augmenti: (승현。beautiful target。)
augmenti ([personal profile] augmenti) wrote2011-09-27 03:00 am

f.t island; simplicity {jonghun/hongki.}

Jonghun just wants a simple life.
Jonghun/Hongki, pg, 2,731 words.

→ thank you so much for beta-reading and for all of your help [ profile] acousticscenery ;___;♥, you're the best! originally posted here for [ profile] firequakes♥ ♥ ♥

Jonghun remembers when life was simple. Remembers when he could put his hand on Hongki’s shoulder without having to pull it away when he smiles. He hates the fear of being scorched all the way down through his spine and his heart and lighting his groin. He misses being able to share a thought without being unprofessional. When he could speak his mind and not regret it later. He’s always been a passive person, but being famous puts a whole new spin on it. Being famous means you can’t be yourself.

Being famous means life isn’t simple anymore.

And even though Seunghyun and Minhwan are studying Japanese together on the couch, he misses the feeling of the simple life that he sees written on their faces. He wonders how they can be so carefree when life does anything but make things easy.

“How do you do it?” he asks, sitting down on the couch with a heavy sigh that seeps through his lungs and drains all the tension out of his body.

“Do what?” Seunghyun asks, flipping the page of the book as though they really were looking through the Japanese coursebook that they had all memorized six months ago.

“How do you...” he tries to find the right words, “keep things so simple?”

Minhwan looks up from his notes and quirks an eyebrow. “Just don’t stress so much hyung,” he shrugs, nudging Seunghyun with a playful grin that Jonghun doesn’t see because he’s too busy staring at the rain dripping down the window. They both take the opportunity to tackle him. Seunghyun accidentally lodges his knee in his stomach and Jonghun goes under with an undignified squawk.

They don’t stop until their fingers have poked and prodded and tickled him senselessly and his face is flushed red, his hair askew. He pulls himself up from a tangle of limbs with a firm grip on their shoulders, and he realizes that Hongki is watching them from the doorway, an oddly reserved look on his exhausted face.

“Hongki,” he breathes, and his name is like an electric shock running through him. He feels Seunghyun stiffen under his hand but pays no heed. He’s too busy watching the way Hongki’s face tightens before it loosens up and a smile takes it’s place.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” he asks, kicking his shoes off at the door and plopping on the other couch, shoving the pile of unsorted clothes aside. He eyes the book on the coffee table. “You didn’t learn that yet?”

Jonghun lets go of the magnaes and sits back. Seunghyun leans against him. He’s glad for the warmth and hates it at the same time, because he doesn’t want feelings, or warmth, he just wants simplicity. He gets up from the mess of limbs and dusts off his pants, running his fingers through his hair. His gaze snags with Hongki’s for a minute, and he swallows against the mass of everything he continually suppresses and leaves after biting out some poor excuse.

It must have been really bad, because as he leaves the dorm and runs down the stairs, he realizes he’s being followed by the source of his problems. He swallows against the lump in his throat and would have run out into the torrential downpour if Hongki hadn’t wrapped his hand around his and yanked him backwards, anchoring him inside.

“Yah, idiot!” Hongki says, and Jonghun looks anywhere but at his face, but his collarbones are sticking out of the low-hang of his shirt and he just now notices the speckles of rain that must have splattered his shirt when he came home earlier. Jonghun doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Hongki pulls him closer, a queer expression on his face.

Pardon the phrase, Jonghun wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants to run outside in the rain just to feel manly because he’s falling apart, has been, every single day.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hongki asks, his voice coming out harsh from irritation.

Jonghun opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out but a pathetic squeak. “I can’t,” he says, and he doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but apparently he’s built up so many feelings that it’s all he can be. He has no idea when he wrenched himself out of Hongki’s hands, but he’s shocked to find himself suddenly freed.

He takes two steps backwards, and then he swallows hard and takes three steps forward until he nearly pushes Hongki into the stairs. He grabs the sides of his face in a too tight, too desperate hold. His kiss isn’t really a kiss so much as a desperate moment of him floundering and smacking their lips together so hard that he’s sure it’s going to sting. He’s usually a better kisser than this, but by the time his brain turns back on Hongki’s jerked himself away and has scrambled up the stairway backwards in shock.

