Work Text:
Soonyoung's not the one to complain about the excessive alcohol usage on a Tuesday night, especially if its free—much thanks to Producer Wen’s fat wallet and staircase full of credit cards. The concept of generosity is, of course, to accept it humbly—ignoring the fact that he’d wake up with a pounding headache and a sick stomach the next day.
(Actually, Soonyoung's okay with drinking. It’s just that it’s midnight and he doesn’t really like sleeping through an Uber ride.)
The bar itself says so much about the producer’s lifestyle—appropriately outlandish, smelling of grotesque ambience. And he could confirm, since he has known the guy ever since he stepped foot in the industry. Junhui talks as if there’s a permanent toothpick stuck in between his teeth, much like those producers Hollywood films portray these days—but despite the mild pretentiousness and popping gums, Junhui’s a great friend; a pleasant workmate if not with the big hand gestures and blatant favoritism (and by favoritism, he meant being less of an asshole to his boyfriend—who happens to be Soonyoung’s workmate as well. Talk about professionalism.)
“Heard your last movie hit the roof,” Junhui starts, pouring him a shot. It spills on his white slacks, right on his crotch, but he ignores it for the sake of his image. Soonyoung, however, chuckles, but Junhui just smiles politely. That’s when Soonyoung pinpoints that the night is going to be all about business. “You fucking done did it again, Kwon.”
“Thank you,” he replies, throat itching when he downs the drink. “And Mr. Wen, I’m pretty sure you didn’t just invite me for the flattery.”
“You know what? You’re right, Director Kwon, I didn’t just invite you for the flattery. I got something better.” Junhui reaches for his sleek shoulder bag, fishing for a pile of documents—no, a script. It smells of fresh ink and whole lot of cash, all kept with a ring-holder, and Junhui’s pitch. The producer swipes the glasses on the far side of the counter with his knuckles. Junhui’s not a fan of small talk, Soonyoung isn’t either, so when it’s film pitching time, it’s film pitching time. “This time, it’s romance.”
Except for that.
“Pass,” comes Soonyoung’s quick reply. “You know I don’t do romance, Junhui.”
“But you’ve done it before.”
“I have,” Soonyoung admits, though he isn’t particularly proud of it. The rom-com movie he worked on his early days as a director received a lot of praise and even made it to two or three film critic’s top 10 rom-com movies in the year of its release, but despite the overwhelming comments and formed camaraderie, it’s an experience he doesn’t want to go back to (nor even reminisce), because 1) he worked better with thrillers and 2) romance films aren't his thing.
“You know Soonyoung, I wouldn’t really pitch it to you if I don’t find it worth pitching for. I have expensive tastes, and believe me when I say that this one—” he taps the center of the script with his finger, “—is a huge jackpot.”
Soonyoung frowns, ghosting the rim of the glass with his mouth. After all, he trusts Junhui, and never did the latter fail him. The producer knows of his preference, and for him to offer an opposition must mean something. “Prove it.”
Junhui smirks as if it’s safe to say that he has already won, as if he already knew the numbers to a lottery grand prize. He leans back and says, “Lee Jihoon.”
Soonyoung’s eyes widen. Just like that, he downs the liquor in one go, slamming the glass on the counter so hard that it startled the bartender mixing cocktails a few feet away, afraid that he might have to fine two customers with the thought of paperwork after. But thankfully, the glass doesn’t shatter—god, Soonyoung’s thankful for a lot of things tonight.
“I’ll take it,” he says, softly wetting the tip of his thumb to skim through the pages of the script. “Arrange a meeting within next week.”
“Someone’s excited,” ka-ching, says Junhui’s thoughts. “I haven’t even pitched you the plot, and you already took the film with just the mention of the scriptwriter.”
“You know as hell that I’d take it with just that,” Soonyoung replies, eyes moving fast, jumping from line to line. “We haven’t talked in months, you know.”
“Maybe because you like Jihoonie?”
Soonyoung pauses and stares at Junhui, “Nah. It’s just…it’s been ages since we had a project together. Interpret whatever as you will, though.”
“So, you ‘hate’ him?” he crooks his fingers in the air. He needs some sort of clarification, since the director and the scriptwriter are practically attached to the hip during business parties. However, despite the condition, both would just open their mouths to banter instead of flattery. This doesn’t make Junhui—or anyone for that matter—think they’d resent each other. If anything, one would think they are friends if not the ‘acquaintances’ status both labelled themselves as. At least to the public.
“Because the films we usually work on battle each other during premieres. Every fucking time. I won the last round, by the way, and—” he frowns. “When I bragged about it through Messenger, he didn’t reply, nor even seenzone it.”
