Title: Soju Night & Yunjae MorningAuthor: Chunmusings Pairing: Yunjae Rating: R Type: Semi-Bandfic/AU ?Genre: humor, fluff, some mention of smutLength: OneshotSummary: Once again Jaejoong has pity for another drunk stranger and lets Yoo Chang Suk sleep on his couch. Thought to be completely passed out, yunjae continue as they would normally, unaware that their early morning romance and sexual activities were witnessed by this stranger. A/N: This fic is filled with glimpses of yunjae's relationship told in the point of view of the oc. It's supposed to be cute, fun, and light hearted. I got the idea from the thing Junsu said about finding strangers sleeping on Jaejoong's couch after a long night of drinking. I was just wondering what it'd be like if one of them were to be there when Yunho comes over for a night. What would happen? What would they see? (P.S it's post spilt but no angst!)5:00 pm
"Yoo Chang Suk?"
"We're sorry to inform you that due to company budget cuts we won't be asking you to return. We thank you for......"
"Rough day?" A hand lands on your shoulder. "You don't look too good."
You shrug and empty what's left at the bottom of your bottle in one swing. Your head spins from the quick motion and it makes you lose your balance on the stool. The hand on your shoulder steadies you and yet you shake it off anyway, without so much as a short 'thanks'. It's not like you cared about whether you ended up on the floor or not.
You raise your glass and shout loud enough for the ahjumma to hear you. She comes over within a few minutes and trades you for your empty one. You don't even wait for her to turn around before the new one is at your lips.
You hear whoever it is behind you make a tsking sound, maybe due to something about your bad drinking etiquette. However, the person walks around the small plastic table and sits down in the empty seat opposite you.
You'd normally complain or search out another corner to dwell in, but seeing as it's a Friday night and the tent is crowded you decide to stay put and silent on the matter.
He settles in and you frown. He's young, or at least younger than you by five or more years. You can tell by the way he dresses, all designer names and ripped jeans that only look good on that generation. His hood is up in addition to dark rimmed sunglasses to hide his face. Not much skin shows but you can tell he could be one of those highly sought after flowerboys. That is, if he's not one already with all that smooth, pale skin, a petite body, and feminine features. Not to mention only three kind of people wear sunglasses at night, the blind, douche bags, and people avoiding recognition. He's not blind, which only left the last two options.
He seems cold though. Anti social at first glance. Which you think is weird considering he was the one who made the first form of contact. So he's considerate... the latter of the two then. Oh, lucky you.
You flip over one of the small glasses that rested untouched on the table top. Since it was just supposed to be you drinking you had skipped using it and went straight to the bottle for convenience's sake. You splash some of the alcohol into it and push it towards him.
"I won't be good company," you say. "Matter of fact, I rather you just leave me alone, but I can't be completely rude."
Flowerboy, that's what you decide to call him for now, takes a hold of the glass with both hands and turns away to drink it in one go. At least he has manners, you think as you take another swing from your bottle.
He sets the glass down again and moves to pick up the other unused glass, to which you assume means that he'll insist on pouring your drink for you. You swat the hand away, not wanting his politeness or pity.
"I'll drink faster than you can pour, just leave it."
He looks uncomfortable now and you just laugh, noting he must have had good drinking company growing up to care so much.
"How many is that?" He nods toward the bottle in your hand.
"Not enough." You answer bitterly.
"I see." He says thoughtfully.
"Shouldn't you be out in some club getting chicks? Certainly not sitting here, alone with me as your unwilling drinking partner."
Flowerboy shakes his head in disagreement. "I'm just killing some time."
He raises two digits into the air and yells out an order for himself. The ahjumma comes back and places a can of coke and another bottle of soju on the table. She whacks flowerboy's arm and says something like it's been awhile, which makes him laugh and the ahjumma continues on to another table.
You're tempted to ask if he's some sort of regular here but then again you don't really care. Although, one thing still makes you curious and maybe a bit annoyed that this is what you get as a drinking partner on such a night.
"Bad tolerance?" You question, pointing at his soda. You make a face to show you disapprove of such a thing.
He smiles at you as if what you said was funny. He mixes his two drinks in the cup from before.
"Quite the opposite," he says before downing the first shot of it. "It's more like someone will be mad if I get drunk tonight."
You don't learn anything else about flowerboy except that the person he's waiting for was coming back from Japan and you, yourself, figured that it must be a girlfriend of sorts by the way the corner of his lips turn up into a smile with any mention of the person.
You like his sense of humor even though you don't understand all his jokes and the ones you do get seem perverse in nature. But he says things with a weird absurdity that makes you laugh and eventually he gets you to start sharing your life story.
