Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Park Jay is in a mood.

It’s six days before the team’s first comeback. A workday, plus his birthday. A confusing leap in time for this Seattle-born Korean-American. This marks 19 Earth years alive, but nothing changes. Today, the 20th of April, he turns American 19, yet stays Korean 20. He’ll get all the celebratory trimmings that comes with being an idol. He’ll have cake and a show, no big. Not news. He’s been 20-years-old for 109 days since the start of 2021. It’s just a regular Tuesday for this adult.

However, IS he an adult? The numbers and the culture say he is so that’s the rubric operates on. Park Jay feels that weight. He is expected to behave.

Today demands too much with too little, a full schedule at HYBE HQ, a hoard of ENGENE notifications on his phone, plus the offline ‘surprises’ he knows. It hasn’t sunk in that today is HIS special day. How can it when it hasn’t been his day at all.

… but he wants that, to own this day and actually feel special. For that, he feels like a brat. This embarrassment of riches, these countless well-wishes —what he has isn’t enough.

Jay’s mood is a brew of small inconveniences he can’t address. Be it a deficit of hugs, a special need, or time solo ahead. He has to cap the bottle on a carbonated tantrum lest he pop off.

After finishing a script, he’s off to the next item on his agenda. He scrolls through WeVerse waiting for a lift and gets triggered, not by memes or corn, just a thing he brushes past, an itch that might bleed if he scratched, so he switches apps and flips to the front-facing camera. 

Tucking the strap of a Hugo Boss satchel under the frayed collar of his black denim jacket, he flashes a DiCaprio smile. He looks good. He smells even better. That detail tempts him to take and send a selca. In-frame with just a peek of a buckle by Balenciaga, his thumb hovers… but won’t make contact. He doesn’t take the pic. 

Adults aren’t supposed to be this needy. 

In mid-self-deprecating primp, the sliding doors of the elevator open with a soft ‘ding’ in C natural. 

————[ C♮ no.1 ]————

A familiar voice calls out, “Ah, Jongseong-ah! Going my way?” A fellow masked adult with distinct doe-eyes waves with his phone at a fellow hyung.

“Ya, Heeseungie hyung! If you mean up, then yes.” 

Lee Heeseung sends a text, pockets his device, and unmasks happy teeth. Jay chin-straps his mask in kind, stepping into the lift with open arms.

“Happy birthJay, buddy!” Hyungie gives this Park a squeeze and two hearty pats on the bum. “Ooh, you smell nice. Whatcha up to? Anything fun before the Park Jay Show?”

“You betcha,” Jay laughs sarcastically. “Just a life-affirming few hours by myself. Perfect birthday activity for an extrovert.” 

“D’Aww.” Heeseung tilts in sympathy, “That sucks. Don’t mean to nitpick your speech but it’s pronounced ‘birthJay’, by the by.”

“Pfft!” Jay sputters on the button panel and doesn’t push. “Huh. I am literally going your way,” he’s elevated, “Same floor. You getting soundproof too?”

“Yeah. Solo vocal practice. WwaAaAaahngH!” Hee belts a random falsetto, “Gotta keep my throat nice and lubed to take those high notes whole,” he says with a sensual rub of his neck, “You?”

Jay slips on a game face. “Me? I get to fondle a sweet baby grand,” he says matter-of-fact, wiggling digits laterally. “Imma make it sound so pretty when I feel it up with my fingies.” 

The air grows thick as these two match ‘wits’, stroking throat and wriggling fingers, respectively. 

Determined to outlast this Park, Hee’s jaw goes slack and licks bicuspids. Jay keeps his vacant stare, hands slowly rising to form a finger beard around his sharp jaw. 

Hee combats with a bored gaze and a pursed-lipped smirk, Adam’s apple bobbing for aesthetics.

Jay almost scowls. This hyung?! He rotates wrists, sets his chin on palms, frames cheeks with a fluid curl of fingers, then tilts with a closed-mouth smile. 

Heeseung freezes, dropping a full IQ point. Fuck! So wholesome?! Desperate for a lead, Hee goes nuclear. With a dead stare, he sets a hand at the top of his shirt and slips fingers into his collar —except for his pinkie— and drags with a glacial pace.

Jay’s pupils shake, offended by this violence. REALLY?! Global lethality? In no universe does he allow salacious Lee Clavicle’s cameo in this episode. This calls for acute action. He goes on the offensive and hits hard… softly.

Still smiling like a baby Buddha, Jay lowers his right hand, tucks it around his waist, and rests an left elbow on his wrist. The left hand stays on his face, tapping four fingers on his cheekbone. Pinky, ring, middle, index—over and over as if he were playing piano. He goes 'C-D-E-F, C-D-E-F,' with a smile that drips sweetness.

Hee’s eyes twitch with a soul cringe. He can hear those notes in his head. His hand stays unmoving between his collar bones, fighting the urge to wrap hands around a neck and squeeze —yeet one or both of them from consciousness— anything to end this high fructose torture. 

Jay adds a feather to the scale. He shrugs in tiny and stage whispers: “Fingies, hyung.”

The scale tips over completely.

“Pphhffff!!” Heeseung bends in half, spraying spittle. “GAh!!! Mercy! You win, Jongseong!”

Cue Jay’s colorful closed caption laugh.

They giggle away to separate corners like fighters between rounds, elbows slumped on handrails, holding sides and massaging face. Equally, they cringe in awe of each other’s evolving off-screen fatality. 

“Wow! Heeseungie hyung! What’s with your casual violence these days? I pray for Sunghoon-ah, emotionally.” 

“Aaah, he can take it. You though! Your aegyo is IMMORAL. Give my son a chance to breathe!” 

“Naah… he’d rather not.” 

“Deer god! Don’t expound?!” Hee throws hands up in laugh tears, “Not yet? —but WOW! Why does that make sense?”

Jay coyly leans on the rail, raising a shoulder. “I mean… you know who makes the rules.”

“Son of a—?! What a boss!” Hee dabs tears with his mask, “Aah, but I get that life,” he sucks in teeth, “Oh, those knives. They’re so sharp and fun.”

“SO sharp and so fun.” Jay thumbs his nose, beak in a tiny ‘v’, “Take care of yourself, Heeseungie.”

Hee throws an arm around his Home Sweet Homie, “You too, Jongseong. Stay healthy… ish.”

The Six-Year Club, these manboys in arms, bow their heads for moment of silence in memory of countless braincells they’ve lost in war. Love IS war, never forget. 

After a slow hiss of frozen snickers, these sick boys explode, mocking the futility of well-wishes —until a 'C' natural dings composure back into them.

————[ C♮ no.2 ]————

The floor opens to a pair of masked riders in the middle of a game of rock, paper, scissors. 

“—bai bo! Bo! Bo!” A silver-haired boy with a rock and a phone throws his head back and screams, “Aaaughh! No?!”

“Aaah!!! Yes! Finally!” A noiret in a snapback throws a paper hand in victory. “Justice for Jakethy! Coming soon!”