“What do you two do? Compare which had the higher earn in the first week of premiere?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what we do.”
“You two are so fucking weird,” Junhui muses, but sighs when Soonyoung reverts his focus on the script once again. “Anyway, you said you’d take this project, right?”
“You don’t need to ask me twice, Junhui.”
“Okay,” Junhui says slowly, a small smile conforming his lips. “Do I have your word?”
“Yes, of course,” confirms Soonyoung. Just then, Junhui clears his throat and orders for another set of drinks, whistling at the bartender. “Now that’s thrice. Is there a catch or something?”
“Just flip it to the next page, Soonyoung,” Junhui whispers.
He does. Soonyoung flips the script to the next page. It’s empty. And so is the page after that, and the page after that as well—until he shakes the script bare. It’s just as clean as a fresh stack of bond papers bought from stationary bookstores. He turns to Junhui, who lays both of his hands on his arm for precaution—just in case he bolts out of the bar. “Before you say anything, let me explain,” he licks his lips. “This is the real pitch: I guess you could say that this is just a pre-pre-production stage.”
Soonyoung leans back, huffing, “it’s just a draft, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Junhui nods. “It’s just a draft, but—”
“I’m leaving,” Soonyoung hops off the high chair. “I don’t see the point in working with something that isn’t even finished. Or even out there. It’s just a draft and yet it’s incomplete.”
“You gave me your word, Soonyoung,” Junhui reminds pointedly, catching his elbow. “This is Jihoon we’re talking about.”
“I did give you my word. Just hit me up again when he’s done with the script. I don’t see the point in working with him now, you know?”
“Jihoon’s a critically-acclaimed scriptwriter. Everyone knows that, even the TV stations. The whole industry basically. You know that. He’d put out something and its value might as well be as rich as gold. But the thing is, right now he’s in a slump and hasn’t shown any direct signs of life for the past few weeks.”
“What? Is he okay?” Soonyoung’s heart pounds. Nothing bad happened to him, right?
“Well, he posts pictures of his cat on his private Instagram, but that’s just that.”
Soonyoung sighs in relief, but keeps it away as soon as he made it. “What does this have anything to do with me?”
“I’m not pitching this script to you as a producer, Soonyoung. I’m pitching this to you as a friend. I think that says enough already.”
Soonyoung blinks at him. The bar didn’t have strobe lights, so he just stands under a dimmed one, and for some kind of miracle the music playing in the background isn’t a The Chainsmokers’ song. Junhui stares back at him with a pleading face, creaking his chair to face him, hands laced together. “Please help him get over his writer’s block. You’re the closest thing he has to a friend if not me or Wonwoo.”
He sits back down. “How am I going to help him?” he hasn’t agreed to it yet, because if Junhui didn’t have a concrete plan, then he probably wouldn’t even bother. But then, judging from how Junhui hung his head low, and from how he pressed his lips into a thin line, Soonyoung could say that he is on his own with this one.
He, after a few milliseconds, quirks up a smile. He takes something out of his coat pocket as if he waited for the opportunity to do so the whole night. “Just go to Jihoon’s apartment first thing in the morning. It’d take a kindergartener to know what to do.”
***
Soonyoung might as well go back to kindergarten, and he’d be fully packed with sixty-three-pieced crayons and magic pencils to die for. However, the belief of cooties and the hierarchal reservation of the big bullies in the playground would only result him into repeating the grade, because he’s clueless and—one plus one is equals to four.
“It’s fucking ten in the morning, Kwon. This better be important or else I’m going to—”
“Move. I have sushi and kani salad.”
Jihoon eyes the plastic bag, but keeps the door ajar. “Can I just take it and then you can leave?”
“Of course not,” Soonyoung scoffs, “I haven’t heard of you in months. You’re the one who actually owes me something, and yet you treat me like this? Honestly, Lee, I thought you were better than that.”
“No need to be mad,” murmurs Jihoon, glaring at him. “Go away.”
Before Soonyoung could even open his mouth, Jihoon closes the door shut. Soonyoung purses his lips, placing his arm against the doorframe, bringing his mouth closer to the door. “I missed you—”
The door creaks open, not ajar, and it reveals Jihoon with a simple faded shirt that said I heart NYC in Arial bold, and beige cargo pants (if his memory serves him right, it’s his favorite, bought it at H&M fifty percent sale.) Behind him, stacks of paper scatter—most of them crumpled, stained with coffee, the others sat by Jihoon’s cat, Truffles, who’s Instagram famous at this point. “—and your shitty face.”
