Work Text:
“Existence is pain,” Johnny admits as he drops his head onto the Hyuckie Duckie plushie sitting adorably on his desk. It squeaks. Mockingly.
“Tsukiko’s beloved motto,” Mark sighs dreamily from his cubicle right next to Johnny’s. It’s not. It’s actually healing smiles, but the company’s mission doesn’t extend to its exhausted, creatively constipated designers. The younger scoots his exercise ball over to Johnny. “I think somebody needs the peace plant.”
The peace plant is something Yuta thought of after his fiance began growing strawberries to make true from scratch shortcake with. A slice of that would be nice right about now. Taeyong’s superior baking would only serve to numb the existential crisis Johnny is suffering through, but at least he’d have a cavity to show for it. Currently he has nothing to show for his labors other than some crude sketches of a peach like humanoid creature and a crappy color palette. For the past two weeks.
The peace plant can suck it. “The peace plant can suck it,” Johnny mumbles, but takes the prized succulent in his hands anyway. It's in a JeNeko planter. Frustratingly cute.
“Still nothing?” Peeking over Johnny’s shoulder, Mark answers his own question.
It’s not that the design is bad, in Johnny’s humble opinion. It’s quite cute. But it’s missing…. something. And, as all content creators despise, he can’t quite put his finger on what exactly is missing from from his creation to take it from mediocre to market worthy. Which is probably the most frustrating thing imaginable, really-- knowing you’re on the brink of something spectacular but not knowing how to get there.
“Don’t twist the knife, Marcus.” A dramatic wail follows as he buries his face further into his beloved plushie. “I’ve let the children of the world down.”
“Rough,” Mark helpfully supplies. “I mean-- uh. Dude. I know we’ve talked about this before but like. Not every character has to be Hyuckie, ya know? Yuta gets it. He knows you’re a great designer.” An outright lie. If Johnny doesn’t produce a character design as lovingly received as Hyuckie Duckie was, then Yuta will, without hesitation, punt Johnny into the sun.
“Youthful, ignorant bliss,” Johnny identifies with a fond smile. “This is why you’re getting my eeveelution figurine set when Yuta beheads me.”
“Then I get your Too-Faced eyeshadow palette.” Jungwoo has this weird ability to appear whenever something concerning the death of a strapping young man or the passing on of expensive beauty supplies comes up in conversation. It’s concerning but Johnny supposes that everyone has their own superpower. “It’s inevitable if you use that shade of pink in one of your designs again.”
Death is a sweet release, Johnny realizes as Jungwoo and Mark crowd around his desk to further invalidate him.
“As much as I love being degraded at my job, I would, perhaps, appreciate some support in my endeavors.” Jungwoo and Mark exchange glances as Johnny gestures expectantly.
“Stay hydrated?” Mark tries and Johnny is thisclose to throttling him but he settles for the Seo Look of Exasperation instead.
Jungwoo is never one to disappoint. “Get laid.”
Mark and Johnny gasp, offended and debauched. “Not in front of hyuckie, Woo, c’mon,” Johnny whispers as he places his hands over the general area where the plushie’s ears could be. Mark has rescued the peace plant, slowly scooting back to his desk as he shakes his head. “I’m taking the peace plant back to a family friendly environment.”
“You’re backed up.” The blonde declares without flinching. Johnny can only scoff a theatrical amount of times.
“Yeah. But. In the most Christian way possible.”
“Bust a nut in Jesus’s name?”
This is not what Johnny wants. This is not what he planned. He take off his glasses to rub the stress out of his eyes. “I have approximately zero clue as to what my nonexistent sex life has to do with my inability to design a lovable, merchandise friendly character by next week.”
“How important are these characters to you?” Jungwoo holds up his own Baby Chicksung keychain, dangling from his designer handbag. It’s the most precious thing Johnny’s ever seen probably.
“I love them,” he says without hesitation. “They’re my children.” The entirety of Tsukiko felt like a child he had lovingly raised. He hopped on the company's startup plan when he and Yuta were still in university. Broke and homesick, Yuta pitched the idea of making keychains featuring sickeningly adorable characters. As an aspiring artist, cute things enthusiast, and Yuta’s best friend, Johnny couldn’t exactly turn him down. Plus it was a good distraction from something that, at that time, was practically swallowing him whole.
The last thing he expected was for Tsukiko to grow beyond their shared dorm room into a storefront and, soon enough, national hit after a pop idol was spotted several times leaving airports with a Hyuckie Duckie plushie in tow. It was only natural for the rest of their characters to gain traction. The public now eagerly awaits for the new line of Tsukiko’s healing smiles and Johnny curses the passing of time.
“Precisely,” Jungwoo purrs all conspiratorily. “And how exactly are children made, Mr. Seo?”
“... With love and sunshine.”
“Sex.”
Johnny purses his lips. “I don’t think you were ever a child, so you can’t speak on this.”
