Work Text:
TAG - 16:13
dude
ur birthday present is getting delivered early but i won’t be at the flat lol
early as in like in 20 min
have fun
hpy bday in advance
‘Shit,’ Jay says emphatically in the middle of his History of R&B lecture. It earns him some looks, but all he can focus on is the clock hanging at the front of the hall. It reads 4:17—there’s about fifteen minutes left before he can end his day, and that’s excluding the time taken to speedwalk across campus to the tiny student apartment he shares with Tag.
The thing is, Jay wouldn’t be this alarmed if he hadn’t been the one to send Tag a gag gift last year. Karma is real. Tag must want retribution.
please tell me it isn’t what i think it is, Jay texts back.
oops, says Tag. enjoy.
Tag’s using punctuation. Tag never uses punctuation.
Fuck, Jay thinks, with deep feeling.
Knowing his flatmate, Jay definitely does not want to risk leaving this supposed birthday delivery in the hallway, especially not where it’s vulnerable to the hundred or so other sleep-deprived college-goers that also live in the block. Who knows what might happen if they manage to get their hands on this pandora’s box, in all its cardboard glory—Jay needs to get home, stat.
And of course stat means that his lecturer decides that it’s a fine day to run overtime. Jay actually likes this module, dammit, so he stays to take notes on the evolution of jazz and blues, his leg jiggling impatiently the entire time, but as things are all he can do is scribble blindly on the page while watching the clock count down the minutes. If he messes up his grades he’s blaming it all on Tag.
The moment the lecture ends he’s tearing across the music department and over the quad, but it’s already ten past five by the time he arrives at the flat. His heart lurches when he stumbles into the corridor only to find it empty. Did someone already take the package? Or has it, by some blessed miracle, not been delivered yet?
TAG, Jay digs out his phone and types, HAS IT ARRIVED.
Tag doesn’t reply for a good five minutes. He’s probably in his Composition seminar, where he mutes his notifications and actually pays attention. Jay is about to give up and enter the flat when the door next to his clicks and swings open.
And Yoon Jongwoo steps out.
‘Hey,’ he greets. He looks so effortlessly cool in his tank top and zip-up hoodie that Jay has to take a moment to process the sight. The perks of being Yoon Jongwoo’s neighbour include seeing, on rare occasions, this other, domestic side of him, which does bad things to Jay’s gleeful lizard brain. He hardly gets to see Jongwoo around campus, but when he does it’s usually during events and open house showcases, when the dance majors get dressed to the nines for the stage. Jay probably has a video of Jongwoo dancing in leather pants saved somewhere.
It’s only then that Jay realises Jongwoo isn’t meeting his eyes. He looks uncharacteristically flustered, and there’s a box in his hand.
It’s a small box, the packing tape hastily re-applied, as if someone had opened it, regretted immediately, and sealed it shut again.
A cardboard box.
A delivery box.
Pandora’s box.
Jay feels the blood drain from his face.
He registers the exact moment that Jongwoo knows he knows, because Jongwoo’s eyes widen, like he hadn’t quite believed the package to be Jay’s. Until now.
Jongwoo coughs awkwardly into this fist and lifts the box a little in his other hand. He’s being awfully careful with it. ‘I guess this is yours?’
Whatever’s in that box, Jay does not want to be associated with it. ‘My flatmate bought it,’ he replies, valiantly ignoring the label on the package that prints out his full name in neat, dark letters. There’s no helping it. Tag will just have to masquerade as Jay from now on. Forever.
There’s a fleeting movement of Jongwoo’s eyes. Jay’s heart stops for a moment when it seems like he’s stealing a glance at the name on the label, but it lurches back to life when Jongwoo merely nods. ‘Sorry about the packaging,’ he says. ‘I was waiting for a delivery too and didn’t check the name before I opened it. I thought it was my gaming mouse. I hope you—uh, your flatmate—enjoys it?’
‘Thanks,’ Jay says numbly.
Fuck. Jongwoo totally thinks he ordered this. His phone buzzes bleakly in his hand, signalling Tag’s message, but it’s too damn late now. At this point all resistance seems futile. He’ll just have to live next to Yoon Jongwoo for the rest of the year knowing that Jongwoo thinks he’s the kind of imbecile who would lie about buying—whatever incriminating thing is in that box, God, he doesn’t even know what it is—by pushing it onto his nebulous concept of a flatmate.