And Jihoon’s supposed to bite back a tactless insult, one that they would laugh off after, but they don’t, because the corners of Jihoon’s mouth turn upside down. He looks like the sad emoticon, :(. “Do I really look like shit?”
Truffles meows somewhere in the background, hopping off the couch (or drafts, for that matter) to circle Jihoon’s feet. She’s neatly groomed, wearing a blue collar with a diamond attached to the middle, her name engraved on the leash. The ragdoll cat sneers at him in greeting, as if to say one wrong answer and I’ll scratch you in your sleep. Jihoon then cries—no, wails—after a few seconds of silence, and Soonyoung crosses the offing like the books he tripped on the hallway were corals that bruised his toes. He envelops Jihoon in his arms and says, keeping his tone even, “Jihoon, you don’t look anything close to shit.”
“But I smell like shit, too, Soonyoung.”
“Is it because you haven’t taken a bath in weeks?”
Jihoon nods, burying his head on the front of Soonyoung’s shoulders. “There, there,” pats Soonyoung. “Go take a bath now, okay? I’ll prepare the food and clean a bit of your mess here.”
Jihoon takes a bath whilst Soonyoung stays true to his promise, stacking up the scattered papers horizontally and vertically, alternately, grouped by draft. Categorizing it was easy, because most of it are just the first page of each scene, a roman numeral stamped above the first paragraph. I, II, I, III, II, and a whole lot of X’s that crossed the poles of each page.
“Junhui, that motherfucker, told you.” Obviously, it isn’t a question, because he’s dither. That’s the Jihoon he knows: potty-mouthed and aggressive—all for a reason, but somewhere underneath the façade, he’s a softie. The bathing did its wonders, because he’s no longer agitated—that or maybe Soonyoung just got really bad at reading the scriptwriter’s emotions.
“Yeah. Junhui, that motherfucker, told me,” Soonyoung articulates. “And I’m worried.”
“You don’t need to be,” Jihoon shrugs, plopping on the couch opposite him. He breaks the joined chopstick into half, and dips for the sushi. “I’ll be fine.”
“I have to be. I’m directing this one,” Soonyoung says. “Junhui pitched it already to me.”
Jihoon scoffs, “don’t bullshit me. You don’t do romance, and I’m not exactly a pleasant workmate. You know that.”
“Jihoon, you buy crews doughnuts almost every week of filming, and care immensely for them when they have been working since wee hours without any wink of sleep nor a taste of crumb. You help actors when it gets too tough for them, explaining their characters thoroughly, and it’s even more helpful than the director’s notes. Jihoon, these people and even outside of that circle—whoever you come across with, really— admires you. You’re not an unpleasant workmate. You’re a great person.”
“It’s part of my job. No them, no money,” he clarifies. “And Junhui can go fuck himself. You too. Get out. Take your sushi with you.”
“If I did as you said, then you’d probably resent me for a month or something, so no thank you. I’m staying here, and we need to sort shit out.”
“What are you? A fucking hat? What’s my house? Gryffindor?” he stands up and points to the door. “Fucking exit right now, Kwon. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit. I fell for it once. I’m not going to fall for it again.”
The plot twist often gets revealed in the later portions of the movie, sometimes at the middle if they want to work with it, to do something with it. The plot twist between Soonyoung and Jihoon gets revealed somewhere between eleven-o-five and eleven-thirty in the morning, while Truffles licked her paws clean.
“Jihoon, look, we’re—”
“Don’t say we’re friends, because we’re most definitely not,” he sighs, and it’s as if a fault line went back to its rightful place. The ground still trembles, but the magnitude is not as strong anymore. He reaches for Soonyoung’s hand. “I’m sorry. So much shit is happening in my life right now, and I just feel so bad for giving you too much credit for that.”
He continues, “I keep forgetting, you know? That we just broke up.”
Me too, Soonyoung wanted to say. Jihoon squeezes his hand, but the warmth that spread through the planes of his palm is as fleeting as it could be, because he turned away just as briefly. “It sucks, too, because I still love you the same.”
And I, you. “You’re right,” he grabs his jacket from the counter. “I should go.” He steps forward and places a chaste kiss on Jihoon’s forehead. “I’ll go back to check on you tomorrow. Make sure you eat and bathe, okay?”
“Okay,” Jihoon nods meekly. “Okay.”
“STARTING LINE” (2016)
SCENE V
SCREENPLAY BY: LEE JIHOON
DIRECTED BY: YOO KIHYUN
XX: For tonight, let’s pretend to not hate each other.