“Yeah you definitely hatched twenty years ago looking exactly how you do right now,” Mark adds from the cubicle over, giving away his eavesdropping habit.
“The public has spoken.”
“You wanna know how I meet all my deadlines?” Jungwoo continues on, giving Johnny’s exercise ball seat a nudge with his foot. “Doyoung comes home and wrecks my shit. Every night.”
Mark types loudly to accompany his horror. “Stop! Being! Nasty!”
“I don’t want my shit wrecked! I don’t wanna wreck anyone else’s shit either! I just wanna finish my family friendly peach boy design.” Jungwoo officially knows nothing. He is a fool and a siren and Johnny is exhausted.
“I mean, you don’t have to skip so many steps. You could go on a date first. Exchange numbers. Passively aggressively suggest they change out of a hideous sweater before meeting your parents. Fall in love or whatever.” Jungwoo waves his hand dismissively, perpetually allergic to emotional vulnerability despite he and Doyoung being soulmates.
“I fall in love like, five times a day, Woo. That’s not the issue.” It’s not an exaggeration. People are so pretty and kind.
Jungwoo and Mark make parallel noises of understanding. “So you haven’t been on a date since college.”
Yes. “No. What. Who do you- No. I’ve been on. So many dates.”
“Ask someone cute out this weekend, Seo. And finish a design better than….. that.” The blonde gestures to Johnny’s stagnant sketches. “Good luck~!” It’s off puttingly cheerful as he stalks away for his lunch break.
Johnny is left alone at his workspace, pouting eye to eye with his anthropomorphic peach boy. “I don’t think you’re that bad, buddy,” he whispers low enough so Mark doesn’t hear and question his life choices any further. “You just need some…. work.”
--
“Jaepeach? Fuzzy boy? Peachy kin?” Johnny shakes his head at himself because he knows all those names are god awful. He just needs something to show for him going into work that day. Currently he’s walking back to his car with his untouched sketches tucked into his KittyMin backpack, mumbling to himself. Luckily no one’s around to hear him slowly lose his mind.
It’s late. He’s always the last to leave because Yuta wants to rave about how cute Taeyong’s snoring is to someone other than the three cats they have at home. Johnny doesn’t mind. He might be a tad in love with love, but the dread tucked under his heart grows ten times whenever he chats with Yuta.
Requesting an extension wouldn’t be the end of the world, Johnny reckons as he fumbles for his car keys. But the thing is that he knows he’s better than that. He can get this design out in the allotted time. It’s just. Missing something.
“If you could give me just this one thing, that would be great,” he announces to the sky and whatever else is up there. Unfortunately, Johnny doesn’t get a response. Not even a falling apple or poorly timed rainstorm. Just the distant buzz of a kid roller skating down the street. Or maybe a mosquito. And a dog barking.
“What a rip-off,” he comments. Definitely a zero star review on this divine intervention. As he’s scanning through his bag for his keys, he makes eye contact with his fruity creation. It’s adorable and everything, but what peach like creature wouldn’t be? “I’m sorry, bud. Maybe things will be better tomorrow.” His peach boy deserves better. In an effort to make up for the bad day, Johnny takes out the sketches from his bag and hugs them to his chest.
Maybe it’s because he’s rambling to his art the whole time, or maybe he really is that mentally drained, but Johnny doesn’t exactly remember driving home. In fact he doesn’t even recall eating his feelings in sugary cereal like he usually does on stressful days, or belting out Etta James in the shower to cope with the crippling weight of adulthood. Nor does he remember kissing all of his plushies goodnight or snuggling into bed with the special tea blend Taeyong and Yuta gifted him at the last Christmas party.
He must have, because when the Saturday sun peeks out of his blinds he’s safe and sound in his bed like he always is during the early hours of the weekend.
But Johnny’s lack of recollection takes a backseat to what else he wakes up to that morning.
“Johnny,” the voice of an angel wakes him that morning. Itʻs pleasant, almost familiar, and would normally be a more than welcomed wake up call. The only thing that can top it is the face that accompanies it— all sweet tulips and movie star good looks. Dirty blush hair brushes against kind brown eyes- the kind of eyes Johnny falls in love with in the grocery store.
And god, heʻs beautiful.
“Oh good, youʻre awake.” But also a complete stranger. A stranger with the deepest dimples heʻs ever seen, Johnnyʻs lizard survival brain comments amidst sheer panic. A stranger in his house, above his bed, calling his name.
“WHOMST,” Johnny nearly shoots six feet out of bed and scrambles to the comfort of his stuffed animals. He picks up his lamp as a weapon, holding it between him and the pretty stranger like a lion tamer does five seconds before total disaster. “What are— What— Oh god, just take the money. But leave the plushies out of it!”
“Whatʻs money?” The gorgeous man in his house tilts his head adorably and purses his lips.
Johnny slaps himself.
“OH GOD IʻM AWAKE.”
“I said that already.”
“THANKS. WHO ARE YOU.”
“You donʻt recognize me?”