Jay doesn’t know what to do or say. What he will do, though, is murder Tag, so that he can follow Tag to hell and make sure he stays there.
Fuck it, he thinks. He relieves Jongwoo of the delivery box of doom and rips off the tape like it’s a particularly useless piece of band-aid. At some point his dread regarding the whole situation had mutated into a deep, morbid curiosity. It couldn’t possibly get any worse than this.
A dildo.
It’s a dildo.
Tag bought him a dildo.
Which would—which would actually have been fine. They could have laughed it off in the sanctuary of their flat and added it to their growing collection of gag gifts, and Jay would be haunted from time to time by the possibility of actually using it, but all he can focus on is how Jongwoo, whom he’s kinda-sorta nursed the tiniest, most negligible crush on for the past year, is aware of the fact that Jay has come into possession of a dildo of the rudest and brightest shade of pink ever known to mankind. Which he’s holding right now in his own two hands. Ideal length, the packaging screams, in large text. Ribbed for pleasure!
‘Aw, fuck me,’ Jay says, defeated.
Jongwoo chokes.
‘Wait,’ Jay hurries to amend, realising that he’d made his exclamation in English. ‘I didn’t mean—it’s, um, a figure of speech. I didn’t actually want you to—not that I wouldn’t—but of course you wouldn’t—you know what, I’m just going to shut up now.’
He slaps his hand over his mouth and backs slowly into his apartment. So much for a good first impression. He can’t leave his house ever again. That, or he needs to go away forever, preferably to the mountains, where he will never be accosted by Yoon Jongwoos or stray delivery box sex toys.
‘Jay,’ Jongwoo says, reaching out a hand to stop him. His fingers wrap around Jay’s wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
‘What?’
Jongwoo hunches over, catching his breath. ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to leave the conversation like that. I didn’t mean to be rude, I was—caught off guard.’ He glances up and meets Jay’s eyes. Seeming to realise their proximity, he snatches his hand away, looking wildly at anywhere but Jay’s face. ‘Just. For the record, I wouldn’t—say no. Don’t put yourself down.’
‘Oh,’ Jay breathes.
He shakes his head quickly. ‘Hold on, no. I’m not Jay. Jay’s my flatmate. You know, the guy who bought this… thing.’ He gestures limply at the dildo. It is very pink. He should probably put it away sometime soon.
Now Jongwoo just looks exasperated. He rolls his eyes, with what Jay is surprised to see is no small amount of affection. ‘Come on, do you really think I wouldn’t know who you are?’
Jay blinks. ‘You do?’
‘Yes!’ Jongwoo says incredulously. ‘You’re one of the best singers in your department. You’ve performed at school festivals. The dancers always stop whatever they’re doing backstage to listen when you’re on.’ Here he mumbles, embarrassed, ‘Well, at least I do. You have a nice voice.’
Woah. Okay. Jay leans gingerly against his door frame, still stuck on the fact that Yoon Jongwoo has, somehow, been aware of his existence all along. And that he likes his singing. And wasn’t disgusted by Jay accidentally propositioning him. What the hell.
Jongwoo must have mistaken his silence for discomfort, because he apologises again. ‘Sorry. This must be a lot coming from someone you don’t even know.’
‘I know you,’ Jay hears himself say distantly. ‘Final year. Dance major. You choreographed for the recent showcase. The one where you slipped off your jacket in the middle of the performance and caused an uproar.’
‘Oh.’ Jongwoo looks at him appraisingly. ‘You’ve watched the video, huh?’
‘The video. Yes,’ Jay lies.
There was no video. Jay had been one of those people screaming in the crowd on that muggy weekday afternoon.
Jongwoo checks his phone. ‘It’s a bit early,’ he says, ‘but do you want to go for dinner? I’ll pay, since I opened your package by mistake.’