XY: I don’t think it’s just ‘for tonight.’ I think you’ve been pretending for a long time already.
XX: Hm?
He tips his head after wiping the wine off his mouth; it wets the ends of his sleeve, but he couldn’t really care, not when XY looked nothing but ethereal under the dim lights.
XY: Because you always ask me to eat and bathe.
A slight pause. He expects XX to understand his point swiftly, but alas, he doesn’t.
XX: So?
XY: You care.
XX: Is that weird?
XY: Yes. Especially for someone who isn’t really fond of me.
XX: [Muttering] Yeah, you’re right. It’s weird.
XY: [Laughs] Or maybe you just won’t admit that you actually like me.
XX: That’s even weirder...but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t true.
The concept of ‘staying friends’ with your ex should be thrown down the drain, through septic tanks, hollow with the shit that it is. Jihoon’s not the one for the implicitness, and he has never been, really, because it’s part of his job as a scriptwriter. If he wants to talk about shit, he’d talk about shit, and very well at that. Staying friends with your ex falls right under the category, and honestly?
It’s the shittiest of shit in the history of shit.
“I can’t believe I fucking did that,” he tells Truffles. “Like, I shouldn’t have been soft on him. I should’ve punched his guts, that bastard. Your Dada is the worst, Truffles.”
Truffles, like the ragdoll she is, stays limp on his lap. “I shouldn’t really…fuck, I’m going crazy. I hate him.”
He and Soonyoung dated for a solid year, but no one really knew except for their parents, and of course, Truffles. (Soonyoung and Jihoon count her as their child, but that’s another story.)
However, they don’t try that hard to hide their relationship. In some occasions, they’d post pictures of them together in their SNS accounts, all snuggled up under layers upon layers of overcoats and scarves in that one winter trip. In public, they’d participate in group pictures, and it mostly occurs during award shows’ after-parties. No one really gives a damn if Soonyoung wraps his arms around Jihoon’s waist (sans those who actually find them cute), but to them, it means everything. The pictures can be found on Producer Wen’s Instagram, who is by the way, the walking definition of a social butterfly. True to his job.
There’s also this picture of Soonyoung kissing Jihoon’s cheek while they laid in bed in the scriptwriter’s phone, Truffles in the middle, probably wondering how a small machine box can act like a mirror. Jihoon remembers that it was a lazy Sunday morning, and both have earned a day-off amidst Soonyoung’s film editing and Jihoon’s ongoing drama. It’s his favorite picture, tucked inside a locked album in his photo gallery.
After they broke up, both went off without any interaction for about four months, and it’s not that both of them wanted to completely ignore each other. They were just too busy with their own jobs that when the other messages, it’d be too awkward to reply because it’d be so late. Not just hours, but days. Plus, they weren’t even together anymore.
Both started working in the industry around the same time, and naturally, like an intervention, they coincide. But it isn’t anything pretty, because the first night they met, Jihoon was asked via email to revise his script despite his faith of it being at its finest, and Soonyoung had accidentally spilled beer all over his sweatshirt. They were at a noraebang, and the only reason why they breathed in the same room was because of their mutual friend, Jeonghan, who’s a producer like Junhui.
Soonyoung offered him a cigarette joint a little after the incident. They smoked together on the rooftop, and by how quick Soonyoung finished his cancer stick only to get another and another one after that, it made Jihoon wonder if he had a smoking problem.
“If you go out with me on one date, I’d cut off the number of my packs.”
“How about we go on two, then?”
They go on three in less than a week.
“Why do you people keep waking me up at early in the fuck morning?”
“Good morning to you, too,” greets Junhui over the phone. Jihoon lies sideways, letting the phone rest on his ear so that he won’t have to hold it. “How’re you and Leonardo DiCap?”
It’s a weird nickname for Soonyoung. It developed sometime around Soonyoung’s fourth year as a director, and despite his outstanding films, he hasn’t won any award yet. Even after his first thriller broke records, the nickname still stuck, especially to Junhui. His winning streak, though, left Jihoon’s wallet on a tragic soap opera, because as a protocol, he’d then have to take care of their bills during date nights. “Stop calling him that. Leonardo DiCaprio won an Oscar already.”
“Thought you hated each other?”
“Me and Leo?” Jihoon jokes.
“Funny. I meant you and Soonyoung.”
“That’s what he tells you?”
“That’s what you tell me, too. Especially drunk.”
Jihoon sighs, sitting up, catching the phone in his hand before it could fall. “Why did you call, Junhui?”
“I was just checking up on you. And the script.”
