Work Text:
“T.O.P AND NANA REVEAL THEIR ONGOING ROMANCE!”
Jiyong stares at the headline blankly in his car seat, the moon is low in the sky, just peaking it’s tired head up and he wishes it would fucking explode, like a catastrophic event, even though only his world is collapsing in on itself and not the entire Earth’s. He blinks, wills the words away, when they don’t leave he blinks again and they stay.
He’s known. For a long time, months actually, but it hits with such a deeper, impactful wound now that the entire public knows. Now that his yearning is known to be one-sided and stale.
Jiyong bites the inside of his cheek, skims through a letter that he grabbed from a fan. He’s tired and there’s a message from Daesung on his phone waiting for him. He’s been leaning on the younger heavily, just for some sort of support, for something, for some sake of trying to mend his own brain, some days it works, his brain void any thought of Seunghyun, most days it doesn’t. When his phone vibrates a second time he assumes Daesung texted again, shrugging it off to finish reading.
And then he checks and Seunghyun’s nickname is bright across his screen.
| 달: I’m sorry.
His teeth clench at the words, they seem so empty over the phone, so poignant and pointless that Jiyong wants to just throw the device out the window to whatever hungry fan will take it.
He doesn’t, his eyes rake the words over again, the pet-name he gave the other along with the seven simple letters following it forming an apology, Jiyong licks his lips, sighs and folds up the letter he just read carefully, swiping the notification away, he decided less than ten seconds ago he’ll respond when he’s home. When his mind is clear and not foggy. When he feels present and Zoa or Iye is snuggled up close to him and his body doesn’t feel so cold. It’s all about ‘when’ with Jiyong and Seunghyun, the timing is never right and now Jiyong is still staring down a blackening screen of the news article Dispatch reported.
He swallows, feels one tear fall against his cheek, and the car beneath him moves—A half manicured hand coming up quickly to swipe away salt water before Jiyong settles on digging through his purse for Marlboro Golds to pass the car ride, which in all is very short.
Ten minutes pass, two cigarettes burn too quickly, and Jiyong’s eyes are rimmed red when the car pulls into his driveway, Jaeho quickly opens his door, pausing to give him a look, only for Jiyong to shake his head, shutting down any conversation.
Inside, pajamas are already set out and he yearns for a shower, instead he shuffles to the balcony and finishes his last cigarette, snaps a picture of the moon as a ‘fuck you’ and slaps a song from one of Seunghyun’s old playlists on it and uploads it to Instagram.
It’s actually less of a ‘fuck you’ and more so of a ‘please come back.’ and Jiyong is almost sure everyone knows it by now.
He hates that he feels this way, the yearning, the want, the awful neediness—The feelings overwhelm him in a way that makes him flat, he would make himself a doormat if Seunghyun would spare him the trouble of walking over him one last time, in the way he’s always been so good at.
Jiyong leaves his phone outside on the balcony when he goes inside and changes into dark navy pajamas. They combat the color of his hair like the night and he wants to be engulfed in it, wants to feel the loneliness of the dark. He wonders if Seunghyun has noticed how much time has passed, over thirty minutes, no response—He wonders if he even matters enough to the older to warrant notice, while wondering, he shoves his face in plush pillows and lets the softness suffocate him.
Zoa jumps on the bed, curling up next to Jiyong and he so badly wants to let out the sob curdling in his throat that he releases something akin to a grunt as he pulls the cat closer.
He doesn’t actually want to talk to Seunghyun, not really, it’s been weeks, hell, they could’ve passed months without the last word and the only thing Jiyong would notice is that the void in his chest was getting wider and deeper, vaster and more noticeable; Yet still, he cradles Zoa and carries her out to the balcony, grabbing his phone before checking if there’s anything new.
Eight Instagram notifications.
Three messages from Soohyuk.
One from Daesung.
Radio silence from the world’s moon man.
Zoa looks up at Jiyong purring loudly when he huffs and burrows his face in her soft fur, walking back inside slowly, he throws his phone carelessly onto his bed before gently settling the feline down and collapsing beside her in a hunch, tugging blankets over himself as he stares at his phone screen, opening his and Seunghyun’s chat.