“NO. AND IF YOUʻRE GONNA KILL ME PLEASE DO SO WITH MINIMAL PAIN.” Yuta was most likely going to kill him anyway so maybe it was for the best. Oh god. What if Yuta had hired this gorgeous man to kill Johnny. What if he knew about his creative block and this was retribution: annhialation by someone who was exactly Johnnyʻs type. The genius. The poetry.
“…own creation?” The attractive intruder had been talking while Johnny mused over his demise, he realizes all too late. But that sounded important. And he should probably hear the last thing that would ever be said to him.
“What?”
“I asked if you could recognize your own creation,” he patiently repeats. “You said yesterday that I needed some work. Iʻm willing to put in some effort, too.”
What is happening. “What is happening.”
Seeing that he was going nowhere with the explanation, the stranger merely points to the pile of sketches Johnny had slipped onto his desk before pile driving himself into bed. “You can check. I wouldnʻt lie to you, Johnny. I really am here to help.”
Johnny looks from the angelic faced man to his sketches, then to his plushies, back to the sketches. “Youʻre not gonna kill me with my back turned okay. Thatʻs cheap.”
“I donʻt know what that means.”
“Hello death my distant friend,” Johnny sighs to himself as he climbs from the bed, past the stranger and to his desk. He flips through the sketches, furrowing his brow when he sees some of the pages are blank. The pages with peach boy looked as if they hadnʻt been sketched at all— only leaving swatches of color palettes to the left where he was supposed to be singing happily. Johnny checks at least five times to confirm that those are indeed the papers where peach boy had been— dated and signed and everything.
Officially. On the record. Undoubtedly. Life makes no sense anymore, Johnny concludes. “Wh— where did my sketches go?”
“Iʻm right here? Thatʻs what Iʻve been trying to tell you,” the man pouts.
Eyes going completely dead, Johnny grabs his phone from its charging station and texts Taeyong.
Whatever you and Yuta put in that tea…. God will know. expect vengeance.
Today, 8:13 am
With that done, he crawls back into bed.
“J-Johnny? We have work to do, though. What are you doing?”
“Waiting for this drug induced hallucinatory nightmare to run its course.”
“Iʻm not… whatever that is. Iʻm real, Johnny. I promise. You have a deadline to meet so I can live happily in Tsukiko village. Please, Johnny?”
That bloody deadline even followed him into his extended imaginatory realities, he mourned. What a bummer. It was a beautiful imaginary day outside, too. What a waste to have to spend it inside, ignoring the pleas of a handsome imaginary stranger who claimed to be his character sketch. Tragic.
Maybe. He could humor it, if not to waste a perfectly good mental spiraling.
“Okay, so letʻs say you are my two dimensional peach boy sketch somehow materialized into a three dimensional world… what exactly are we going to do to meet my deadline?” That was something Johnny never imagined himself saying ever.
“Jaehyun.”
“Come again?”
“I want to be called Jaehyun.”
“Okay, Jaehyun. Answer my first question please.”
“Well,” Jaehyun fiddles with his hair as he speaks. “I need new clothes, and I need to figure out what I like. And you need to get to know me better, right? Because Iʻm missing something. But maybe I have it, you just werenʻt able to ask me for it.” He nods, dimples poking at his cheeks.
Yes, Johnny is endeared. Yes, Johnny is hyperware that this is absolute insanity, and maybe damaging his tender grey matter forever, but goddammit.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Johnny gets out of bed for the second time that morning, getting in a proper stretch before looking through his drawers for an actual outfit. “You hungry?”
A comedically timed growl of Jaehyunʻs stomach reverberates through the room. His ears burn red, but he smiles dimples and sunshine. “Yeah, actually.”
Johnny canʻt help but smile himself. “Iʻll make us some breakfast. Then weʻll head out for the day.”
—
Jaehyun has an impressive appetite for a hallucination. Johnnyʻs made them his typical weekend breakfast— the waffles and eggs and bacon and the good stuff. Usually heʻd turn on the TV to the home shopping network, which was perfect background noise to sketch to. However, he had company. He thinks. So he sits across from Jaehyun as he scarfs down the breakfast and attempts conversation.
“So,” Johnny begins. “Not to sound like an egomaniacal narcissist, but am I like, your god or something?”
Jaehyun swallows a mouthful of pancakes. “Tsukiko Village is a godless paradise.”
“Oh. Cool.” Because heʻs not sure he could have handled that responsibility anyways. “Not that I donʻt appreciate this. Uh. Visit. But Iʻm still a little confused as to why youʻre here.”
“I wanna win.”
“Um, thatʻs nice?”
“I mean, I want to be as popular as Hyuckie. Maybe even more. And I canʻt do that if you donʻt make me official.”
Johnny sweats at the mention of outdoing himself. “Thatʻs a tall order, Jaehyun.”
“Good thing Iʻm asking you, then,” and he looks so smug and happy with himself. Johnny is appalled.
“There has to be a better way to do this other than snapping the space time continuum in half.”