“Just give me a few more days. I’d come up with something.”
“You have Soonyoung there to help you. Which reminds me, don’t bite each other’s heads off? I need both of my director and scriptwriter in one piece.”
“Why him, Junhui?” Jihoon sighs. “Of all the directors…”
“Because he means something to you. You’re not telling me stuff, Jihoon, but it’s okay I kinda figured it out after we went out for drinks. Wonwoo, too.”
Jihoon groans, falling back to his bed. “I said something stupid, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. After you told us how much you hated him, drunk at that, you then told us how much you loved him, which was mildly surprising. But at the same time, not really. We kind of expected it, you know? When I pitched the film to Soonyoung the other night, he looked really excited. Guess you two haven’t been talking since forever. He’s worried for you, too.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because we’re friends, and I haven’t been on a project for like, three months already. I’m basically unemployed.”
Jihoon scoffs without malice. “Gold digger.”
“True, true. Anyway, I gotta blast. Talk to me when you’ve at least finished a solid scene or two in the script!”
“Okay. Bye.”
***
A year ago.
It was their seventh date.
Now, Jihoon isn’t a numerically-based person. He sucked at Math in all of his academic years, and only pulled through with Seokmin’s private tutoring featuring the occasional sighs in between. That was college.
He’s a young adult now, albeit looking half his age. And he still can’t calculate a goddamn equation except for arithmetic. One thing he knows, though, is that when you add one, two, three, up until infinity—you’d get negative one-half. The infinite geometric series is as complex as Soonyoung, but he hasn’t found that negative one-half yet.
One plus two is equals to three: Jihoon finds out that the director does have a smoking problem; under the low light of a food stall at Gangnam’s night market. Suddenly, the way Soonyoung lit the tip of his cigarette is far more interesting than the live octopus on his plate. It’s saying something, because it’s his first time eating at such a place. Blame his rich, strict parents for the angst.
“You know, live octopus, can give birth right in your mouth.”
“Soonyoung, what the shit.”
“I’m kidding,” Soonyoung laughs. “Though it did happen once. But go ahead. Eat it. Live life to the fullest.”
“I’m going to jab you in the stomach and it’s going to fucking hurt.”
“You like me,” Soonyoung sing-songs after blowing a puff of smoke. He lifts the fingers that held the cigarette. “Oh and by the way, I did cut off my packs. Threw it on the bin during disposal day. I’d be a pitiful man if I followed the garbage truck just to get it back, but you know, I didn’t.”
“That’s good,” Jihoon says carefully. He isn’t against smoking, but it’s another story if the very person who does potentially means something to him. “Let’s go on an eight date, then.”
“No, go on more dates with me, because you want to go on more dates with me. And not because you want me to stop smoking. It was wrong of me to give you such a deal in the first place.”
Jihoon nods. “You know, it’s my first time visiting a night market, much more eating a live octopus, and mind you, I hate firsts. If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have gone through all of this,” he stares at the octopus’ moving arms. “I like you. And with every cigarette you finish, seven minutes get reduced from your life. And it sucks, you know? Watching you finish those sticks. It’s like I’m witnessing all of those seven minutes I could spend with you away, right on ash trays, when instead you could’ve invested all of that time with me.”
Little did Jihoon know, Soonyoung falls for him right at that moment. In love.
“Wow. Yeah, holy shit.”
Romanticism is glorified in Literary texts and films when one half of the main couple dies, but with how Soonyoung crushed his cigarette with his expensive Adidas shoes, cleats and all that, and dives right in to kiss him full on the mouth—Jihoon could say that it’s still romantic.
Wow. Yeah, holy shit. Indeed.
***
“Is that fucking gee, gee, gee, gee, baby, baby?” Jihoon rhetorically asks from the living room, voice hovering over the loud music.
“You didn’t have to go through that pain to say all that. The title’s just ‘gee’!” Soonyoung yells back.
“Now I’m reminded of why we broke up.”
Soonyoung lowers the volume. “That’s mean.”
“Who broke it off in the first place?”
Even if staying friends with your ex is the shittiest shit in the history of shit, joking about the actual break up might as well be sporadically transcending with that shittiest shit in the history of shit.
wow that’s like a lot of shits jihoon ://, Seokmin texts him one time. Ewwww so gross !!!!!!
honestly, trip on a fucking a pavement
Soonyoung rarely cooks. His dishes are either horribly good or horribly bad, but still horrible nonetheless, with all due respect. But even if it was horribly bad, Jihoon would probably still eat it. The hardest part, however, is finding an excuse for his perpetual toilet visits after the meal. “But you said it tasted edible!”