They tear from their game and COVID masks walking into the lift in a state of after-screams. Wordless greetings are exchanged with the active side-hug.

Heeseung winks. Jay cocks his head. Shim Jake puckers lips. Nishimura Riki bows and selects a button with the edge of his phone. They flank either hyung in a line, arms over shoulders.

The doors close.

Jake gets the ball rolling, dribbling swagger, “Jay. My brother, wassup?” he says cooly with finger guns. A nanosecond later he’s all playful jabs and high-pitched giggles, “Eeheehe heeyyy! Happy birthJay, bro!!” 

“Thanks, dawg!” Park birthJay extends a hand, “Where yo—woOAH?!” then gets bodied with an intimate hug. 

Jake snakes hands under black denim jacket and gets all over that button-down floral.

“Wow. Really, Jake?” Jay can’t decide if this is upper stratosphere platonic or if he’s getting felt up. 

Do I need an adult? Ugh. I am an adult.

“Yeah, you like that?” Steak says in velvet Australian like a hip-hop illusionist ready to dazzle with an up-close magic touch. 

“Great technique, but is this REALLY the choice you’re making?” he’s asks, bothered by extreme eye contact.

“That’s right.” Cake’s smile widens, as does his embrace. “That’s what’s up.”

Hands part at Park core, smoothing over this silk-blend top, landing between shoulder blades and down to the line of a spine. 

I NEED AN ADULT.

“WRONG!” every feather on Jaybird ruffles, “Wrong Park! Jakethy, you’re with the WRONG fucking PARK?!”

“No, he’s not,” says a decorative ‘adult.’ 

“Traitor!” Jay feels R.A.S. and it’s Hee’s fault again. “I trusted you!”

“Calm your tit, JongJong-ah.” Hee rests an elbow on their maknae’s growing shoulders.

“Yeah, just one tit.” Niki absently agrees with his hyung.

“YA! Don’t you speak of my tendies, child!” Jay caws.

“Let this infant speak!” Shim stands up for his son.

“Guys,” Niki says, eyes on his device. “I’m not that young.”

Hee affectionately turns to his youngest dongsaeng, “You’ll always be my giant baby, but that’s not the point!” Then he aggressively turns to his oldest dongsaeng, “Jongsaeng, take this gift and Shimshalabim Shim Shimshalabim Shim Shimshalabim Shim Shiiim for just a skosh.”

“Ye, that’s my man!” Jakey bites lip, “I love you, Sweet Hee!”

“I love you more, Shimothy!” Hee bites lip back.

“NO. What the fuck you enabling, hyung? Do you have a death wish for me?” he points an accusatory finger at a buck. “Your son’s no baby! He is a MAN who can kill! For FUN?! Don’t make him choose between keeping his seat and being a good son!”

Niki looks up from his phone and snickers, “Ah, but it’s your birthJay, hyung! You’re allowed. For just 少し (sukoshi / a skosh,) be the right Park. Reach into your inner Elsa and let it go.”

“Pfft!?” Heeseung laughs at a shallow inside joke, casually leaning on the push button panel.

“I keep forgetting,” Jay raises a slit brow, “it IS my birthday…”

Jake shakes the salt from this beefy hug. “You’re saying it wrong, holmes,” he beams. “It’s ‘birthJay.’ Accent on the ‘Jay’. That matters the most.”

Jay melts at that warm buttered corn. “Alright. Just 少し,” he ENjoys this for what it is. A seasoned greeting from a peer with a doctorate in tactical intimacy. “I mean, this hug is objectively superior. I can tell you've put in your ten thousand hours. You’re a gifted hugsmith, Jaketopher.” 

“Pshh! Jayz! Wow. Thanks, man. As are you, Hot Park. You’re a pro,” Jake tasty cheeses, “You’ve got artisanal skills. You hug with intention. You feel like safety. Like sanctuary. Like brotherhood in maritime war. I feel valued and protected. I am SO curious about your process.”

Mathyung and maknae exchange wide side-eyes.

“Thanks, Jakey. I’m winging it half the time. I guess it works? You though—this is deep method. You hug with an easy warmth.” Jay gets vaguely specific, “Like cheese at a continental breakfast. Like a child’s first bite of sweet corn. Like—” a memory flashes, of ink on paper burning to ash, “—the unconditional love a puppy.” He clears his throat, “Good boy, Jakey,” then he pets the bill of a cap, “Good boy. That’s a good boy.”

Jake the dog looks deep into this Park’s eyes, unafraid to show that he might cry. 

        HS: “I didn’t expect them to nerd 
               out on hugs.”

        NK: “Is this a soft boy thing, hyungie?” 

        HS: “Health, no! I’m the softest and I 
               don’t do that. This some 2Js BS.”

            NK: “We’re missing context then.” 

Niki’s right. This is a treat for those who know.

“Those words were so pretty, birdJay boy,” Jake leans on a distressed collar. With a quiet voice says, “Don’t be rude. Hug me right, homie. Let me feel your true power.”

“You’re NOT allowed to call me a bird in that SPECIFIC way?!” Jay pushes Shim off. “But you’re not wrong. I am holding out.”

Jake staggers back, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist. “I knew it!” He wiped a stray tear, but it looked bad-ass. “I felt you when I slipped up,” literally in a cautionary tale about drinkware on the floor. “Come on, man! Show me what you got.” 

Niki texts a HeeHyung an emoji. Maknae and mathyung share a bucket of popcorn, emojinally. 

Jay drops his satchel with a huff, “Fair. I do owe you,” he slips his jacket off, draping it over Hugo Boss, “and a Park always pays his debts,” haughty Ser Jay scoffs, then he rolls his neck with a crack. “You’ll get my expensive hug the right way, Shim.”

“I’m confused,” Niki strokes an imaginary beard, “Are we about to see a boyfight or a hug?”

“Yes.” Heeseung nods, texting.

Jakey’s pumped. He bobs like a puppy with no chill, expecting masculine aggression. Then Jay blindsides him with the realest hug. 

A hand swipes across the small of Shim’s back and wraps around his waist. The other crosses over top and rests on the snapback. Hand on a backward bill, Jay parks Jake’s head between his jaw and shoulder. 

The hug is firm AND plush. It’s cheesy, expensive, and substantial. This is Long Clawson White Stilton Gold over steak. 

This is a hug that says, ‘I get it, homme. Life sucks and you suck, but if you need me, I’ve got YOU, emotionally… sometimes because priorities. But text me. Let’s lunch. Get Outback. I’ll have pasta, buy you a steak, we’ll split a Bloomin’ Onion. Now quit crying before you make me cry.’ 

Jake sighs, hit with a wave of bromanticism sans the mixed up vibes. With this Park on solid ground, there’s no fear of falling. In this nanosecond, Jake feels deep platonic love. 

Concerned, Niki hits this catatonic hyung’s glazed eyes with two bars of iPhone flashlight, “Jakey! Hyung! Hyung?! You okay?” 