“I donʻt know what you mean.”
“You materialized overnight. Thatʻs a first for my sketches, unless I casually forgot about the dream line marching through my house supplying me with character development.” Which, if that were the case, he feels robbed.
“You needed help this time,” Jaehyun reminds Johnny as if it were something obvious. “Iʻm missing something, but you donʻt know what. But two heads are better than one. And no one else knows me better than us,” he gestures between he and Johnny. “Right?”
It made sense in this warped reality, and it was kind of. Sweet. “Right,” Johnny confirms slowly.
“Do you have a dog?”
“No?”
Jaehyun frowns. “Dang it.”
—
Jaehyunʻs leaning out of Johnnyʻs car window, wind blowing through his curls of soft pink and Johnnyʻs finding it very difficult to focus on the road when Jaehyunʻs watching the world with nothing but wonder and awe.
“I like car rides,” he declares as he sits back in his seat.
“Good to know. Iʻll be sure to give you a chauffer in Tsukiko village.” Talking to Jaehyun like it was the most normal thing in the world became too natural way too fast in Johnnyʻs logical reasoning, but his heartfelt reasoning couldnʻt give less of a shit. Jaehyun was quite the calming presence, it turned out.
“Where are we going again?”
“This, uh, boutique I go to sometimes. Itʻs not so crowded, and they have clothes that might suit you better.” He eyes the outfit Jaehyun was wearing then, a plain white t shirt and jean shorts, and mentally berates himself. How could he have let his own character walk around in that? What kind of head designer was he? A cruel one.
“Do you drive there often?”
“Almost every weekend, I think.”
“But you donʻt have that many clothes?”
“Hm, I suppose,” Johnny feels called out somehow.
“So you like the drive out?”
“Yeah, I guess I do. Gives me time to think. And the viewʻs pretty.” Not a lie. Itʻs a long winding road framed by small storefronts and the shining Pacific, dotted with the occasional hibiscus bush or long-time homeowner watering their yard. Bad weather was hard to come by this time of year, which made the sea breeze and sunshine harmonize beautifully.
“It would be a long drive if I were by myself,” Jaehyun comments carefully. “What do you think about?”
“Work,” Johnny immediately replies with a bit of a smile. “You guys, I guess. My sketches. Colors. All that kind of stuff.”
Jaehyun is too silent for a bit, and Johnny thinks for a hot second that his delusions have receded and that heʻs snapped out of it, but when he looks, Jaehyun is still there. “Do we take up a lot of your time?”
ʻWeʻ heʻs come to learn, is the working shorthand to refer to all of his sketches. “I mean, yeah.” He finds himself feeling a little guilty saying it, which was ridiculous. “But itʻs worth it. I love my work, ya know?”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Jaehyun seemed to be lost in thought. “You give a lot of yourself to us.” Itʻs an observation more than a compliment.
“I do. I choose to.” Johnny suddenly feels the need to defend himself, but more than that, he feels the need to assure Jaehyun that he did not regret the time devoted to creating him.
“ I just…” Jaehyun trails off.
“Just what?”
“Mm, nothing. Iʻll tell you later.”
Johnny loosens his grip on the wheel once he realizes his knuckles were turning white. This conversation was way too intense to be having with a delusion of your peach boy merchandise design. “So whatʻs your favorite color?” It sounds stupid as soon as it leaves Johnnyʻs mouth, but Jaehyun takes it in stride.
“Hm, I think… white.”
“Good to know.” He stores that in whatever part of his brain is bound to retain whatever kind of mental hiccup this is. Hopefully.
—
The boutique feels just as cute and harmlessly exclusive as it always does. Itʻs where Johnny gets 90% of his outfits that arenʻt sweatpants and 90s cartoons graphic tees. The owner is a nice old woman who frequently asks when heʻll get married and if he can get whatever out of reach thing is on the top shelf that day.
“Alright, so. Just get whatever you want, I guess,” Johnny tells Jaehyun once they go through the glass doors. Jaehyunʻs taking in his surroundings diligently and nods in acknowledgement. “Youʻll tell me if my clothes look good, right?” When he looks straight at Johnny, all the trust in the world in his eyes, Johnny feels his heart burst with dumb, fluttery butterflies. “Yeah, of course.”
Itʻs the first time he comes in physical contact with Jaehyun, and itʻs brief and so so tiny but not at all insignificant. A little squeeze of his hand that Jaehyun gives before he wanders to the clothing rack. It feels neither electrifying or jolting, but all warmth and comfort. Real. Heʻs almost taken aback at how real it feels.
He must look like an idiot, standing there staring at his hand like itʻs the first time heʻs seen it. So he clears his throat and goes to look at bracelets to clear the rose tinted haze over his eyes.
It doesnʻt take Jaehyun much time to pick out a few things he likes. Most of them are light sweaters, jeans, slacks: perfect Spring wear, Johnny notes. It was always spring in Tsukiko village. The perfect time for cherry blossom viewing, Yuta had pitched to him once. It brings a fond smile to his face.