He listens to your often slurred together words without questions for clarity and you like that. You feel he's actually listening out of interest than politeness, which makes you feel a bit bad for thinking that he would be an added annoyance to your shitty day.
"Ten years I've been with that hell hole of a company," you shout over the table at him as if it was something extraordinary. "Did everything they asked of me like some kind of dog. So imagine my surprise when they tell me my whole department is getting outsourced and that we're no longer needed."
You snort at the memory from this morning.
"Today I woke up with a job, a title, a sense of purpose and that company, in the blink of an eye, stripped it all away from me." You point the mouth of your bottle at him. "Do you know what that feels like?"
You laugh slightly since you didn't need an answer from him.
"Of course you don't. Look at you. You're all Prado and Luis Whatever." You study him once more. "No, what kind of hard work have you dealt with? You must think I'm crazy getting mad at some big company for taking away nearly everything to my name. Perhaps you think it's funny, maybe your one of those worthless CEO's that they give raises too."
Flowerboy doesn't answer you. He seems to have gotten annoyed at your attack, but he makes no counter argument. Instead, he mixes himself another drink and downs it.
By now nothing you say makes any sense. You have reached the height of your alcohol tolerance and the world around you is hazy. The place has emptied out save for a few stragglers, to which the ahjumma makes sure to yell that they're closing at each one.
When she gets to your table she merely gives you a once over as you almost fall off your stool again and instead turns to flowerboy. They speak for a while and you see him point at you before handing over a fair amount of cash.
The ahjumma leaves and flowerboy finishes the last of his drink before circling back to your side of the table. As he helps you up you push him away with a pointed finger and demand that he let you have the dignity to stagger out on your own.
Which you do, only to decide it's too much work and sink to the ground next to a telephone pole. He exits the tent soon after and frowns when he sees you on the ground.
"You paid for my share," you state. "I could have done it."
"Don't worry about it," he says, digging around in his coat pocket for something. He takes out a box of cigarettes and starts to pull one out before hesitating and pushing it back in.
"Smoking will ruin your looks," you say a bit snidely. It figures all the people born with beauty seek dirty habits to destroy it.
"I'm trying to quit," he says, putting the pack back into his pocket. "Did you drive here? Do you have someone to call?"
You wave him off. You can't deal with such annoyances.
"I'll just sleep here," you mumble, already starting to close your eyes.
"What?! No, it's dirty and you'll get robbed."
You ignore him and move to lay down on the sidewalk. He jerks you back up and you weakly try to push his hands off, but by now you're too tired.
"I'll call you a cab," he says, squatting down next to your side in attempt to keep you upright. "Just tell me where you live."
"The address." He sighs.
You shrug. Why does he care so much?
"Hey." He prods your side to keep you awake. "Don't you want to go home?"
You groan out something unintelligible and lean in to use his shoulder as a pillow. In vain, flowerboy says something else and you feel a few rough shakes to your frame, all which you dismiss for the darkness behind your eyelids.
There's a loud curse and you smile because once again the beauty does something ugly.
You blink. There's a smell of clean leather and rich poshness that you hate so much. It fills your senses and your stomach churns from it. From your bleary vision and slow deductions you make out the shadows of the inside of a car and you're lying across its backseat in a way that is sure to put a crimp in your back.
"Italian?" You slur, trying to identify the level of this extravagance.
"It's British." The driver corrects.
You can't see anything except for the top of their hooded head but you recognize the voice as that of flowerboy's.
"Don't you dare throw up back there," he warns and even though you wouldn't be able to make it out, you know he's most likely glaring at you from beneath his fancy shades in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, yeah." You groan.
A door closes. The sounds of a few bags dropping to the floor comes next followed by the rushed clacking of slippers on hardwood from further away.
"Welcome back," you hear flowerboy say.
This must be the girlfriend that flowerboy was waiting for. You would open your eyes to see what she looks like, curious to know if she's just as beautiful as he is, but the lids of your eyes and the rest of your body is too heavy to do much else but just stay still.
Their conversation fades in and out. The girlfriend is speaking too lowly for you to hear properly so you only have what flowerboy says to determine how the conversation is going.
The pair of footsteps grow louder as they come in closer to where you're sleeping.
You're surprised that it's a male voice that speaks, sounding tired but happy. The footsteps become quieter as they begin to tread on what you guess to be carpet. Which makes sense since it feels like you're on some sort of couch.
Flowerboy sighs with annoyance.
"I was trying to call him a cab, but he passed out before telling me his address."
"You're too nice sometimes." The male snickers.
"What was I supposed to do!" Flowerboy retorts. "He wanted to sleep on the sidewalk."