Jake snaps back, “Ah!? My eyes! Yes? Damn!” he sees the light and a collection of stars, “Bro, this hug?” he exclaims with arm strength, “Top sirloin!”

“Pfft!” Jay titters at Shim’s biceptual punctuation, “Aww. You like that, Jakethy?” 

“It’s tasty,” he discreetly wipes a tear, “I feel full,” emotionally, “like I can do anything after I digest this moment.”

“Stop.” Eagle Park rolls his eyes, flattered. 

“Wow,” Jake barks, “what I’d give to be king for a day… No wonder he’s so smooth with such balls.” 

Jay’s eyes go very small. “Mind your language, you piece of Shim.”

“Deer GOD, why do you smell so nice today? Does he like that? I love it. Dibs on Eau du Jay if he doesn’t.”

“Shut that velvet mouth before I cut you with my chin.”

Niki stows his phone and tries to hyphenate 2Js with recently developed muscles. “Okay hyungs, break it up. It’s my turn. Let me give my Papa Bird a birthJay hug” 

“Jakethy, GET!” Jay frowns at these hands stuck to him like flypaper. “I need to hug my boy Niki solo.”

“No. I’m not letting go,” Jake clings on like a legless koala. 

“What?!” Niki makes a face, “But Pup Pa!” 

“Maknae aegyo’s not gonna work this time,” Jake is a passenger sat in first-class who won’t go back to his assigned seat in coach, “I’m not waiting until 2022 to get more birthJay hugs.”

“Aaargh!” Niki is the flight attendant wrestling a passenger. The flight can’t take off with this discord. He regrets playing scissors, scissors, rock.

“The fuck Jake?!” Jay is the luxurious first-class seat they fight over, “When did my birthday become your hug day?”

“Wrong, Jay hyung,” Niki palms Jake’s face away and says in all seriousness, “Today we all say 'birthJay'.”

“Aww,” Jay tilts, touched. “my dongsaeng-son!” his hand intends to land on his chest, but a human back is in the way. He caws, “GET OUT! Jake, leave my corporeal form!”

“I'll switch to a human cape out of respect,” Jake scurries around to give a Titanic hug. Callously, he says, “You be the Jungwon, I’ll be the Jay.”

The air in the lift grows cold. Jay freezes, brows in a heavy wrinkle with a faraway gaze.

Not even close. The arms are wrong. You’re not me and I’m not worthy. The disrespect.

“Why, Jake?” Jay jerks his head back, bonking Jake on the snapback, “Why is this happening to us?” 

“Ouch?! Aw, because I love you, man,” he leans his cheek on a shoulder blade, “and I’ve waited a long time to hug you without being afraid to die.”

“I hate you, Jake,” he doth protest too much.

Cape Jake knows. “Liar,” he whispers, nose on a tiny hoop earring, “That’s not what you wrote.”

Jay cringes all over. “You’re dead, bitch.”  

“Oh, homie,” this puppy has emotional diabetes, “You’re the poop emoji in my heart.”

“PFFT?!” Niki explodes with saliva. He has no idea what that means, but he loves it. He’ll keep that in his pocket for future use in casual conversation.

Filled with the spirit of this random laugh, he gives up on mediation to advocate for himself. “NI-KI! NI-KI! NIKINIKINI-KI NIKI!” Using his name as a battle cry, he lunges with an attack hug, eagerly flexing a skillset. 

“AAack! My spine!” Jake hits the guardrail.

Niki wraps arms around silk-blend. The Lord blesses him with two heady sniffs of this button-down. Eyes widen like he’s seen the light through his nose. 

Niki says in a Mickey Mouse voice, “OH! JAY.” In his human voice, he comments, “You do smell nice,” then he clamps arms to burn off vicarious buzzing. 

“Aww, Niki-aAAHngk?!” Jay tilts, sorely impressed by the pressure on his rib cage. “Son, this is an assault hug, but WOW! That work out’s been working out!” He’s proud and in pain, “Good job! But, ease up? You’re going to break me!”

“He’s right, boy,” Heeseung adds unhelpfully, doe eyes on his phone, “Mind those hollow bones.”

Niki nods, “Noted! I’m psyched you feel the difference,” he wiggles arms and two hyungs in a hug, “Try leaning your head on my shoulders? Tell me if they’re broader coz you know that life.”

Casually, Hee strolls behind JayKe—then whips around appropriating Blue Steel by Derek Zoolander, plus forearms in an ‘X’ position.

From behind Lil’ Bitch and the Prince of Corns, puma reads that signal from Deerest. He retracts his chin with instant regret. 

The birthJay bird doesn’t notice. He's glad to share what he knows. “I’d be honored, Niki! Let me in there.” 

Three sets of peepers make sly contact. Hyung shrugs, mathyung nods. Maknae straightens his posture. 

Without a second thought, Jay slumps forward, laying his head on this dongsaeng’s shoulders. “Ooh, progress!” 

Worried looks pass between puma, deer, and dog… but the eagle seems fine, perched on a shoulder.

However…

Hee has reason to worry. “Great form.” Sure, Jay reads well, “Nice muscle development,” but he’s got a glaring blindspot. “Your default posture could use some work though.” 

When it comes to some emotions, he can’t tell how he reads to others. “Maxing shoulder width is all in how you hold yourself in daily life.” He doesn’t catch his vocal tells, “Uhm. Straighten up here… umm… and here,” or if he’s tearing up. “Carry on,” he sniffs. “You’ve got potential.” 

It’s all over his face, how he really feels and everyone sees it before he does.

This is not the first time Hee’ll see Jay look up, “Stick to that workout. You’re getting there,” and realize deep into an experience what he’s actually on about. “You don’t hug like Niki-baby anymore but you’re not quite—” Jungwon?

“—ah.”

Jaybird flies into a glass panel. When he comes to, he’s lost. “I… I’m sorry. Uhhh… Where was I?”

Niki knows this hyung he’s hugging wasn’t in his arms. “Hang in there, Jay hyung.” He gets what’s up, “You’ll be alright.”

“Huh?” That reaction catches Jay off-guard. “I’m good though.” 

“No, you’re not. Your face,” the youngest bares teeth with a teasing grin, “That’s the face you make when you need to eat corn alone.” 

“Excuse me, child!?” Jay doesn’t know if he should be offended.

“Can vouch,” The eldest switches from camera to iPhoto gallery. “That was solo corn face,” he swipes through, smirking, waggling brows. “That’s the look of a man who needs to floss.” 

“What?!” now he’s offended.

“Are you serious?” This other foreign hyung gasps, “He made the face? Tell me if it’s still there. I might pull away… but,” he shudders, “he smells SO nice.”

“Jake, I pray to ENGENE you go nose-blind,” he says with eyes closed.

“It was cute, but it’s gone.” Maknae does well easing the mood for his hyungs, “He’s in Angrybird mode now.”