“Do you want all of them?” Because he was completely prepared to buy Jaehyun all of them.
“Ah, no, just one outfit will be okay for now, right?” The typical outfit heʻll be drawn in for all the merchandise, of course. There were seasonal and special edition renditions, but a signature look was the priority for the deadline.
“Jeez, youʻre better at my job than I am.” Johnny half-jokes and Jaehyun lets out a breathy, lovely laugh. “How about this shirt? You said you like white.” Itʻs oversized, even for Jaehyunʻs tall and toned stature (which made no sense for an adorable peach like character to have, thanks obvious lust-filled hentai subconscious), but casually elegant. In other words, itʻs perfect.
Jaehyun nods in agreement and shuffles through his hangers to pick out black pants and an undershirt. “Iʻll try it on. Wait for me?”
“Donʻt have anything better to do,” Johnny teases, but takes a seat in front of the makeshift dressing room stalls once one of the helpful employees points them in the right direction. He tries to remember the last time he had gone to this store with company, not counting the one time Yuta and Taeyong had tagged along for a shopping spree and proceeding shenanigans. It was fun. He loved seeing them in love, but it was only natural to feel even the tiniest bit lonely when two of your best friends had met their soulmates and you had not.
It was like a secret club Johnny wasnʻt able to get in on, and he was realizing, sitting there in the boutique, that it kinda bummed him out.
Huh.
“Good?” He hears Jaehyun ask, and oh, itʻs good. The outfit suits him perfectly. Other than the fact that Jaehyun is obviously unnaturally beautiful, the fashion is just soft enough for appeal. Dreamy but still practical. Missing something, though.
Johnny hums in approval before sitting up. “Wait one second. It needs something.” He moves to the hat rack, picking out a sun hat that particularly catches his eyes. “Here.” With the most delicacy he can manage, Johnny places it on Jaehyunʻs head and gently adjusts the pink bangs out of his eyes. “Do you like it, though?”
Jaehyun blinks up at him once before turning to observe himself in the mirror. A wide smile slowly brightens his face. “I like it a lot. I can have it?”
“Yeah, I just have to pay for it first. After that, we can find a bathroom for you to change in.”
“Pay?” Jaehyun furrows his brow.
“Uh— donʻt mind it. Just let me handle it.” Sometimes he forgets that Tsukiko villageʻs economy is fueled by smiles and kindness. As it should be. But he wasnʻt about to explain capitalism to Jaehyun and take that glimmer out of his eyes.
Viva la revolution, Johnny mumbles to himself as he ooshes Jaehyun out of the store and rings up his clothes.
—
Bookstores make him sad for reasons heʻd rather not get into. However, he was weak in the face of a pouting Jaehyun, eyes wide and awe filled as he spotted the endless rows of well-loved pages. So as Jaehyun thumbs through volumes of Path, Poe, and Woolf in the secondhand shop nestled a comfortable walk from the boutique, he takes some time to think about nothing. Nothing, meaning the current state of his semi-existence and what this means for him as a creator. Had he really flung himself so far into the dense seas of overwork? Or was he drowning in the shallow waters of complacency— mediocrity? What exactly did Jaehyun mean for him?
“Not much of a reader?” Jaehyunʻs voice cuts through his own poetic ocean parallels, lips pursed.
“Not like you, apparently. Iʻm guessing youʻre into poetry?”
“Sometimes” Jaehyun contemplates. “Like this one, here,” he steps closer to Johnny, close enough that Johnny can smell perfumed peaches and feel the warmth of his shoulder. He points to a page of a worn hardcover, an Amy Lowel collection, and fawns over the poem about the crescent moon.
Itʻs awfully cute, and although Johnny hasnʻt ever been one for poetry, the poem on the opposite page catches his eye. The Poet is printed in italics at the top of the page “Forever done with simple joys and quiet happiness” and “He spurns life's human friendships to profess life's loneliness of dreaming ecstasy” dance at the bottom of a mass of text. Rough.
“For all the frilly vocabulary, they donʻt dance around the issue,” he mutters mostly to himself. Being within proper flustering distance, Jaehyun hears him.
“Oh, The Poet?”
“Sorry, didnʻt mean to cut off your moon talk. Itʻs a lovely poem and all.”
“Everyone has their preferences,” Jaehyun smiles up at him. “Even if theyʻre in poor taste.”
“Hey now, I barely have a palate!”
“You donʻt like poetry? No artistʻs solidarity left in your heart, Johnny?”
“Not really,” he waves off as casually as he can. “But donʻt rush just because Iʻm bored out of my mind.”
“Youʻre not bored,” Jaehyun corrects. He closes the book, The Poet fluttering out of sight. “Youʻre thinking hard about something.”
Itʻs frustratingly on the nose. He wasnʻt bored at all, more like too preoccupied. “You know, if youʻre gonna read my mind, donʻt bother to ask me about it.”