Hongki stares at him with eyes widened in surprise. Jonghun doesn’t say anything else, mostly because he can’t, but partially because if he stays where he is any longer he’s going to go into cardiac arrest. He rushes out of the apartment complex and hits the wet sidewalk with a slap of his sneakers on water and he doesn’t stop running until he can’t breathe and there’s a painful stitch in his side.

The first thing he thinks of doing is screaming, so he goes to the top of the nearest open building, rushing by hair salons and restaurants and cafes until he makes it to the roof. He screams himself hoarse, and by the time he stops he’s out of breath and dizzy. He can’t remember when his cell phone got into his hand, but he pulls open twitter anyway and tweets the only thing he can think of.

@skullhong I love you.

He sends it, crouches down and drops his head between his knees. After taking a deep, deep breath and filling his lungs with all the oxygen they can hold, he releases it all as slowly as he can. He repeats that five times and then glances at his twitter account. Three, two, one, and he deletes the tweet, and no one will ever know it existed.

Instead, in its place, he tweets:

Rainy weather at night is the best time to clear your head and heart.

He almost doesn’t see them after he presses send and checks his messages, but Seunghyun’s sent him at least five times in the last minute, asking him if he’s okay, and what he means, and where is he, and what is he doing? Jonghun sets his mouth into a firm line and runs a hand through his soaked hair. He’s going to have to teach Seunghyun not to be so open on twitter.

The thought makes laughter burst out of him in an unrelenting flood, bringing him to his feet. It starts as a quiet little bubbling up in his chest and turn into full on, horribly depressing laughter until he starts to cry. No one would be able to see him cry because of the rain, though, so he figures it’s okay. He touches his fingers to his lips and thinks of how warm Hongki’s were, and how much he wishes he could kiss him again, just to show him that he really isn’t a bad kisser.

But then he pushes it away, because Hongki made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want him like that. Jonghun swallows, hard, and wonders what it’d be like if life were simple again. He imagines a life where he’s together with Hongki, really together, and it makes him burst into laughter again.

Life with Hongki is never simple. He doesn’t know the future, he can’t tell. He knows he has problems and he also knows that he can’t solve them, but he has to live with them anyway. He knows that if he’s not careful, he’ll blow everything. It’s the love of music that keeps him going, and the love of music that keeps things simple, so on his walk home, he figures if he focuses on just music, he can get through anything.


He doesn’t know that what appears on the internet once is always on the internet, but the fans don’t say anything because they also know that sometimes, rarely, Hongki will put his hand on Jonghun’s lower back and rub just lightly enough that it seems innocent but linger just long enough for it to also mean something, and sometimes, when Jonghun’s giving Hongki a hug, Hongki will let him bury his face in his hair for just a minute too long, and they figure that everything is going to be okay, anyway.

Jonghun also doesn’t know that Hongki did see the tweet, that the whole of F.T Island saw it, but none of them comment because it’s best to just keep things simple, until Jonghun accepts himself.


It takes a while, but he finally does, one night in Japan almost a year later. He’s a little tipsy, a combination of Asahi beer and a bit too much sake during dinner with the members. He sprawls back in his seat a little and tips his head against the wood on the window frame behind him. To his side is Hongki, who’s a lot better at holding his drink and talking animatedly with Jaejin about something. Or blackmailing him into buying him more gyoza, maybe.

All he really remembers is that Minhwan is ordering cheesecake when his hand wanders over to Hongki of its own volition and slips through his hair. It’s soft as silk, even with all the treatments done to it, and he feels a pang of sadness to think that someday it’ll be gone, when they’re old and after all of this is gone. He frowns, pulling his fingers through a tangle, and sits up in his place, knocking his knees against the table.

Life without them, even when he’s old, wouldn’t be worth it, would it? It makes his heart hurt a little, thinking of not being there to tease Hongki for his lost hair, or how his voice is growing hoarse, or when he himself has arthritis and can barely move his fingers anymore. He thinks of Seunghyun and wonders if he’d be a good grandfather or not, and if Minhwan will give him pointers, and he wonders how many languages Jaejin’s children will know and he thinks, as leader, he should be there for all of that.

“Cut it out,” Hongki whines, and Jonghun’s hand stills on the back of his neck. He feels the warmth in his palm and wonders why he can’t see his future with a family of his own instead of these boys. He frowns when he comes to the realization that maybe, just maybe the simplicity of his life is really not so simple at all.