“Bloomin' Onion!” Shim curses, “I missed it?!”

“That’s what greed gets you, PupPa.” The wisdom on this dongsaeng.

“Not on my watch. I got you, Jakethy.” Hee’s fingies fly across the screen to dunk on an eagle, spoil a puppy, and pop a Kernel. “The next buzz in your pocket’s gonna be me.” 

“Thank you, deerest.” Jake shoots wink.

“Mate, you need boundaries.” 1J with the facts.

“Anytime, papi.” Heeseung winks with a socially distant smooch.

“I had awful taste in men.” There’s that self-depreJaytion.

Jake Mate won’t leave a bro’s affection hanging, he’s been there too many times. He reciprocates that air kiss. Puckering up, he makes a sound through his teeth like a newborn kitten’s mewl… right next to Jay’s earlobe.

“WOW.” Jay dies inside. “I feel violated.” 

LeeSeung misdirects with a theatric mime. Hee catches the air kiss like a fly with a crisp clap and gasps, looking at his palm like he holds a delicate artifact, then he poses like a flight attendant. With a stiff palm up bent at an angle from his wrist and an arm straight down, he leans forward, pushing his hips and that straight arm back with a hop back and rubs the smooshed kiss on his cheek with a cherubic open-mouthed smile… and discreetly hits a button.

Jake simps, “Aaaww?” He tilts, nuzzling into Jay.

Niki rolls his pupils to the back of his skull.

Jay groans, headbutting Jake with his cranium, and shoots a murderous look at mathyung, “Shouldn’t you be a better role model?”

Hee pockets his phone and shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint, homie,” Hee adds to the hug, draping over Niki and Jake’s shoulders, “but age is just numbers.” He leans his head on Jongseong’s, “and I’m just a small child in a hot man’s body too.”

“Too.” Jongseong laughs and leans back on Hee. “You’re so right. Fuck numbers. They just add up and divide.” 

“That multiplies over time,” that math works. “We’ll never measure up if we just see life through those angles.” Hee shoots a glance at each of the layers of this boy onion hug, their wise maknae who he learns from, a puppy boy he’s charmed by, and his Home Sweet Six-Year Homie. “Don’t do what I did. Jongseong-ah, live 19. Just be.”

To Jay, those words redeem Heeseungie and his taste in general. In these quiet seconds in the center of a group hug, two words hit a trigger in his Rube Goldberg mind. 

Just be. Just bee. Aww. Wonie bee. Birddamnit!? Notice me. Buzz me? Please?

Finally, Jay accepts he’s in withdrawal. Then he gets shocked by a pocket ‘BZZZT.’

A ‘J’ gets an alert—but it’s not this ‘J.’ It’s Jake. He gets that promised text, a selca of the fabled corn face sans corn. For reasons, today he’s got his silent notifications all the way up. It buzzes in his pocket—his front pocket where he hastily stashed his phone, flush over a miracle, on a perky not-face cheek of Park Jongseong’s. 

Sidenote: that boy’s back-end development deserves applause. It’s got very little bounce rate. These are jokes. That’s neither here nor there, we just have to stan greatness. Royal 'we.' …and back to the story. 

Previously on happy birthJay hugs:

With the vibrate on max, Jake gets a buzz in his front pocket and Jay gets a buzz on the top sirloin.They scream.

        JK: “WOAH, MATE.”

        JY: “YAA?!! WHY!?”

Park JayBird has had it up to HERE with group intimacy. His bottle’s been labeled and shook. That carbonated tantrum is about to explode. He just got a talk from a respected manchild that it’s okay to just be the brat he is inside. Jay has permission, he’s accepted his feelings, he knows what he wants and he’s about to pop a cap to get what he wants for his birthJay.

The birthJay boy goes feral and starts pecking on a dog.

“YA?! YAAAAAARGH?!! ARGH!” Jay whips his head, cranes his neck far back, and rips the snapback off of Jake’s head with his teeth. “GRRGH?!” With the sharp hold on the strap in his beak, he flings it across the elevator with a venomous spit. “All I want for my birthJay is some PERSONAL SPACE!! SHIM?!?!”

Horrified, Jake howls, “MY SNAPBACK?!” He’d go save his cap, but he’s pinned, hands crushed between torsos. Niki won’t let up showing off arm strength. This group hug’s gone on for so long, that pressure’s been normalized. “Mate, you disrespected my innocent CAP?” 

“Fuck your cap!” Jay caws, “What about MY innocence?!” 

“PFFFFF!” Heeseung recoils from the hug and falls to his knees with high-pitched laughter. “Hee Hee Hee HeEee HeeEEe”

“HAA!” Niki loosens arms, breaking into fun-sized snickers, “Hahah hahaHA HAaaa Haaahhaha haa! Innocence?!”

“Shut up.” Jay is so red in the face, “All of you… Pphffft?!” he embarrassed himself to laugh at his own joke.

Once again, that ‘C’ natural ding cuts through the chaos and instills order.

————[ C♮ no.3 ]————

Two boys cackling at their own inside joke turn their heads. Masks drop to chins and hands comb through streaked black and golden hair. 

Park Sunghoon walks in snickering into the wrists of his very long sleeves. He hits a button and staggers over to Heeseungie, helping him off his knees while softly chuckling to himself.

Heeseung takes that pale hand by the wrist, laughing with a cartoonish frown. Sunghoon lifts him up by the arm and slings it around his neck like a medic while Hee hangs limp, knees bent. They bask in the afterglow of soft, warm snickers.

The doors slide shut.

“Oh, you’re silly, hyung!” Kim Sunoo wipes a tear on his sleeve and slumps into Niki, holding his thighs giggling. He waves to his fanciest hyung, “Hey birthJay boy, what’s up?”

“Ddeonu!” Jay rushes in with a dramatic hug, “Thank god! It’s been horrible. Jakey—?!” he points an ace attorney finger at the boy sitting on the floor of the lift, swaddling his snapback like a baby, “Jake, he—”

“Shh. Shh. Hush, fancy birdie.” Sunoo gives huggy back rubs, “Garbage boundaries? I know. I’m HR.”

“Oh thank you, Lord. You get it!” Jay tightens the hug, “Sunoo-yaaa?! He buzzed my bun.”

Sunoo’s mouth drops, aghast, “Jake hyung?! Yellow card!”

Jake does himself no favors, “It’s not what it sounds like! I just buzzed my pelvic area!”

HR Administrator Kim is aghast. “RED CARD, SHIM! Inappropriate! I’m telling the Lord!” he screeches, eyes as wide as his mouth.

Heeseung scoops Jake from under a bus, “Sunshine, I just sent him a text. This is about hugs and pockets.”

“Oh my god. What are they teaching you in those language classes?!”

“Sunoo, don’t put this on them,” Niki is quick to defend his seonsaengnims, “Look at me, I’m wholesome.”

“Good point,” Sunoo calms down, “Hyung, your feelings are valid, but I choose to be present. Let’s you and I get back to this hug.”