“I donʻt need to read your mind. You tell us a lot, you know.”
“That one rant about how eggplants are berries was mostly due to severe exhaustion and over caffeination, and you canʻt tell me that the classification of berries isnʻt just botanists trying to flex their power over us—”
“Johnny.”
“Jaehyun.”
“Youʻre deflecting.” Jaehyun brushes his fingertips against Johnnyʻs palm as if to ground him.
Johnny sighs, gesturing for Jaehyun to on ahead with his analysis.
“When you design one of us… you put a lot of yourself into it. Itʻs more than sweat and hand cramps.” It was something he had said before, but this time with emphasis, Johnny notices. Itʻs weird.
“Yeah, thatʻs kind of the point, isnʻt it?” Johnny loves his art. He loves what he does. He wouldnʻt want to put anything less than 100% of himself into his designs— it would feel like cheating them if he did any less.
“Mm,” is all Jaehyun responds with, turning around to get lost in Modernism.
Johnny feels sufficiently analyzed, but also more confused than ever.
—
“Ice cream is a must,” Johnny tells Jaehyun when he takes him to his favorite ice cream parlor nearby. It stands right across from a small beach park and has the best mocha fudge ice cream heʻs ever had.
Before they manage to get out of the car, something seems to catch Jaehyunʻs eye in the backseat. “Do you want to bring your camera?”
“Camera?” To Johnnyʻs knowledge, he kept his camera on his desk for easy access and common courtesy towards one of his prized possessions. “I left it in here?”
“Apparently,” Jaehyun shrugs and reaches behind himself for it. “Did you forget it?”
“The last time I remember using it was—” months ago, he realizes, but doesnʻt want to admit it out loud. “I canʻt believe I forgot it in the backseat. Iʻm a terrible camera dad.” He takes it from Jaehyunʻs hand, examining it for any damage before deeming it in tip top shape, and putting it around his neck. The weight was satisfying— something he had missed.
“It happens to the best of us,” Jaehyun giggles before finally hopping out of the car. Johnny circles to the front of his car to meet Jaehyun, and takes in the spectacularly clear day, the humming twinkle of the sea, and Jaehyun accentuated by all of it.
Without thinking, he holds his camera up to snap a picture.
Jaehyun doesnʻt have time to gather his bearings, but itʻs a lovely shot nonetheless: lips slightly parted into the suggestion of a smile while one hand holds his hat from flying away with the persistent coastal winds.
Yuta had once told him that he had an eye for such things. Beautiful things.
“You took my picture?”
“Yeah— that wonʻt shred the delicate threads of reality, will it?” Johnny suddenly thinks about the repercussions of dragging Jaehyun around the material world, but canʻt bring himself to care. It would be a great last day on earth, honestly.
“Donʻt think so,” Jaehyun responds as vaguely as possible.
“So what do you think?”
“Of?”
“This. The world. Three dimensions, etcetera,ʻ Johnny spreads out his arms for effect and Jaehyun laughs that endearing laugh again.
“Itʻs nice. Iʻm not sure why youʻre so afraid of it.”
Now hereʻs something that heʻs learned about Jaehyun: he says things that should be said in this teasing, flippant, hollow way but instead says them with the most genuine breath he can muster. Itʻs giving Johnny whiplash, and most troubling, room for self-reflection.
“Calling me a scaredy cat?” Heʻs fumbling with his camera so he doesnʻt have to see the way Jaehyunʻs eyes burrow into his very sensitive soul.
“You avoid being a part of it.” Jaehyunʻs stopped right in front of him, so Johnny bumps into him and theyʻre forced to be face to face. Close enough for Jaehyun to hear Johnnyʻs ugly heartbeat, he doesnʻt doubt.
“Funny to hear that from someone who didnʻt exist in this world til this morning,” Johnny canʻt help but point out. Jaehyun seems unmoved. “Besides, Iʻm very happily to be a part of this world. I get out of bed, go to work, and provide the children of said world with plenty of joy. Joy that you will be a part of if you stop with this cryptic psychoanalyzation, Jaehyun.”
“I donʻt want to hurt you,” Jaehyunʻs face immediately drops and Johnny hopes he didnʻt sound too harsh. “Iʻm just trying to help you.”
“Itʻs not about me, Jae. Itʻs about you becoming official.” It was about doing what Johnny did best, and exposing Jaehyun to the love he deserved. He thinks. Well, thatʻs what he signed up for when he got out of bed the second time.
Jaehyun blinks up at him, reaching up to play with a blushy strand peeking out from his hat. “Do you really feel that way?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Johnny—”
“Okay, well, before you fry my brain or whatever, can we at least get some ice cream first? I know youʻll love it.” Johnny has no grip on what this reality could be anymore, especially with how warm and beautiful Jaehyun is, how he smells like fresh peaches and how the tips of his ears burn red when Johnny offers a smile, but he ccouldnʻt care less. All he knows is the feel of Jaehyunʻs palm in his when he leads him into the ice cream parlor.
