
“Okay, I’m just going to try and push this lever…thing,” Bambam announces after a moment, looking over uncertainly, because the only thing he’s going off is The Fox and the Hound movie that he watched a bunch of times when he was younger. The wolf blinks at him, and he doesn’t have much choice but to take that as acknowledgement.
Bambam will be the first to admit that he’s not exactly…muscular. Mark’s the strong one, and Jackson’s definitely ripped, but him? He’s just known for his chopstick legs. So it’s really no surprise that he only gets the trap open after way too much grunting and effort; he’s panting like he just ran a mile by the time those metal jaws snap open, sending him falling back onto his ass on the cold concrete, the absolute definition of a sitting duck if the wolf decides it suddenly needs a midnight snack.
Instead of eating him, the werewolf gives its rather mangled-looking paw a couple of ginger licks, before hobbling up onto its working three legs, looming over Bambam for a moment. He stares up at it, and some part of his brain notes that its eyes are very bright in the shine of his phone. It gives his shoulder a friendly nudge with its nose, like it’s wondering what the hell he’s still doing down there, and then it turns and limps away into the darkness. The very tip of its tail brushes his knee, an unintentional farewell.
It should feel anticlimactic, but it doesn’t.
It feels like he’s done something good, like he’s been privy to a world that isn’t quite his, if only for just a moment. It feels a bit like a dream, the gentle snuffle of an over-large muzzle against his skin already fading against the backdrop of reality.
The stupid trap is chained to a pipe, and padlocked for good measure, so all he can do is to snap it shut again and lean it up against the wall, as harmless as he can make it. He might have to start doing that every night on his way home from work, for as long as it takes the hunter to catch on anyway.
He doesn’t realise it’s almost one in the morning until he opens his apartment door to a very annoyed-looking Youngjae sitting on the couch, looking for all the world like an angry mother waiting to welcome her errant son home with some tough love.
“I called you,” Youngjae snaps, before Bambam can get an excuse in edgewise. “Is your phone on silent mode again? Do you know how late it is? I thought you’d gotten robbed or eaten or something.” His tone is almost musical, his fading accent suddenly thick with irritation.
“Hyung,” Bambam whines, shutting the door and dropping his bag unceremoniously on the floor, before padding over and collapsing on the couch next to his housemate. Already Youngjae is softening – he’s not all that great at being stern, even though he tries to be, because he’s a year older and apparently that makes him responsible for Bambam’s wellbeing and all that.
“I have a morning class tomorrow, you know,” Youngjae says accusingly, but there’s no more bite to his tone, and there never was any steel in it anyway.
“I saw a werewolf today,” Bambam says in reply, glancing sideways at Youngjae so as not to miss the way his friend’s mouth falls open in confusion. Youngjae is terribly predicable sometimes, but Bambam loves that about him.
In the end, morning class or not, they don’t actually get to bed till after two, once Bambam has sieved through the dregs of his memory for every last detail of his night in response to Youngjae’s endearingly genuine wonder. The experience still has a tenuous, unreal quality to it, but it doesn’t feel any less magical for having been shared.
This is how the night fades and how this story starts – with their first meeting, of course, although neither of them know it yet – but Bambam’s story started quite a bit earlier.
Bambam is all of thirteen years old (in Thai age, anyway, because he’s never quite gotten into the habit of thinking in Korean age) when he lands in Korea for the first time, baby-faced and deceptively resilient. He doesn’t meet Youngjae until his sixth year in Seoul, when he answers Youngjae’s ad for a housemate (“must be tidy and responsible, preferably a student”), mere weeks after he steps out of the JYP building for the last time.
“Call me if you need help with rent or anything,” Mark says, terribly serious, because he can afford it and because he’s always been too willing to open his wallet for friends in need. Not that Bambam has any plans to take him up on that offer – he’s nineteen. He’s totally old enough to survive on his own.
The only thing Jinyoung says (in addition to that too-tight hug that leaves Bambam flailing for freedom) is, “Remember to call.” His lips are pressed together, his already-stiff smile just a tad bit too forced, and Bambam has a sudden premonition of what Jinyoung will look like in another thirty years, when his actual kids are beginning to leave the nest for good.
Despite all the teasing he does about Jinyoung’s painful-looking smile, even Bambam tears up on that last day. These are the guys who have babied him for six years, who have seen him sprout up till he finally passed Mark in height – the guys he was supposed to have debuted with this year, until the plans were scrapped and he decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer.
At least his new housemate turns out to be pretty cool. But it’s pretty much impossible to dislike someone whose laugh is so infectious anyway – plus Youngjae laughs at all of Bambam’s antics, which immediately makes them pals in Bambam’s eyes.
Youngjae is in his second year of university when Bambam moves in. He’s studying theatre and film because he wants to go into musical acting after graduation, which just means that they spend way too many late nights screaming their lungs out in a poor attempt at karaoke until their neighbors scream back for them to shut the hell up (tellingly, that usually only happens when Bambam is the one singing).
With some help from the ever-obliging Youngjae (who doesn’t miss the opportunity to laugh his ass off at every stupid spelling mistake he spots), Bambam finally manages to complete the online high school course he’s been on the verge of finishing for what feels like forever. Mark immediately makes plans to drag him (“and your housemate; we want to meet him”) out for celebratory beef the moment he hears the news, although it has to wait until the next time he and Jinyoung are back in Korea.
The next year, Bambam finally enrols in university, and he’s never felt more grown up.
Double B <[email protected]>
Fri 24/3/2017 8:40 PM
To: Jackson Wang <[email protected]>Hey jacks!!