“Okay?” Jay’s just glad to get some sympathy.

Suddenly, Sunoo sniffs. He raises a brow and smirks with an open mouth, “Ohhh! Heyyy,” he waggles brows, “BirthJay boy smells Fucking Fabulous! Eeee!” he is delighted AND scandalized, “I can’t believe you’re wearing Tom Ford at work, you lush! You got Mac Weldons on too or what?”

“WELL.” Jay poorly fights off a blush, “It IS my birthJay. So.” he smiles in tiny, cringing like a winner, “I’ve come too far to give up who I am.”

“Eeek!” Sunoo bugs out with lyrics, “Did you raise the bar?”

“I mean,” Jay shrugs like a daft punk, “The cup’s to the stars.”

“Aaaa! Pharrell?” Sunoo screams a collaborator.

“For real, Pharrell.” Jay waggles brows.

“OH MY LORD.” Sunoo loses his mind, screaming at Park’s face. “Get LUCKY?!”

Sunghoon and Heeseung exchange mildly concerned looks. Niki’s eyes twinkle. Jake starts humming, shoulders dance to a disco beat.

Then Sunoo skips the track and asks for something fancy, “Hyung, can I ask for a Boy Onion hug?”

“A what?” Jay’s not familiar.

“A Boy Onion hug,” he repeats like thats a thing.

“I’ve never heard of a boy-onion hug.” He shouldn’t be familiar.

“It’s new-ish.” No shit, “I made it up.”

Curious, this hyung asks, “Please, expound. Tell me of this boy-onion hug.”

“It’s a group hug with a center point” Sunoo squeezes tighter, “hugging in formation like petals on a flower.” he says like that makes sense, “I’m not calling it a Man Flower hug. We’re not that kinda gay, but we cry a lot. Hence, Boy Onion.”

Sometimes the best enforcers of HR guidelines are the worst offenders.

“No.” Jay objects.

Sunoo whines, “But hyung!?”

“NO.” Jay opposes.

“—but Boy Onion?”

“No means no!” Jay vehemently objects and opposes, “I can’t have all of you disrespecting my boundaries at once?!”

Sunoo compromises, “How about we just add Sunghoon hyung?”

“Fine. Get in here, Park.” Jay relents.

Sunghoon slips out of a side-hug with Hee and says calmly, “Let me add with a JayWon hug.”

Jake gasps, “Hoon-ah? No! Don’t call it that!” He’s worried he’s worn out that particular hug’s welcome mat, “Soulmate, he’ll kill you!”

This Park steps up and steps in as Jay. Jay becomes this proxy JayWon hug’s Jungwon. Hoon does it the right way, arms over shoulders. Sunghoon has the advantage of height with lifts on his shoes. Jay leans back and feels relief, in so many ways feeling what he can never give himself.

Right before tucking his head on the crook of another Park’s neck, Sunghoon says, “Happy birthJay, one-and-only,” and gives him a light-as-air kiss on the cheek. 

Sunoo watches in Jay’s arms with a smile. Heeseung gets nostalgic. Jake and Niki look on in horror, waiting for a ‘YA.’

Jay drops the ‘Y’ and says, “Aah. Thank you, ParkHoon-ah. Thanks for sharing another birthday with me.” he says with a smile, “I feel a little stronger.”

“It’s birthJay, Park. Get it right,” Sunghoon chides, squeezing the tops of Jay’s shoulders.

Jake’s floored. “Wow. How the fuck did he do that?”

Heeseung lends a hand and helps Jake off the floor. “Oh, Jakey. You should know by now, only a Park can sub for another Park.” He pulls Shim up and turns to Sunoo and his hyung fathers, “Mind if I cut in? Lemme park on my Park.”

“Be my guest,” Jay cocks his head, “but no kissing each other. You guys are disgusting.”

Hee looks Jay dead in the eye with zero facial expression and agrees to those terms. “Okay.”

Draping an arm around Sunoo to his left and Sunghoon on his right, he makes direct eye contact with Hoonie and kisses Jay right where Sunghoon kissed him on the cheek. An indirect kiss with unmistakable eye contact.

Sunghoon and Sunoo’s mouths drop, living for this in different ways.

Jay closes his eyes tight, “Oh god, I’m getting flashbacks. It’s Big Hit Trio all over again,” he closes his eyes tighter and pouts hard, “Aaaww. I miss him.”

Niki snaps a photo then tucks his phone away. “I want back in,” he demands. “You can’t hug the Sun without the Ki. Fight me.”

Papa bird’s eyes open, impressed by that claim. He smiles beak, “That’s fair, I get that life. Get in here, Niki-boy.”

Niki beams and wraps his arms around Sunghoon to his left, Sunoo on his right, holding the elbows of Heeseung. Mathyung and maknae exchange toothy grins.

Jake scowls, “Boo.” He feels, because he is, left out.

Pretty bird snaps, triggered. “DON'T SAY THAT.”

“Let me sulk,” Jake whines, crushing the bill of his snapback with grip strength, “This is unfair!”

Jake has a point. This IS unfair and employee discrimination.

“Uuuugh. Jakey, you’re welcome back, but stay on the outer layer of the Boy Onion.”

Shim smiles so large he’s just an open mouth with eyes, “Fuck yeah, that wide!” And he goes for the widest hug, picking a spot between Sunghoon and Heeseung.

It’s moments like these that show how Kim Sunoo got this job. Yang Leader doesn’t have the time to micromanage, he has to delegate. By hook or by crook Sunoo gets the team to go along with what he wants and love his brainchildren. He does it with kindness, sweetness, and class—but he’s also a knife AND a gun. He’s the spiritual son of two lethal Parks. It happened on Spa Day, and it’s happening now in this Boy Onion Hug. Why? That’s coz no one manages Human Resources better than Kim Fucking Sunoo, that’s why.

“Alright!” Sunoo beams like sunshine, “Now we’ve got a real Boy Onion!”

“Boy Onion!” Heeseung loves that term.

“Boy Yeonyeonggg,” Niki loves the sound of it.

Jay surrenders, “This is great,” he’s won over, “So wholesome! My style.” This hugsmith lives for the concept and the execution, “Thank you, Sunoo-ya. What a tasty treat, this Boy Onion hug.”

“That’s what I do,” Sunny fancy cheeses, “I come up with great names and I make it happen.”

“Sunghoon-ah,” Hot Park leans his head back on that Park’s shoulder, “Thank you. This feels right.” 

“Quit being so emotional, you bird.” Ice Park scoffs. “It’s just Boy Onion and you’ll never be my son.”

“Aaah, that’s the stuff.” Jay lives for that edge.

“My god,” Jake sees the light, “I get it now.” It shines in his eyes, “I was too soft to be the backbone of this hug,” an azure life dwelling in breathlessness.

“You see it now, Jakethy?” Hee turns to the chin resting on his shoulder, “Do you get it? Look at this Boy Onion structure. Think on it. Learn something about group dynamics.”