You hear the other male sigh, more from tiredness than annoyance.
"Just leave him be." A pair of footsteps move away and flowerboy's voice fades. "He's completely passed out, I had to carry him all the way up here."
He says it like it's something akin to climbing Mt. Everest without climbing gear.
The male standing over you laughs and you never thought it was possible to hear such mirth in such a sound.
"Ah, Jaejoongie..." The male coos and you mentally cringe at the high amounts of aegyo in it. "I'm soooo tired, carry me as well."
You hear the male move away as well and laugh after flowerboy, whose name you realize must be Jaejoong, makes a displeased sound.
You awake to what feels like a pound of bricks has fallen onto your head. Your eyes open into slits and you groan when you can't remember where you are. The place is a bit dark and the material of what you lay on sticks to your skin as you make small movements to adjust yourself. There's lines of light that fall across the floor and furniture pieces and you see it's due to the shades of the windows being partially drawn.
Your hands clumsily and slowly move down your body making a checklist as they go. Clothes on? Check. Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Phone? Check.
At the feel of your phone you automatically take it out. The blaring brightness of its screen disarms you and you're quick to shield its display as the pounding in your head intensifies. Your eyes hurt now and you remorse over what a full night of drinking as done to you. Your ability to think clearly is handicapped leaving the memories of last night in complete distortion.
You make a move to sit up. Your head protests the movement and immediately you feel the lurching upset in your stomach. You rub at your temples, taking a moment to ease the queasiness that ills you.
You make another attempt to look at your phone to get a sense of time. With the device angled away slightly and held away from your face you're able to see the clock on the screen before the low battery message steals it away.
It's almost noon. You look around yourself, taking in the well-off lifestyle that you never had and now never wanted. All cold hard marble and open spaces that give no sense of warmth or human interaction. It's made up to appear in magazines rather than to be lived in. Of course there's a few personal items scattered about, but aren't they just for show?
You remember the young man from last night, the one you named flowerboy. His exterior was cold, much like the space in the room but his heart was warm. He was the kind of person who you think enjoys the company of others more. The lack of wear in the furniture a sign that he doesn't linger around in his own apartment for too long. At least not in the living room anyway.
But enough of this, you need to go home now. The apartment is quiet, so perhaps flowerboy is still asleep after such a long night. You begin to inch off the couch in order to stand up. Maybe if you find a pen and paper on your way out you can write a note to thank him and maybe say something that's nice and inspiring... or just the thank you because you were never good at telling people the latter.
You begin to move around the coffee table in a way that doesn't aggravate your migraine or disturb the peace. However, something large catches your attention out of the corner of your eye and you stop.
You turn towards the object and jump a little when you find yourself face to face with a full sized horse. For a few minutes you don't move, not sure if it's the shadows of the room misinforming you or if it really is some huge horse staring down at you.
"It's a lamp."
You spin back around in surprise to face the speaker. The fast movement causes your vision to blur from the pain in your head and you brace yourself on the arm of the couch. When it clears you look back up only to wish the horse lamp would have remained the most surprising thing you had seen today.
"The friend," you mumble in identification, remembering the voice from last night.
The tall man smiles as if you're a bit off in your assessment.
"Jung Yunho," he corrects. "Are you already on your way out?"
You don't answer right away, just taking a moment to come to terms to the fact that this young man was wearing nothing but a long tee shirt. One that surely, if he moved just a fraction, would bare much more than what you can already see.
His hair is mussed and his limbs long and well defined. He has a skin tone unique to those of whom who have been stained by the sun from their constant work outside years ago and you conclude he must have come one of the rural areas of Korea, even though he doesn't hold an accent.
"Yeah." You finally answer in a near whisper.
The man who introduced himself as Yunho studies you a bit curiously.
"Your head hurts right? Let me get you something for it."
Yunho is walking out of the room before you even answer. You weren't going to say no to his offer but it's always a bit awkward when people make up your mind for you.
You get back up again and move forward, making your way to the adjacent kitchen the far corner of the space. You pass a grand piano as you go and hold on to it for support while stumbling past it. It lets out light unharmonized notes when you accidently bump into its side with your unsteady steps.
Soft music stirs you awake. Your eyes open just a fraction to see flowerboy a few meters away playing a graceful melody on a piano.
He smiles up at the figure turned away from you and starts to sing words of love that go in tune to the pressed black and white keys. It's sweet and soft, as if he was using the music to whisper feelings he was too shy to say otherwise.
It abruptly stops and flowerboy sighs, pouting a little as he turns away from the other person.
"That's all I have so far," he confesses.