The apology stares at him, he wishes the other has never sent it.
Still he has two nails left on his right hand, one on his thumb and the other one his middle finger and when he types he watches the bright colors flash and he scrunches his nose before hitting send.
| 나: Have you decided what for yet?
Jiyong knows the appropriate time for jokes, for teases, and brattiness, but he doesn’t particularly care currently.
The reply comes almost instantly.
| 달: Don’t be difficult, please.
| Everything.
Realistically, Jiyong knows what ‘everything’ means as well—Their multiple shitty attempts at relationships, their dozens of broken promises, their general dynamic, how hot and cold they were, still are, how often Seunghyun left and how willing Jiyong was to stay, the patheticness of it all.
| 나: Spell it out for me, just this once.
| I might not hear from you again, seeing as you're in a happy relationship, are you not?
It’s amusing really that he hadn’t realized there were tears on his cheeks, nor that his nose was blocked and Jiyong had begun breathing from his mouth automatically, without second thought, trying to keep himself quiet in the silence of his own home. He watches Seunghyun’s chat bubbles pop up and turns his phone off. Iye has joined his sister beside him, the cat lightly head-butting Jiyong as he tries to muffle sobs in his pajama sleeves.
| 달: That somehow I still hurt you without being near you. I try not to.
Jiyong wishes the idiot would realize all he wants is for Seunghyun to be near him most days, he swallows harshly and swipes the notification away almost carelessly, when really there’s so much feeling behind the one notion he wishes he just threw his phone instead. He lets the message sit, lets it marinate, and waits.
Instead of waiting this time, Seunghyun double texts.
| 달: Maybe we figured it out in a different lifetime. Who knows.
Jiyong knows his natural satellite in the form of a human being is dying out, for him at least. He doesn’t want to accept it really, simply because it hurts, in a way it never has, in a stupid, silly way that makes him feel more pathetic than like a man in love with someone that doesn’t want him.
He tries anyway, even as the light fades.
| 나: Call me. Show me you’re sorry with words.
Unsure if it’ll even work, Jiyong settles his phone on his chest and allows the silence of his room to engulf him, a welcome loneliness for once. His phone vibrates once within five minutes, he assumes a text message has slid through, a gentle declaration that they haven’t exactly been on talking terms, he shouldn’t get his hopes up, and then it vibrates more rapidly and he realizes his phone is in fact ringing and he’s not going crazy.
When Jiyong first goes to speak, the soft sound gets stuck in his throat, he tries again and “Hello?” Emerges, his voice watery, quiet, and tired.
He almost wants to hang up when he hears it crack mid-word.
“Jiyong? Have you been crying?”
The man in question blinks to himself, more tears fall, and he scoffs, fuck Choi Seunghyun for knowing him so well.
“No.”
A silence passes over them like a tsunami.
“I can hear it in your voice.”
Jiyong swallows, it only serves to make things worse as something akin to a whimper slips from his lips. “Enough, okay.” It’s not a question. “Say it.” He wants the words to soothe over every wound like a balm, to make him feel peaceful and tranquil, like meditation does when his anxiety is too high.
“I apologize…” There’s a pause, barking, and then a female voice. “Fuck.”
Jiyong’s face drops, not that he had any high hopes for this call in the first place. “Right.” A clearing of the younger’s throat. “Call me when you have time, when this means something.” He almost smacks the end call button, even with the sound of Seunghyun calling after him on the other end.
There are no gentle words, no softness, there is an encapsulating darkness of the dimness of his room and the quietness of the night. The last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is the harsh weeping sound he didn’t register was coming from his own mouth.
—
Jaeho checks on Jiyong at five in the morning.
Yet still, the other man is not awake.
He’s sleeping soundly, his face tacky with tears, phone dead beside him—The day will pass as normally as possible and he will have to pretend he isn’t concerned for his favorite man child of an employer, anxiety sinks low in his stomach.
No one will really know what happened on the night of October the second, unless you ask Jiyong to recount it and he’ll tell you a half assed lie about flights and sleeping for days at a time.
Nothing about what could have been multiple hour phone calls and unread text messages from ex-band mates and failed boyfriends alike.
Relationships that end, wrong in this case, are funny like that.