“It tastes okay this time," he says lightly, wiping the remnants of soup off his mouth. Girls’ Generation isn’t playing on the radio anymore. "And no, I’m not saying that because I was the one who cooked it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, then,” Jihoon says. Truffles rests her head by his feet. Soonyoung, while taking off the lid of the container, says, “hey, Truffles. I bought you your favorite food.”
Truffles hisses at him.
“That brand is expensive,” Jihoon aligns his chopsticks with a brief tap on the table. “You didn’t have to.”
“You know how I love to spoil her rotten. She is kind of our…cat…you know?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
“Anyway,” he clears his throat as if it’s a hop between the awkward conversation and what they should only be talking about: work. “How’s the script going?”
“Stayed up all night to finish the first two scenes. I sent it to my proofreader a while ago. I could send it to you after she sends it back to me.”
“Okay. That’d be great. I’ve done a few scripts before. I hope I could be of help?”
“No, it’s fine. Or I could just send it to you after it’s done, though it would take a month or two. Tops. Can you wait that long?”
“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, his tone gentle. “Of course.”
“VALOR” (2016)
DIRECTED BY: KWON SOONYOUNG
SCREENPLAY BY: KWON SOONYOUNG
XX: No. Don’t go.
XX, XY, YY and YX are huddled in the far corner of the room, and jumps when the floor creaks ever so slightly. The MASKED MEN aren’t that far, considering the fact that the base is only a mile away. XX’s bullet wound still wouldn’t stop bleeding. It hurts his chest to breathe.
YY: Time is running out, XY. We need to go before the MASKED MEN do their rounds. Now.
XY: XX, we have to scavenge that pharmacy downtown or else you’d die. You have to trust me on this, okay? If I were in your position, you’d do the same for me.
XX: Just please...come back alive.
XY: We’d be back by dawn. Can you wait that long?
XX: Always.
“You still hate me, don’t you?” Soonyoung places the two paper bags full of basic grocery necessities on the kitchen counter, and crouches down to face Truffles. “I mean, I hate myself, too…for doing that to your Papa.”
Meow.
“Yeah,” Soonyoung sighs. “C’mere. Your Dada missed you.”
Truffles hops on his arms, and thank god he isn’t wearing a short-sleeved shirt, or else he would’ve endured scratches—that is, if Truffles suddenly decided to do so—and he’s afraid that she might, because judging from the way she hisses at him every time he steps foot inside Jihoon’s apartment, it’s quite obvious that’s she’s not a fan of them reconciling. Worst Dad Goes to him.
But Truffles doesn’t scratch him, surprisingly. In fact, she mewls at Soonyoung, almost friendly, almost accepting. He isn’t a cat whisperer, but he supposes it is something. After all, you can’t hate someone without loving them first.
“Wow, I feel like I’m watching a father-daughter reunion,” Jihoon says, coming from the bedroom. He isn’t a morning person, and so is his hair. “Huh, Truffles, you finally decided to come to him,” he smiles and turns to Soonyoung, “she’s been having a dilemma, you see.”
“How so?” Soonyoung asks, stroking Truffles’ tummy, thereafter carrying her in his arms.
“I’d show her pics of you and she’d just meow in frustration?” he takes the eggs out of the paper bag, and gets a small bowl and fork. He briefly asks how’d he like it, but Soonyoung's answer is the same as ever, like the time frame of mornings they used to spend together.
Soonyoung coos. “Aw, I missed our baby, too!” Truffles then hops off Soonyoung’s arms before the latter could weird her out even more. Jihoon doubles in laughter, “but she loves me more, though.”
“Well, she lives with you,” reasons Soonyoung. “Hey, Truffles, want to stay in Dada’s place over the weekend? He’s currently unemployed because of your Papa’s laziness.”
“I am not lazy. Excuse you, you fucker.”
“‘Course you aren’t.”
“The script is coming to a life of its own, Soonyoung.” Translation: there’s progress, Soonyoung. Fuck you. “And pressuring me won’t really get us anywhere.”
“What am I here for, then?”
“I don’t know,” comes Jihoon’s casual reply, but his tone drops and his shoulders sag, and suddenly cracking an egg open by the edge of a fork is suddenly interesting. Some of the egg shells fall into the egg whites, and Jihoon internally decides that after he gets Soonyoung to leave, he’d just opt to eat instant ramyun instead. “That’s what I’ve been trying to make you realize the first day. You can leave, Soonyoung. I’ll just email you the script when I’m done with it, and only then we can meet again.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” he needn’t elaborate, because Jihoon understood. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.”