“Sage wisdom,” Sunghoon turns to his left with a heavy gaze, “… Heeseungie.”

“Aww. If Jungwon were here, he’d be the center of this boy onion,” this poor poor Bird Hyung, “Aww?!” He imagines it, it’s beautiful. “He’d be in my arms.” In his mind he sees a pretty scowl shooting death glares at everyone but his Hyung Fathers… because he’d give them a conflicted look, silently running a cost-benefit analysis of hyung patricide.

Jay gets misty with a quivering pouty mouth. “Ah, ship?! Flunk me. Cheeses crimes, birddamnit?”

Niki panics, “Don’t cry, hyung?!”

“Um…” Sunghoon breaks the ice and keeps the Boy Onion from releasing cryface inducing sulfoxides. “Jay-ah… Ddeonu and I had an idea. Will you listen?”

“You’re in my ear,” literally, right by a tiny hoop earring. “Use it.”

“Oh my god, yes!” Sunoo’s apprehensive, but this involves singing which means he’s all in, “We’d like to serenade you. Something short, upbeat, and ours. Just one verse.”

“Whaaat?” Jay de-mists his eyes, “Sunoo, if you’re half of that idea, I’m already sold. Boy Onion is White Stilton Gold.”

Sunghoon’s eyes go very small. “Alright, well… I’m not gonna see that as a diss,” they get smaller. “Yet,” then he turns to his favorite hyung. “Darl—Heeseungie, start us off,” and he whispers in Hee’s ear. 

Heeseung leans in so close it tickles. His eyes widen at the suggestion. He loves it. “Bab—Hoonie?! You’re a genius,” and evil. “Boys, follow my lead.”

“Oh no.” Jay caught that fluid change in expression. He’s terrified and so excited. “I can’t wait!?”

Heeseung clears his throat and starts with a verse he doesn’t sing on stage. The rest of Boy Onion jumps in by the second syllable, dancing as much as they can with full arms.

      우린 마치 like a moonlight

          ( We are like a moonlight )

Immediately Jay melts, “Aww!? That’s my bias’s verse?!” He is so ENGENE for this moment.

      함께라면 have a good time

          ( Together we’ll have a good time )

“Aww!” he simps so hard at this shipping and handling, “You guys? Aww.” He thinks this is the sweetest thing ever, “Aww!”

      내 맘이 널 like

          ( My heart likes you )

Jay’s carried by this dancing onion, literally, “Wait.” Then he remembers where this goes, “Oh no. NO. NO?!” and terror strikes, “NO SLOW BODY ROLLS?! 

      Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

“YA! YAAAAA?!!?” RIP Park Jongseong's sanity.

Second only to Jay, there’s no one more mortified by this turn of events than the notoriously shy Sunghoon. He’s gone dead behind the eyes but his mouth is in a disturbingly wide smile. This was his idea. He threw himself and everyone else under the bus just to hear Jay scream away his sanity. This is three years’ worth of petty revenge. This is deep bromantic love. This is visually and conceptually scandalous. He’s never been this satisfied, proud of, and disgusted with himself. Park Sunghoon cringes like a winner.

Heeseung loses a part of his soul committing to this bit. He is also incredibly uncomfortable with the logistics of this, but something about ALL of them in this onion suffering feels like team building. As well, there’s nothing more sonorous than Park Jongseong’s terrified screams. It’s multi-tonal and he can hear so many notes with each ‘YA.’

Naturally, Jake gives each ‘yeah’ his all as if he were on stage, complete with a lip bite.

SunKi are actively cringing, moving the least, frozen in fear, hips swung so far away from the petals of this Bloomin’ Onion. However, they are laughing the most. The hardest, the airiest with every cell of their being shaking. 

Jay goes limp and starts to laugh uncontrollably, visualizing what would happen if Jungwon was in his arms. He imagines a gif from The Shining—elevators bursting with blood.

      Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

“BRRRAH!” Niki will never not sing his part, rolling all of his ‘R’s. Then he loses his mind thinking of a newly learned English homophone. It’s ‘arse.’

In the Lord’s merciful timing, the elevator sings its tinny C natural.

————[ C♮ no.4 ]————

They reach their floor. The boy hug onion falls apart, multifaceted, and everyone scrambles to the hall, jumping out like a scene they’ve shot for an MV—except they’re laughing, crying, trembling, and actively avoiding eye contact. 

Jay is the last one out of the lift. He picks up his jacket and his bag, wiping tears on denim, out of breath. He slumps back on a wall in the hall and tries his best to slip his noodley arms into his sleeves, so weak and so soft.

The hallway fills with the melodious discord of six voices in varied states of disarray. Jay looks at each one fondly. 

Sunghoon’s on the floor, flat on his back with his hands on his face, screaming into his palms like this wasn’t his garbage imagination’s fault. 

Sunoo has his forehead to the wall, sat like a manga heroine, looking at his hands like he’s done unspeakable horror. 

Niki’s in a fetal position, eye sockets on his knees, squeaking with laughter. 

Heeseung embraces an indoor plant, stroking the leaves like a lover’s hair. 

Jake stands by to him, leaning on nothing, unfazed with his arms folded, looking smug. He looks Jay dead in the eye and smiles like he just won. Politely, he takes the black denim jacket he’s been struggling to put on and holds it out by the shoulders like a noble manservant helping an aristocrat get dressed. 

Jay nods in response and takes that help with grace, slipping his arms in one sleeve at a time. Then he slips on his satchel by Hugo Boss.

He looks around at these familiar faces and feels loved… but that’ll never be enough. He has to ask, “Anyone heard from Jungwon today?” 

Sunoo shoots Niki a look. Niki looks at Jake. Jake eyes Heeseung who grabs Sunghoon from the floor and shoots a blank stare. They all look back at Jay.

“Uh… I saw him leave when I got up.” Sunghoon doesn’t answer the question.

“Yeah, he left before we all did.” Neither does Heeseung.

Jake says, “I haven’t heard him talk.” Technically, that’s fact.

“I just…” Jay groans, “haven’t gotten even a text from him yet. Not gonna lie, I’m worried.” He grips the strap slung over his shoulder, “Uuugh… like maybe I fucked up?”

“Aww, hyung.” Niki just reacts, “Aww.”

“Naw, he’s just off doing leadership things, hyung. He’s busy.” Sunoo speaks facts, “I saw his schedule and was like yipes. So many floors. It’s insane.” 

“Oh, that sucks,” that you knew that before I did.

“Cheer up, Jongseong,” Hee gives a quick, assuring touch on Jay’s back and says two unrelated facts, “We’ve got the Park Jay Show later. You’ll see him soon.”

“Oh! No, it's not a big deal. Just curious. I— whatever.” He adjusts the strap of his Hugo Boss sling bag. “Well, thanks for the hugs everyone. I gotta go piano. Peace.” 

Jay walks off and turns down the corner of the hall.