He does a lot of stupid stuff, he thinks. He’s done a lot of erasing, a lot of hiding, a lot of being as far from himself as he can possibly be. He withdraws his hand and shifts his weight so that he’s leaning on him, rests his chin on his shoulder and idly listens to them talk for a bit.

“If you don’t, I’m going to reveal all of your secrets on air,” Hongki’s saying, although Jonghun doesn’t understand the context, he does understand that Jaejin is, again, being blackmailed.

“Reveal all of what, you have nothing,” Jaejin snorts with gusto, although Jonghun could see his smile becoming tight, and how his fingers were clenching at the side of the table.

“I know all about all your dirty romances,” Hongki says, snickering. Which is a lie, because Jonghun knows for a fact that Hongki wasn’t around for half of them, but he keeps his mouth shut, happy to not be shrugged off.

Hongki doesn’t give him more than half a glance, probably because he knows that Jonghun’s more drunk than all of them combined. Which isn’t really fair, but he feels like all his problems aren’t so serious when he’s drunk and not worrying about whether the girl on the other side of the restaurant wants to flirt with him or if he’ll have to flirt back. Alcohol makes the complexities of the world much easier to handle.

The truth is, he’d much rather flirt with Hongki, and that’s a problem that would paralyze him at any time but right now, while Hongki’s cheek is looking smooth and soft and so inviting that he doubts anyone can blame him when he leans into him and presses his lips against it before it grows old and wrinkly.

Hongki freezes, and so does, it seems, everyone else at the table. He pulls back quickly, falling back against the back of his seat again and letting his head roll back to stare at the kanji on the wall menu upside down.

“PDA!” Jaejin calls out, half a second later. “You can’t blackmail me now hyung, I know all your secrets!”

Jonghun grins at the ceiling, blushing, until Hongki stomps on his foot, hard. He’s pretty sure he’s hissed something at him, but under the table, unnoticeable by anyone else in their booth, Hongki’s fingers find his and give them a quick squeeze. Then Seunghyun makes an offhand joke about how many girlfriends all the hyungs have had in the past, and the table explodes in an uproar of voices trying to shout over one another.


After Jonghun’s paid the bill himself for causing a ruckus and drinking too much they all walk back together. Jonghun stumbles around a little, trailing behind them, and Hongki walks next to him, shoulders brushing together.

“You’re going to regret drinking so much in the morning,” Hongki chides, whacking him in the back of the head. “You idiot.”

Jonghun just hums, because he feels like he’s in a really strange mood, and all he can really do is nod in agreement. “Yeah,” he pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and wraps it around Hongki’s wrist, slowly sliding downward. Hongki stops walking to stare at him, and so does he.

“What are you doing?” Hongki asks, eyes wide. The bodies of a group of strangers press by them, paying them little mind.

“Confessing,” Jonghun says, his heart in his throat so his words kind of sound funky because he has to manoeuvre them around it. “I...I think I’m in love with you.” His eyes flick upwards from Hongki’s collarbone to his eyes for a moment and get stuck there from the intensity of that gaze.

He remembers that day, the one where he tried and failed to confess, and thinks of how afraid he’s been since then, how paranoid he is, and how he’s so lucky that he can’t delete words like he can tweets since he doesn’t think he can do this again. There’s a long beat of silence, and then Hongki sighs and closes his eyes, taking in a long breath before he opens them again. He leans forward and plants a kiss on the corner of Jonghun’s mouth.

He’s pretty sure his heart has just exploded into confetti, or that there are pop rocks in his stomach, or something, because he’s too surprised to remember the kiss, except that it was warm, oh so warm.

“I’ve known it for ages, you idiot,” Hongki smiles when he pulls away, tugging on Jonghun’s earlobes.

Jonghun’s lips feel like they’re tingling. “Oh?”

“You’re so gay,” Hongki snorts, bumping his side with his elbow. “And drunk.” He all but lays on him. “So you should carry me home.”

Jonghun’s still kind of shocked when he says, “You’re not mad?”

Hongki slaps him on the back to get him to lean over before jumping on top of him like an anchor. Jonghun almost topples over into the street because alcohol plus heavy Hongki do not seem to mix well.

Hongki’s breath is right next to his ear when he speaks again. “You’ve made me wait for fucking ever, you idiot.”

And all Jonghun can think of is of how warm he is, all over his body, and how he could have missed it all for so long. He always thought Hongki was the dense one, but apparently he was, too.

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