That pic u sent, u’re not even dabbing right lmao. Remind me to show u a REAL DAB next time we skype. Uni is ok i guess, i’m kinda tired from the study and working at the same time lol. Don’t u think waiting tables sound like a book? Like maybe i’m gna meet my true love soon when they sit down and look into my eyes lol. Or I give up on korea and go back home to help mum with her restaurant forever. Depending if it’s romance or like, realness? (Realistic? What’s the name for it in english?) The sad kind. Do u realise writers always make ‘real’ stories have sad endings? Their lives must be so sad lol.
Btw can u PLEASE get kkt like wtf it’s FREE. Email makes u feel nostalgic cos it’s OLD and OUTDATED. U only feel nostalgia abt old things. Also i shld be free sun afternoon to skype if u can??
BAM2
His English is decidedly Americanised after years of practice with Mark and Jackson. He probably uses ‘like’ way too much, but it’s not as if anyone’s around to disapprove of that. In fact, Youngjae might just be the most enthusiastic English student ever, regardless of the fact that Bambam is less than qualified to teach him. The sheer hilariousness of their lessons almost makes up for the fact that it feels like he hasn’t Skyped Jackson in ages, because everything’s been absolutely hectic, what with learning how to juggle his classes and homework and shifts (while also making time to sleep).
The two of them find time to Skype about his werewolf encounter though, and Jackson actually gets so engrossed in the tale (Bambam tries not to embellish, but it’s hard) he stops eating his dinner halfway through.
“So it left by itself? The wolf? It could walk okay?” It’s weird to see Jackson suddenly so focused, dressed carelessly as he is in his usual black tank, but his eyes are intense as he leans forward, closer to the screen.
A trickle of unease runs through Bambam at that unexpected reaction. The two of them have been chatting back and forth for close to four years now, and he honestly thinks that there’s nothing he wouldn’t tell Jackson, but it’s not like the werewolf issue has ever come up in casual conversation. What if Jackson hates werewolves or something?
Still, it’s not exactly a question he can dodge, so he shrugs as noncommittally as he can manage. “Well, yeah. There was some blood, but it seemed okay.”
As swiftly as it appears, the intensity in Jackson’s eyes fades, and he gives an enthusiastic whoop, leaping to his feet so that all Bambam can see is his torso as he does some sort of strange celebratory dance. “Bambam, what a hero!” he squeals exaggeratedly, and they both burst into hysterical laughter.
They move on to other things after that – Jackson’s training, Bambam’s awful groupmates – but the whole werewolf thing seems to weigh on Jackson more than he’s willing to let on. It’s not patently obvious, but it’s not all that hard to tell when Jackson is distracted and trying not to appear so.
Their conversation is abruptly cut short when Jackson’s mother calls for him, her voice tinny and muffled in Bambam’s ears. “Mummy’s calling,” he sing-songs, grinning. Jackson smirks back at him, yells a reply back in Cantonese, and then shrugs in a what can you do motion.
“Message me,” Bambam says with a yawn, leaning back from his laptop and stretching.
Jackson nods, and what follows is a pause in which neither of them speak, but the video call doesn’t end either. Bambam’s mouth is just opening to demand what, when Jackson laughs, says, “See ya, werewolf saviour,” and then ends the call without waiting for a reply.
Bambam blinks, baffled. He can’t shake the hunch that he’s hurt Jackson’s feelings somehow, and the worst thing is that now he’ll have to dig for it if he wants to make it right, because with Jackson either he’s declaring every way in which he’s ever been wronged to anyone who will listen, or he’s clamming up tighter than Bambam’s newest pair of leather pants. Unfortunately, the latter is a decidedly larger pain in the ass (no pun intended) than the former.
But that’s the last Bambam speaks of his nocturnal encounter for a while. The next time he Skypes Jackson is almost a fortnight later, where Jackson is his usual over-excitable self in response to Bambam’s despair over his upcoming finals. Faced with such unsympathetic cackling from his traitor of a friend, werewolves are the last thing on his mind, and eventually it slips from the forefront of his thoughts all together.
(For someone whose life came close to ending on that night, however, the incident is a little harder to forget.)
That summer is Bambam’s first in Korea as a free individual, and while he doesn’t get up to much that can be termed exciting (he’s a little too busy working, being a regular person who needs to support himself and all), it feels spectacular anyway. His time is his own, and he can eat whatever the hell he wants whenever he feels like it, and that’s really all that he’s asking for.
----- Monday, 26 June 2017 -----
박진영 5:02 AM
bam
you’re coming for our concert right
do you have tickets already?
bambam 9:26 AM
wow u’re up early
the sad life of an idol lol
yea duh??
alr got them from mark
박진영 8:55 PM
oh okay good
just checking
and that’s mark HYUNG to you kid
got one for youngjae too?
bambam 9:01 PM
no he went back to mokpo
won’t be back till 1 aug or smth
pls mum
mark doesn’t care lol
박진영 9:02 PM
stop calling me mum
brat
bambam 9:02 PM
anw i’m home alone
PARTY TIME
mum
mum
MUUUMMMM
박진영 9:06 PM
i’m taking those tickets back
mark hyung says hi
he’s brushing his teeth
bambam 9:07 PM
lmao no
u know u love me
HI MARK
jinyoung hyung is nagging again
as usual
what’s new
lol
박진영 9:10 PM
shut up
we’re going to practice soon
see you at the concert
be careful when you’re home alone
don’t open the door for strangers
bambam 9:13 PM
ok now u’re just mocking me
or are u
i can’t tell u’re such a mum
yea see u in a few weeks!!!
don’t practice till too late
rest well