————⦑ ⭔ ⦒————

“Cheeses.” Sunoo purses his lips. “I feel mean.”

“After all those hugs, he still looks like he needed a hug.” Niki trusts but he worries.

“That’s not on us.” Jake scratches behind his ear, “We’ll never be the hug he needs.”

Sunghoon watches and listens.

“He’s a big boy. We gotta let him go.” Heeseung nods, then claps his hands. “Enough chitchat, Boy Onion. EN’s get back to work.”

They peel out. Sunoo, Jake, and Niki go one way. Sunghoon and Heeseung head off to soundproof practice rooms in the same wing. Once the others are out of sight, Prince Penguin skates over ice.

Sunghoon lists a slight right, walking into an elbow. “You should listen to yourself sometimes,” he says under his breath. 

Heeseung sighs keeping his eyes on his feet, “Was I that obvious?” 

“You were to me,” Hoon shrugs with another nudge, “but then again, I’m fluent in Heeseungie.” 

A slight smile grows with that nudge. “I mean, not even a text? I get, ‘No Spoilers Please,’ but it’s his birthJay,” Hee folds his arms, lists a slight left and bumps into a shoulder. “Silence is savage.”

“I see that,” Hoon smiles in tiny, “but he gets so shy too…” he touches the back of his neck. “It's just hair but, it’s hard to cope with a crush-era look.” 

Hee smirks, bumping left again. “Let me guess, you get that life?”

Hoon nods with a smirk back, bumping right, “Guilty.” 

”Yeah, I feel that but Jong’s sulking. I’d be too. We’re so soft.”

“So? Soft or nah, he gets off on being teased. Hard.”

“Pff. So hard.” 

“It’s worth it. Trust. That’s who they are and this part of him is why he’s my son. You know the game he’s running.”

“Pfft! Ahh. Respect. Thank you, b—Hoonie. I feel better letting go.” 

“Anytime, Heeseungie.”

“Later. Sunghoonie.” 

“Aight. See you later…” Sunghoon grabs the latch to his practice room, then stops. 

Heeseung gets a short tug on his sleeve. He turns around with big Bambi eyes. Sunghoon’s little smile turns into a tiny smirk and he gives the older boy a slow once-over. In lieu of saying the words, Sunghoon mouth the send-off he wanted to give his not-boyfriend yet. He runs his hand through his hair and licks his lips. The better to read this the word when it comes out of his full, shapely lips. Slowly, clearly, soundlessly he says ‘Darling’ in a way that isn’t open to interpretation. 

The older boy blooms with color that tinges just the tips of his ears. Hee won’t respond the way he’s expected to, with a wink, a lick, and two words on his mouth. This time, he wants to win. Ever so slightly, his lids turn to lead. His lips go slack the lowest effort one could give a smirk. Casually, naturally, he adjusts the collar of his shirt, the same way he workshopped earlier, keeping that look in his eye. Bored, heavy-lidded with relaxed eyebrows. Unlike he tried with the other Park, he doesn’t drag his fingers down. He just smirks and does a hop with his brow, turns the latch, and enters his practice space.

Park Sunghoon stands frozen, mouth ajar with a heat on his cheeks, aghast that he didn’t get a pet name returned, burning with frustration with that bored stare and that distant tease of Lee Clavicle. He’s gaslit and he loves it. He enters his separate soundproof room with a wicked smirk. 

Chapter Text

On the way to point B, Jay hits a fork. Three paths lay ahead: left, right and center. Either turn leads to the outer halls. Just a few steps ahead is his destination. 

From where he stands he sees where he should be, a door he’s got a key card for. He takes a measured pause, well-aware of the space between his physical proximity and his mental distance, it’s a lot. With insight he makes the call that he’s not in the best state to play piano.

He thinks of what he wants, which is to turn on his heel, run back down the hall and tackle the team’s slowest runner. He’d scream ‘YA’ into a face, shaking syllables until he gets enough to spell answers—but he doesn’t. He won’t because he is and he isn’t that person anymore, he’s both. This man at the cusp of his teens and technical adulthood doesn’t choose either role. He chooses to be himself.

As one striving to be a better person, he moves forward. As an emotional man-child, he looks back inward. As he’s learned from a respected team hyung, it’s okay to just be, so that’s his resolve. The journey to actual growth starts with this decision to take a detour.

True to himself, he turns in both directions, literally going right, emotionally taking a sharp left. Once again, he pulls out his phone. Instead of hovering, he sets a timer for ten ’til an eagle’s caw. That’s what he needs to get in the mood for piano, a series of turns and a little time before business as usual.

For ten minutes he’ll add things up, from what looks wrong to the unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue. 

When his iPhone returns to his jacket he thinks of shedding that layer. He feels hot, but again, he won’t take the quickest route for comfort. Fashionably, a trickle of sweat runs down the back of his neck. That makes no sense. The 7th floor stays cooler than most since it’s all practice spaces. What does make sense is that the heat’s all in his head. 

His mind is ablaze with a smorgasbord of reasons. Some were already on the table, but what bothers him the most is what he’s been recently served, that hug named Boy Onion. 

See, there’s something about groups and hugs. A fondness, an invite for openness—with homies, that means so much. With a laugh, those feelings stack, and that ‘something’ special becomes ‘something something’ precious. 

On the surface, that’s what Boy Onion was, but it doesn’t sit right in his gut. He side-eyes how quick everyone took to Sunoo’s prompt without Hee’s ‘hee-hee’s or Niki’s sneaky snickers. That smells sus, just like Jake did to his neck and in general—but what really gave it away was that pause.

Jay reruns the scenario. Five words come out of his mouth, a vulnerable ask he wanted a response to. Five boys stood in silence, one person stood out. The image frozen in his mind is a brief flash of Sunghoon’s vacant expression.

“Hmm…” Jay takes the first left into the next hall, fanning himself with his top, finger down the opening of his collar, thumb on a button. 

Intentionally clueless as Jay can be, as fuck he is sharp. It’s his birthday. He gets he’s surrounded by the mafia. Already he’s expected this game for cake in the dark. Someone hangs back to set the trap while the others cover the premise. The goal is to catch him when he least suspects. Once he’s got the great reveal will be paired with baked goods and a song. Most likely both versions of his name will be sung, most definitely the lyrics will involve life math and congratulations. At some point, said cake will end up on his face. He’d be expected to retaliate with frosting. Everybody will laugh, they’ll be cameras, and the expectation this made him feel special.

To all this, Jay’s right and he’s wrong. If the past indicates the future then this logic is sound, but this assumes a lot and you know what they say assumption makes of men… but it’s Jay. He’s FINE. So fine.

While he appreciates the thought, he’d rather not. Instead of cake, he’d like a different confection. Just some affection, a slice of Everyday normal. Or some time. Or an emoji. At this point, he’d settle for a sliver or a crumb. He just wants something. Anything. His blood sugar’s so low he’d tilt for pixels.