Just like that, the glass between them breaks, but it has been tapped on for so many times that it’s cracked enough to begin with. Soonyoung nods and announces his leave before the whole of the glass shatters, and the question, why did you leave me? hangs in between Jihoon’s lips.
***
A year ago.
Soonyoung’s anomaly is his confidence, which basically roots back as to why he started vices. He’s the one to blame—not the convenience store clerk who didn’t give a shit about the alarming packs he buys, not his father’s death due to lung cancer years ago.
(Back then in college, when they talked about irony in English class, the professor started the lesson by playing Ironic by Alanis Morissette, and had them guess the missing words on a horizontally halved questionnaire. He perfected the quiz, thankfully, suddenly feeling like the Master of Hearing.
Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?)
“Okay, so one time, I was jerking off, and then I had a great idea for a script. Like it’s so great that if I didn’t write it down at that moment, I would forget it. So, I just…did it. I got my laptop, and wrote a rom-com with my dick out.”
“Did you wipe your hands?”
“I’m not a savage, Soonyoung.”
“Alright, whatever you say.”
“Well,” Jihoon folds his hands right over his stomach. “That’s one method. Jerk off and you’d get a box-office hit. How about you?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t really do much these days. Projects are scarce, and everyone’s better than me,” he shrugs, and so do the blankets under him. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. You can tell me—if you want to.”
Soonyoung takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how to say it, but I’m just really, really insecure. I don’t think anyone can love someone like me.”
Jihoon doesn’t pry. He just squeezes his hand, placing a kiss on his shoulder. He whispers, “But I do, though. It’s too early for me to say this, but I might do. And it’s not a ‘might’ that wavers downwards, it’s a ‘might’ that goes forward.”
Jihoon has a way with words. Soonyoung spends too much time with actors. And in a world full of scripts and playing pretend, he replies, “stop lying.”
“I’m not lying,” Jihoon firmly reassures. And then—
“You don’t have to love me, Soonyoung,” Jihoon says. “But allow me to love you.”
Soonyoung cries. Something he hasn’t done ever since his father died.
***
“Since when did you order flavored ones?”
“Since forever, apparently, and the only reason you don’t notice is because you’re too excited to get drunk. Every single time.”
Wonwoo’s place is notably cleaner than his’, but it looks more lived. Maybe it’s what he assumes are Junhui’s flannels topped on the back of the couch, and another pair of different-sized shoes by the door. His very own apartment used to be something similar: the clothes, the shoes, the warm sheets. But now it’s just empty-looking and occasionally reeks of cat shit.
He then realizes how he doesn’t really talk about his relationship with Soonyoung to anyone. Past, at that, now that they’ve broken up. He only ever talks about it with his family though, especially with his mom, and it’s just: Ma, we’re coming over, and Ma, I think he’s the one.
Wonwoo seems to know of his situation, because he doesn’t ask him to pay for his half, just pushes all the soju on his side as if to say go crazy. He doesn’t pry either, nor scolds him of his liver’s wellbeing—and he probably should, at the latter, but he saves it for another day. Jihoon nods, twists the cap open of the raspberry one. “Soonyoung and I…we were together for about a year.”
Wonwoo’s eyebrows shot up. “I kind of knew that you two were a thing, but I never knew it was already that long?”
“Yeah, and I’d agree with you, but I was in love with him—no, I am in love with him—and the thought of us separating never really crossed my mind,” he folds his hands together, right over his stomach. “I never even fully understood why we needed to hide it? I mean, we didn’t try hard to do that, though. Just the sentiment already says something.”
“I don’t know,” Wonwoo says after a while, after the soju flushed Jihoon’s face, “when you love someone, you won’t—no, you shouldn’t even begin to think about it—” he shakes the bottle from Jihoon’s grip. “When you love someone, you shouldn’t even begin to think about hurting them. It’s another story if you do.”
“WHY WE BROKE UP” (2017)
DIRECTED BY: KWON SOONYOUNG (tentative)
SCREENPLAY BY: LEE JIHOON
XY: Why?
XX: It’s because I don’t love you anymore.
It’s not just working out for us, you know?
I’m tired of everything, XY.
Jihoon finishes the script in two months-time. It’s set off for sponsoring and pitching, and Junhui assures him that he’d take care of everything, since well, it’s his job. The storyboard artist, whom Junhui had him referred to, leaves after lunch, sliding her calling card with a crisp nod, exiting the café with a slight sway of her hips. Her coffee is half-finished, and so much for the generosity, really.