—
Jaehyun does love the ice cream— two green tea scoops in a chocolate dipped waffle cone. Johnny takes a picture of his first bite and the wide eyed look of joy that follows. He tries very hard to remember what the last thing he photographed was and it canʻt come to him. It had been so long, especially with the schedule of new character releases and the upcoming line.
Theyʻre walking the edge of the beach bark, Johnny balancing on a hip level rock wall and Jaehyun holding his hand (youʻll fall if I donʻt, I can see it very vividly, Johnny) from the grassy path below.
“Didnʻt I tell you? Best ice cream ever.”
“I never said I doubted you,” Jaehyun defends his pride with.
“Iʻm sure the ice cream in Tsukiko Village is just as good though,” Johnny imagines. Jaehyun smiles, fond and thoughtful. Johnny notices a bit of ice cream at the corner of Jaehyunʻs mouth, because he definitely was not staring at his soft, petal pink lips. Not at all.
“You have something,” Johnny mumbles before leaning in to swipe it off with the pad of his finger. “Ah. there we go.” His hand lingers on Jaehyunʻs cheek a bit longer than he intended.
“Youʻre good at that.”
“What? Cleaning up ice cream?”
“Making people fall for you.”
Johnny wants to excuse himself to run straight into the ocean— half in embarrassment and half in content that his life wonʻt get better than this.
“I wonder why you donʻt have that someone special in your life.”
“I do, her nameʻs Tsukiko and she owns my soul,” itʻs half a joke. Sometimes he has time to breathe.
“You should get someone. Someone special.”
“Canʻt.”
“Why not? Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Johnny sighs. “Donʻt have the time, Jaehyun. Youʻd know that better than anyone.”
“Sounds like an excuse to me.”
“Love this invalidation by the sea.”
“Johnny,” Jaehyun says it in the Johnny loves it. Like heʻs hanging on to the J and drawls out the Y. “If thereʻs ever someone to be honest to, itʻs me.”
Thereʻs a moment where theyʻre both staring out to the ocean, peaceful and silent and nothingʻs rushing any of them. Jaehyun seems perfectly content to give Johnny the time.
“What is it that you wanted to say? Back when we were driving? You said youʻd tell me later.”
Jaehyun presses his palm gently to Johnnyʻs chest and his heart beats embarrassingly quick against the pressure. “What do you put into your art, Johnny?”
Johnny blinks. And then, without hesitation, “all of me.”
“Then whatʻs left?”
The question flames out like Jaehyunʻs been wanting to ask it all day, and Johnny opens his mouth to answer— even something for comedic effect— but nothing conjures.
“You put— you put so much of yourself into us, Johnny. We donʻt deserve that,” Jaehyun looks at him. “You deserve to hold onto some part of you, Johnny. You deserve that. And maybe a little extra for someone whoʻs lucky enough.”
“I donʻt— How can I— How can I?” Johnny swallows. A wave crahes. He holds the hand Jaehyun has against his chest. “Itʻs everything I have, you know. The thing thatʻs kept me going. The thing I can do— the thing I can do right.”
“Youʻre more than what you create, Johnny,” and Jaehyun leans in for a chaste kiss, a Touch of lips that leaves Johnny dizzy.
“What is it, then? That youʻre missing. At least give me that. You must know.” His breathe brushes with Jaehyunʻs and he swears thereʻs nothing else around them at that point. No sea or breeze or sand or grass or tangent reality. Just he and Jaehyun.
Jaehyun shakes his head. “Iʻm not missing anything.”
—
Johnny wakes up in a room thatʻs too sterile for comfort and a head that feels like it isnʻt screwed on just right. There are voices, very distantly, that he can recognize as Taeyongʻs patient humming and Yutaʻs agitated impatience.
“Mr. Seo?” Thatʻs an unfamiliar voice.
“Is he awake?” Another unfamiliar voice— deeper than the first— chimes in.
Fuck. He had been dreaming. What a waste of emotional vulnerability.
The world comes into focus when the nurse is called in— a kind, middle aged lady who checks his vitals and asks him overall how heʻs feeling.
Great, except his head felt like it had been punted from the thirty yard line.
Typical, she said, for someone with blunt force trauma, and gave him more painkillers.
“Mr. Seo,” itʻs the voice from when he first began waking up. Detective Qian Kun. Sorry for bothering you, but weʻd like to ask you some questions if you feel up to it.” Everythingʻs clear again, so he doesnʻt see anything wrong with answering the sharply dressed blonde manʻs questions. “This is my partner, Detective Wong Xuxi.”
“Yo,” the taller brunette responds with.
“God, did someone try to kill me?” Itʻs nice to think that heʻs important enough for a bounty on his head.
“Well, thatʻs what we were hoping youʻd tell us about.”
“All offense, but Iʻm just as lost as you are.”
“Your friend, Yuta, found you unconscious in the parking lot of your place of employment after your shift last night, do you remember anything from before that?”