"I like it." The male figure moves in closer and flowerboy slides over in allowance for him to sit down on the bench. "Lets try continuing with this."
He starts to play a new line of notes and eventually flowerboy joins back in. As they play together a pencil also moves between them, turning the freestyle strings of sound into something more permanent. They repeat the parts of the song together as they work on it. Their voices and thoughts harmonize as one and they act like as if it comes to them like second nature rather than a skill that takes years of practice and bonding.
You're startled by a loud clang of keys. Your tired eyes travel back to the piano where flowerboy is thrusted up to sit on it. His lips are meshed together with the companion standing between his legs. His hands roaming across clothed ligaments and threading into hair as their lower bodies move against each other. Soft yearning and stressed musical notes the only two sounds to be heard.
You take a step away from the piano, staring at the instrument with a look of dismay. What was that? Had you just imagined it or has your mind just supplied you with a brief few seconds of a memory?
You turn to face Yunho, who seems a little hopeful that you might be musically inclined.
"No." You answer curtly before continuing your uneasy shuffling towards the kitchen.
Yunho follows you in and pulls out a stool for you at the nearby counter. He walks around to the other side and takes out a bottle of water from the fridge. The heavy door closes with a loud snap and you grimace at the sound.
Yunho notices your reaction and gives an apologetic smile before passing you the bottle and opening the pill container in his hands.
You gradually rise to sit on the stool, hands gripping the counter to steady yourself.
Flowerboy shouts in alarm and you peer over the arm of the couch into the kitchen. He's sprawled across the counter, his lower half stripped of clothing. His legs are bent and the heels of his feet press into the edge of the counter as his back arches up.
Another's head moves between his legs in a varying pace of quick to slow up and down motions. Flowerboy's hands struggle between wanting to grip on something or the someone giving him head and wanting to cover his mouth as his climax reaches a peak.
A throaty moan.
"I'm... I'm... I'm comin--"
You're eyes widen and you suddenly lunge forward to get your hands under the pills that Yunho is about to place on the bare countertop in front of you.
You gasp at the splitting pain that strikes through your head. It makes you almost want to rethink your concern for saving the pills from touching a counter used under such erotic acts.
Yunho looks at you a bit surprised, but you act like nothing happened and settle back down into your seat. You swallow down the two pills with a mouthful of water and give a word of thanks as you avoid making any further form of contact with the counter top.
"No problem," he says a bit hesitantly.
He recaps the medicine bottle and puts it aside. A reprieve of silence stretches between you both and you begin to feel severely out of place. You have had glimpses of what, with given the usual unfavorable public reactions and flowerboy's hidden face while drinking, a well kept secretive relationship. They assumed you to be out cold and yet you weren't completely and therefore you mistakenly saw things not meant for outside viewing.
"I would offer to make you something to eat, but I kinda can't be trusted with cooking." Yunho says a bit sheepishly. "You'd have to wait for Jaejoong to wake up."
"It's fine," you say, noticing Yunho is now looking around for something else to offer you.
"Ah!" Yunho seems to remember something and reaches into a cabinet. You turn away to avoid seeing his night shirt scandalously inch up.
"You can have some pocky," he says, turning back around with the box in hand.
"I bought something you like," Yunho sing songs as Jaejoong clears away their dinner plates.
"What?" Jaejoong eyes him curiously.
Yunho reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pocky box. He opens it and slides out one of the treats, placing it between his lips before looking back up at Jaejoong.
Jaejoong rounds the counter to stand before him. He reaches to take another one from the pack, but Yunho pulls the box away and wiggles the one still between his lips. It's a silent indication and Jaejoong shakes his head.
"So cheesy," he chides.
Yunho continues to tease Jaejoong as the later refuses to take part of his childish game. Finally Jaejoong sighs with a lighthearted pout appearing on his face.
"But I want the chocolate side," he complains.
Yunho rolls his eyes. He eats the one already perched in his mouth and takes out a new one, this time making sure the dipped side is facing Jaejoong. He gives the other male a look that suggests him impatiently saying happy now?.
Jaejoong smiles at his small victory and leans in, taking the first bite from the treat. He continues down with minuscule bites while Yunho's arms move to wrap around his waist, drawing Jaejoong in closer. As the length of the treat decreases more and more, their eyes begin to close and eventually their lips meet in a sweet kiss.
Yunho hands you the box and you can see the opened half eaten package inside.
"No, it's fine. I'm not really much of a sweet eater." You lie, knowing that you'd only feel guilty for taking away something that they had used so intimately between themselves.
"Are you sure?" Yunho wags the box in front of you.
Your about to answer with another denial to his offer when someone else does it for you.