‘Not my package,’ Jay corrects, tossing it behind him into the shadowy depths of the apartment. It lands with a heavy, ominous sound. Hopefully Tag trips on it when he comes back home. ‘But sure.’ He has to keep himself from vibrating out of his own skin. Dinner with Jongwoo. Play it cool, now. ‘Can I get sundubu-jiggae?’
—
They stop by a small joint near the university, surprised to find that they’re not the only ones there at this hour of the day. Tucked in a corner of the shop is Tag, who’s sat across from Yedam, Jongwoo’s dance junior, and Seongmin from the modelling department. They are all, coincidentally, Jay’s friends. With the exception of Tag, as of twenty minutes ago.
‘You,’ Jay hisses, stabbing a discreet finger in Tag’s direction, while Jongwoo waves to the rest.
‘Me?’ Tag merely splays a hand across his chest, eyes wide with faux innocence. He flutters his lashes a couple of times for good measure. Then his eyes travel to Jongwoo, who’s looking around for a good table, and take on an evil, knowing gleam. ‘Hey, you guys should sit with us.’
Jay’s about to spitefully refuse when Yedam cuts in, blissfully ignorant of the psychological warfare proceeding right under his nose. ‘Jay-hyung! Come sit!’ He pats the chair next to him. ‘Jongwoo-hyung too! We just arrived, so we can order together!’
Shit. Jay cannot, in good conscience, say no to Yedam. He sits rigidly down at the table, with Jongwoo settling opposite him, already shuffling through the menu.
‘Sundubu-jiggae, right?’ Jongwoo says, quirking a smile at Jay. ‘I’ll pay.’
Jay nods, feeling the interested gazes of their friends swivel between them.
‘Oh?’ Tag says.
Oh no. He can’t let this happen, not when they were all present at the showcase performance to hear Jay’s exact, unfiltered thoughts on the moment Jongwoo took his jacket off in the middle of a body roll.
Seongmin leans in from Yedam’s other side, reaching over to pat Jay warmly on the shoulder. ‘Jay-ah, Jongwoo-hyung is paying because it’s your birthday, isn’t it? Happy birthday!’
Ah, sweet, kind Seongmin. Sweet, kind, lovely Seongmin, who’s just come to his rescue like a knight in shining green Jordy armour.
‘Yeah, happy birthday, man,’ Tag says. ‘Did you like your present?’
Jay throws Tag his most saccharine smile and steals some of his banchan. He really hopes Tag trips on the dildo when they get home. ‘The present? Oh, yeah.’
There’s a choking sound on the other side of the table. They all turn to look at Jongwoo, who’s in the middle of drinking from his cup.
‘Hyung,’ Seongmin says slowly, ‘how did you meet Jay?’
‘I don’t—I mean—what?’ Jongwoo says, fluttering his hands about rapidly, like that might wave away their topic of conversation. It is, Jay finds, very damningly endearing.
‘It’s about time, right?’ Yedam chips in. He shoots Jay a surreptitious grin. It’s one they often share when they have an inside joke that none of the others are in on, except Jay can’t, for the life of him, figure out what the joke is this time. ‘You asked me about Jay-hyung a while back, so I thought you were gonna talk to him! Did you finally exchange numbers?’
Wuh? Jay thinks.
‘Wuh?’ he says, eloquently. He feels like he’s dying.
Jongwoo doesn’t look much better off. ‘Yedammmm,’ he groans into his hands. Tag motions gleefully at Yedam for a hi-five, which the latter returns with relish.
‘Huh?’ Jay says.
Jongwoo hunkers down across from him, then sits up swiftly, like he’s recovered from whatever psychic damage he sustained previously. He whips out his phone and looks Jay in the eye. ‘Jay,’ he says, ‘can I have your number?’
‘My number?’ Jay echoes, as the rest 'ooh' and 'ahh' in the background. His hands reach out on autopilot to key something in.
Tag leans over and snickers. ‘119,’ he reads aloud.
Jongwoo splutters.
‘Oh! My number,’ Jay says, his brain only just getting the memo that this is a real thing that is happening. He types in the right one as their food begins to arrive.
‘Wow, Jay,’ Tag says smugly, when Jay shakily saves the contact Yoon Jongwoo into his own phone and starts on his steaming bowl of tofu stew, face flushed, ankles pressed against Jongwoo’s under the table without either of them moving away. ‘Isn’t that nice?’