Everything starts falling into place. Kind of. At least now he knows when reality ended and convoluted divine intervention began. “Yeah, I, uh, was looking for my keys. Then everything pretty much went blurry, you know?”
“I see. Anything you can recall from the actual attack?” The taller detective, Xuxi, is chewing on the eraser of his pencil and staring with rapt attention.
“Nah, I was pretty much a sitting duck. But itʻs not the first time Iʻve been out late and looking for my keys, ya know? So if anyone was planning to, ya know,” he makes a throat slitting motion with his thumb, “itʻs weird timing.”
Xuxi pipes in. “Hey hey, isnʻt Tsukiko getting ready for a new launch?”
Johnny dies a little on the inside. “Donʻt remind me.”
“Any suspicious emails, letters. phone calls? Any threats?”
“I work for Tsukiko, dude. The most threatening thing Iʻve gotten is some homemade slime from one of my fans.” It was a sweet gesture, but it smelled suspiciously like garlic.
Both detective look at each other, nonverbally agreeing on something or another. “Well, we understand that you need to recover. If you think of anything else— even the smallest detail— let us know.” Kun reaches into his pocket for his card, and gets Johnnyʻs contact information as well.
“Oh! Detective,” Johnny calls before Kun steps out of the room. “I remember hearing, uh, roller skates before getting my skull rocked. Not sure if that matters, but itʻs something I remember.”
Kun and Xuxi exchange looks again, but this time itʻs an entire conversation. “Thank you Mr. Seo, that helps a lot.”
“Feel better soon!” Xuxi pops into his room to say before they both take their leave.
“What a shitshow,” Johnny confirms with a sigh.
He doesnʻt dare pick up his sketches.
—
Being in the hospital is totally detoxifying and all, but Johnny was sick of being bedbound after the first hour and he hates seeing Yuta cry. It was the best route to get better as soon as possible.
Heʻs packed up hsi belongings, charged his phone (the threatening text sent to Taeyong remaining nonexistent despite his doubts), and managed a shave. Everythingʻs well, and Yuta has given him whatever extension he needs as long as his head stays on his shoulders, so heʻs more than ready to leave the hospital.
While waiting for the elevator, he feels a tap on his shoulder. And is greeted by a very familiar face.
“Hi, Iʻm sorry to bother you— this is so unprofessional, but are you Johnny Seo?” Johnny, just as he loved it. Dimples graced the stranger who did not seem to be a stranger at allʻs face, peachy pink scrubs accenting the red burning at the tips of his ears.
“Y-yeah. Totally.” Smooth, smooth.
“I was actually wondering if I could get your autograph. I heard that you were a patient here, but didnʻt want to ask while you were recovering, but I didnʻt want to miss my chance.” The man hands Johnny a piece of Hamjun stationary. “Iʻm a big fan,” he points to his Chenphin lanyard shyly.
It takes Johnny way more time than socially accepted for him to even register the words that were being said to him. A spitting image of him, aside from brunette bangs that dusted over his eyes rather than sunny bubblegum. Yeah, heʻs not freaking out at all. “Sure, sure. Uh, make it out to…?” His eyes drift down to the name badge being held by the lanyard.
JUNG YOONOH, RN stares back at him, and it nearly snaps him out of it.
“Jaehyun, please. Everyone calls me Jaehyun.”
Johnnyʻs mind crashes and burns and what is a signature again? Oh yeah, spinny letters and a heart.
“Iʻm really glad you, uh, like my work. Seriously Iʻm flattered,” he bumbles his way with conversation. He gets it, okay? He knows what he needs to do.
“Itʻs adorable. Youʻre really talented ,” Jaehyun tilts his head. “Are you a photographer as well?” Heʻs pointing to the camera hanging off Johnnyʻs neck. Yuta had presented it to him after rummaging through Johnnyʻs car for whatever he might need from there. Johnny had to admit that the professional selfies he took while Yuta and Taeyong visited cheered him up almost immediately.
“Oh, yeah, itʻs a hobby.”
“I bet youʻre great,” Jaehyun says and itʻs awfully genuine.
Oh fuck it.
“At the very real probability of coming off as a total creep, um, do you like ice cream by any chance?”
Jaehyun blinks up at him. “I do like ice cream.”
“Would you like to obtain said ice cream, but like, with me?”
“Like a date?”
“Allegedly.”
“Allegedly, I would love to get to know you better over said ice cream.”
“Oh, thatʻs nifty,” he assures. “Uh, let me give you my number. And we can work around your schedule. But uh, no pressure.”
Jaehyun, reaching for his phone, giggles bright and honest. “Thereʻs none. I promise.”
—
For the first time in years, he takes a break. An honest to god break. He photographs, adopts a dog, and embarasses Jaehyun with flowers at work every Friday.
When he reopens his sketchbook, ready to design Peachyun, he doesnʻt feel like itʻll be missing anything.
He has so much more left.