He checks his watch, counting down to the minutes until his meeting with Junhui, who’s probably off somewhere dealing with branded entrepreneurs to sponsor the film. It’s going quite well, the producer texts. I’ll be there in a few minutes. It’s comical, because he sent the message a few hours ago, and it even had those snapping emoticons, one with dashed eyes and a character he can’t comprehend.
He later asks the waiter for the wifi password, and it’s some weird anagram of the café’s name, though the o’s turn out to be zeroes, and everything’s actually in capslock. Once he’s connected, his name’s called, and it’s far from Junhui’s voice.
When he looks up—Soonyoung, whose hair is mussed and clothes are crumpled, stares down at him, holding a hardcopy of the script he sent to his mail a few days ago. His stupid instinct tells him to stand up and leave, so he does, but Soonyoung holds him back by the wrist and says, “you’re staying right here. We need to talk.”
“I have a meeting with Junhui,” Jihoon says, and it’s the first conversation they had in two months. “I’m going.”
“Junhui’s the one who set this up. Sit back down, Jihoon.”
Ah, Junhui, that motherfucker.
“Oh, now you want to talk,” Jihoon mumbles. “Want to catch up or something? The past two months have been really great, thank you. Now, bye.”
“Well, the past two months haven’t really been great for me,” confesses Soonyoung. “And the four months before that, but a week went well, and that was when we talked.”
“Well, that’s none of my business,” Jihoon says, but sits back down, and expertly swerves the conversation. “Anyway, you came here with the script. I assume you want to talk about that.”
“I have a problem with it, yeah.”
As a work ethic of his’, he’d usually compromise, and give a part of his time to listen to the director’s concerns, but the situation right now induces a gap from something that is professional. “If you have a problem with it, then fine. Just drop the film.”
Soonyoung deflates. “I’m not dropping you that easily.”
“But you already did.”
The silence that came after is pregnant, and Jihoon thinks, that whatever that’ll come out of Soonyoung’s mouth is an out-of-reach excuse. Except it isn’t.
“I found some of the main character’s lines unperceivable and out of place. It’s somewhere in the last scenes. You’d know. I put correction tape over it and replaced it with something I deem that is more fitting.”
“I’ll just go over it tonight.”
“I think it’s best if you do it now,” Soonyoung says.
Jihoon begrudgingly places the script in his lap, fiddling with the dog-eared corners of the stack, looking for the supposed correction tape that should stand out amongst the printed letters. He finds it in the climax.
XY: Why?
XX: It’s because I don’t love you anymore. I still do.
XX: It’s not just working out for us, you know? You’re my everything.
I’m tired of everything, XY. But never of you.
My insecurities got the best of me, and I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you. I’m so sorry. I felt like I was holding you back. You were too good for me.
Jihoon is unsure of how to react, but the way his eyes stung already gave away what he’s been trying hard to decipher. After all, he spent those six months missing him, and while he should be mad, angry, frustrated or any correlative verb—he falls, shatters, like a fine piece of porcelain, and all of the pieces are Soonyoung’s.
This time, he’s the one who says, “stop lying. I don’t believe you.”
“I wanted to hide our relationship, because I thought that people would go off and say, ‘you don’t deserve him,’ ‘why you?’ ‘what has gotten into Jihoon?’ I cared about what they thought, you know? And fuck, I regret it so much, because I did the most stupid thing I could fucking do.” Soonyoung says. “You’re my everything and more, Jihoon. I understand if you won’t take me back, won’t give me another chance, but I promise that if you do, I’d be a better person.”
It did a number on Jihoon’s self-esteem, too, but if he’s being honest, he’d take Soonyoung back in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t do that to himself, not yet anyway, because he’s hurt, and the pain is just so excruciating, like it physically squeezed his heart. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Soonyoung slowly understands.
“I love you,” Jihoon says. “I love you so much, but it just…it hurts so much,” he pounds his chest with a closed fist. “You hurt me so fucking much that it made me not want to write anymore.”
“I’m so sorry,” a tear slips down from Soonyoung’s eye. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”
“I know,” Jihoon nods. “And both of us just need to take time. Until we’re better. Until we’ve come into terms with ourselves—but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take you back, Soonyoung. Trust me, I want to. More than anything else in this world. I love you, and I won’t ever get tired of saying that. Like every time it’s your birthday, I always think that it’s my day, too, because I was gifted with the most amazing man to ever exist.”
“So please, Soonyoung,” Jihoon continues, his tone gentle, as if it dripped of all the love he has for the man in front of him. “Can you wait for me?”