It really, really is.
But Tag doesn’t need to know that.
—
‘You owe me one,’ Tag tells him after dinner, when they’re waiting outside the restaurant for the others to straggle out. Jay is grateful that he’s speaking in English, in case the others overhear. He thinks Jongwoo understands a bit, but the guy is a safe distance away in the bathroom, so the risk is low.
Jay scoffs. ‘I don’t.’
‘Hey, you got to meet Jongwoo because of my present!’
‘You didn’t even know he was going to be there! Actually, it would be worse if you did. Also, I’m sending you two dildos for your birthday. Be prepared.’
Tag ignores his very real threat. ‘It’s a move of true genius. So much more effective than any of Yedam and Seongmin’s silly meddling. Did you know they were planning to—ah. Seongminnie-hyung.’
Tag switches to the proper honorifics as soon as Seongmin steps out of the door, Yedam in tow. Pfft. Get a load of this guy.
Seongmin looks between them suspiciously, before grabbing Jay’s hand with a bright smile. ‘Jay, you finally got to talk to Jongwoo-hyung! I’m so happy for you!’
His joy is infectious. Jay finds himself grinning back helplessly. He cups Jay’s ear and speaks in a stage whisper, like he’s sharing a well-known secret: ‘He keeps taking up Yedam and Taegyun’s time, so I was going to steal you from him, but I’ll back off now!’
‘Hyung!’ Yedam laughs, batting at Seongmin’s shoulder. Tag throws an arm around them and rests his chin on Yedam's head.
Jay watches his friends, feeling endlessly fond. ‘Was anyone going to tell me that Jongwoo knows who I am,’ he muses, ‘or was I just supposed to find that out for myself?’
Tag snorts and sticks a hand out, giving Jay's hair a half-hearted ruffle.
‘He doesn't just know you,’ he says. ‘Man, you really are clueless.’
—
Tag excuses himself by insisting that he absolutely has to go to the convenience store with Seongmin and Yedam, leaving Jay alone with Jongwoo again on the walk back to their apartment.
‘What a hectic dinner,’ Jongwoo sighs. ‘I feel like I lost my sanity somewhere in my rice bowl.’
Jay laughs. ‘You can say that again. It was good, though. Thanks for the meal.’
Jongwoo gives him a quick smile, small and toothy. Jay saves it in his mind’s eye and makes a back-up copy immediately. For the sake of posterity.
They walk to Jay’s door. Right as Jay unlocks it, Jongwoo suddenly calls his name, shoulders set like he’s made a decision. ‘Let’s eat together again. Just the two of us.’ He gestures with his phone. ‘I’ll message you.’
‘Okay,’ Jay replies, in what he hopes is an absolutely normal tone. In the comfort of their conversation, he'd forgotten that he was talking to a guy he actually liked a bit too much for his own health. Now his heart has started palpitating a little irregularly.
Jongwoo flashes him another small grin. ‘Great,’ he says.
‘Great,’ Jay parrots blindly. Then he turns around and promptly trips and falls.
—
He watches as his doorway passes him by in slow, painful motion. No way, he thinks vehemently. No fucking way.
He braces for impact.
At that very moment, he’s pulled back in the other direction, somehow managing to knock into Jongwoo and tumble them both forwards into a heap in his living room.
Jay winds up straddling the other, breathless and unseeing, his vision tunnelling in on the accursed box sitting innocuously at their feet.
‘Oof. Jay? Are you okay? Jay?’
It’s the delivery box. Pandora's package. Chekhov’s fucking parcel of doom. He had just very nearly experienced death by dildo, and it hadn't even been fun.
'Jay?'
Jay stumbles up, giving Jongwoo a hand. ‘Sorry. Are you alright?’
‘Yeah. I think so. Are you?’
‘You know what, hyung?’ Jay asks.
‘Yeah?’
‘Lock the door.’
‘What?’
Something flits across Jongwoo's face: one part fear, two parts awe.
Jay picks up the box. ‘If it wants to get involved so badly, fine. We’re using this damned thing.’
‘We—oh. Okay. Oh.’