"No one eats pocky when they have a hangover, Yunho."
Flowerbo-Jaejoong walks into the room while pulling a cotton tee shirt over his head. Before the shirt fully covers him your eyes zero in on the discolored marks scattered across his chest. They even go as far down to where a pair of boxer shorts a size too big for him hang dangerously low on his hips.
You thank the higher being for at least one of them caring about having some amount of modesty in front of you. Had he come out barely dressed like his companion you were certain that the lack of soberness wouldn't have stopped you from scolding them both about it. Youth these days.
Jaejoong grabs the box from Yunho and puts it back into cabinet. When he turns back around you almost don't recognize him now that his disguise is missing.
If it was possible he seemed to be more beautiful than you last remembered. Even though tired and unrefined with a shadow of morning stubble on his face he had a certain radiance to him.
"I'll make some eggs and we can get you a cab to take you home." Jaejoong cocks his head to the side with a grin. "That is, if you remember your address?"
With your memory of last night still a bit hazy you don't understand why he's asking you that, only figuring that taking you to his apartment wasn't his first option.
"Yeah," you say tiredly, not bothering with any rebukes to his humor.
Jaejoong's smile widens but he doesn't bother you with anything else. He makes the quick call to what sounds like a manager by the way Jaejoong says his greeting and only has to mention wanting a cab without having to give an address. When he hangs up he starts on the eggs and this time when the fridge door closes it doesn't hurt your head as much to hear it. There's still a heavy pounding and sensitivity but you're thanking whatever meds it was that Yunho gave you this morning for lessening it.
The queasiness stays though and you feel your guts churn with the onslaught of the new smells of food.
"Bathroom?" You speak hoarsely, not sure if you can keep everything in your stomach.
"Down the hall on the left." Yunho points behind him as you start to get up.
There's a distant hiss of running shower water and then a sudden sound of plastic bottles clattering to the floor. The laughter that follows it is cut off and you're left with the grating sound of numerous bottles being pelted on by water. The echoing tinks and plinking on their containers drills into your ears and you toss your arm over your head to block it out. Yet, it does nothing to prevent you from hearing the cry of ecstasy that comes a few minutes later.
You stop in your tracks and turn back into your seat, suddenly feeling like your queasiness wasn't that bad.
"Never mind, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Jaejoong places a small plate of scrambled eggs in front of you. "You don't look too good."
You wave him off and quickly take the utensil he passes to you before he sets it down on the counter.
Jaejoong eyes you with concern but continues to make another two plates for Yunho and himself.
As you eat slowly, not wanting to give reason for your stomach to reject the food, you eye the other two a bit curiously. You note how even though Yunho has his own plate full with eggs, he'd still continuously take from Jaejoong’s plate. Jaejoong seemed used to this since his plate appeared to have a little extra to make up for the stolen amount.
The rest of breakfast is quiet save for their soft whispers into each other’s ears. By the time you finish most of your food Jaejoong announces that the cab has arrived and you couldn't be more grateful at the thought of going home.
There was also a feeling of dread in it too, knowing that the rest of the day would be spent nursing your head and sending out resumes for a new job. You frown even more so now, only brightening when Yunho gives you a polite goodbye. You thank him again for the medicine.
"Stay away from the alcohol." He smiles.
"Never again." You smile back.
Jaejoong leads you out and stays with you at the doors of the elevator down the hall.
"The cab should be right in front of the elevator when you get off."
A stretch of silence while you both watch the numbers climb.
"Thank you," you finally say. "For a lot of things, letting me unknowingly sleep on your couch for one."
"I didn't mind," he says, and you smile since you know that's not completely true.
The elevator dings and he gestures for you to go in. He leans in to press the button for your destination and before he leans back out you put your hand out to hold the door open.
"Stay kind," you say as sincerely as you can with a splitting headache. "It's needed in this world."
He just stares at you for a moment, but eventually a smile graces his lips. "Good luck with the job search." He takes a step back. "Find something you'll enjoy."
Your hand drops from the door and you nod once. The doors start to close and you catch him giving you a hwating pose before being sealed off completely.
You sigh. What a night. A/N: MANY, MUCHO, A TON, HEAPS, OODLES, A JILLION THANK YOUS TO yoochunforehead for helping me with this. She's my pervy soulmate when it comes to writing and I couldn't ask for a better friend to laugh along and work with. In any case I hope you enjoyed this! For future reference I'll either call this 'snym' or the drunk fic. If you're a reader of Knowing You then please be expecting that update to come very soon. I promise! The update is ready I'm just waiting for my beta to get a free moment to read it. ^^ Thank you for reading~
Comments make me happy. Tell me your favorite parts!!