In the hall, Jay bursts into a cough to detract from supremely sad thoughts. He pats down his chest, pulling on his bag’s cross-body strap and feels that tug over his heart.

Curiously, he passes by an ancient vending machine flanked by indoor plants. His eyes fall low to the last row. A short can of coffee grabs his attention, he reads the push button code: J-1.

Jay balks, “Really?”

Back in his mind, he still can’t help but read deep into that catalytic pause. Sure, he could study inconsistencies of other characters, but it tracks that minus one, this Park zeros in on that Park’s behavior. 

What these best actual friends have is a way of being that goes beyond a soulmate connection, more than blood, though despite the same name they share none. These Parks are birds of a feather who linguistically migrate in opposite directions.

While Jay is loud and curates his words to a fault (this Park caws with purpose,) with Sunghoon it’s never about what he says but what he doesn’t (that Park speaks in ellipses.) Those two styles of communication share a transition—a pause. That mode is where the Park’s Venn diagrams overlap. So much of this bond outside performing is built on dad jokes and dunks, but the foundation of it is this language stacked with meaningful silence. When they speak through the space between words, they find themselves moving in sync, baring feelings, building trust, finishing thoughts, sharing unspoken rules and hidden plots.

As always, without things present that Park is this Park’s litmus test for what’s going on. 

That’s what that look was, a tip-off within the Park alliance. Sunghoon’s signature stall was a sudden splash of honesty like liquid nitrogen over the shape of Boy Onion. From there, each word from the others was a surface tap. By the last technical truth uttered, in Jay’s eyes, Boy Onion broke into shards.

Jay knows the why to that pause. It was an act of compassion. In bird logic, it had to be done. Sunghoon might not agree with how Jay does, but he respects him enough to show him the truth even if he can’t be privy to the plot.

It’s not even that his counterpart said much with that blank, but he set the tone.

When Jay asked, ‘Anyone heard from Jungwon today?’ what he saw Sunghoon say with his eyes was, ‘Ehe. Good luck.’

At the end of this stretch of the hall, Jay turns the second corner, steps dragging on the carpet with a sound. His entire vibe is a shounen anime sulk after a top ten betrayal.

In a way, that’s right. In a way, that’s wrong, nonetheless, these feelings are valid. To be fair, that ride was jarring, group grind aside. That was an effective lift-up followed by a harsh letdown with emotional G’s like a drop tower.

Lord knows, he needed a friend when he stepped into the elevator. When he found five, he was up. Each hug filled the void left by one, to top it off Boy Onion worked and that’s what hurts the most. That gang brace gave him the strength to ease up. When Sunghoon gave his silent warning Jay wanted that read to be wrong, for that ‘something something’ to be real, an actual invitation to have others to lean on. Even if there was more to this plot, he tried with raw honesty to coax them out, to be real so he could be real, but the plot was so thick he sunk in its viscosity.

That’s where it hits like betrayal.

Now that ‘something something’s rubs him wrong. You can’t unsee and you can’t unknow and you can’t unfeel deception. That is to say that broken trust is volatile. It sparks negative thoughts and burns a fuse toward Resentment, Anger, and Suspicion.

In the middle of the hall, his steps grow heavy like the lid over his emotions. With nothing behind his eyes and a guarded expression, he says to the floor, “This sucks.”

Knowing the inevitable or the intention behind a plot doesn’t stop the suck. What sucks sucks. What sucks pulls, what pulls drags, and what drags weighs down. If Jay keeps following this track of thought, that suck will start to spiral. Soon he’ll have a vacuum picking up small particles on every surface he crosses and that’s science.

Behind that platinum poker face lot of bulky feelings to simmer. How this boils down depends on how he regulates his temperature. He could mince facts or stew in feels on the back burner. He could sink into sadness or clear the counter with anger. He’s curdled, crunchy, and raw. He craves sweetness to balance his fresh cracked salt. Whatever this emotional chef does, his mind is his kitchen and culinary analogies are endless. Right now, it’s a snackless nightmare and dishes are piling up.

Something big is cooking somewhere close. Jay can’t see what’s going on, but he can smell it and he’s gaslit by the gestalt.

So what should he do to get over this slump? How does he get back his zest for fun? In two turns, he’ll be back at the fork. He has to figure it out. If he stays in this state the most he can play is Chopsticks and every note will be BLAMs in the key of ‘YA.’

Like his walk, the answers are far from straightforward. 

By the third left, Jay’s lost in violent thought. No more internal dialogue, just a scene in his luxurious imagination. The genre, a confrontational fantasy. The protagonist, himself playing the role of a former consigliere to a don. The rest of the cast are the tenants living rent-free in his mind, minus one. Once lighting’s set, the action starts within a cinematic letterbox.

FADE IN.

INT. YONGSAN TRADE CENTER — DAY (LOW LIGHT) 

 

JAY in a sleek suit walks toward hostages on their knees with their hands up. 

 

JAYCENZO
(pointing corn cob like a gun)

“That’s enough. You can hide the fire 
but not the smoke, BOY ONION.”

 

LENSE FLARE

 

The tip of the cob sweeps slow from (L-R) SUNGHOON, HEESEUNG, JAKE, SUNOO, and NIKI, then zips back to the center. 

 

JAYCENZO (CONT’D)
(grabs JAKE by the fringe)

“You!”

 

SUNOO gasps. NIKI hisses with bitten snickers.

 

JAKE
(yelps)

“ANDWAE!?!”

 

JAY shoves the cob in a mouth lengthwise. JAKE gags. Attractively. 

 

HEESEUNG
(toothy smirk)

“Not gonna lie, that was kinda hot.”

 

SUNGHOON
(deep blink)

“I mean. Not wrong… Wait, what?”

 

CUT TO 

EXT. REAL LIFE

Briefly, Jay loses his direction and walks into braided trunks, palm leaves smack his face. Mercifully, this script is scrapped by nature before the plot is lost. 

⭒

Speaking of indoor plants, elsewhere in the hall at the five-minute mark, the door across Jay’s practice room opens with the slow turn of a knob. Cautiously, two suspicious characters peek through the crack, heads stacked by height. 

The one with a mouth goes low and crouches, surveying the left side. Knee to the carpet and a hand cupping an ear like that helps, he signals with a tap of a bun. The other with cheeks in a soft puff and curls fingers on the doorframe checks the right hall, then he knees the back of a head as a form of communication. Once port and starboard are clear, they exchange nods.

The older low goes lower, elbows to the ground, and grabs a bulky package. The younger up top sends a text with an open-mouthed smirk, breadtaking dimples out, then steps over a person like that’s just what he does. 

The door closes. They get a text, only one pocket buzzes. An order’s come in. Both actors take a silent left, taking brisk steps, sneaking like professionals.

⬠

Back to this game at this stage with this Player ’02. 

Chef Park still needs to simmer down. It does him no good to relish in these thoughts, but like Gordon Ramsay, he’s EATEN here. This cuisine is far from foreign. He’s dished this before EN masse with a collaborator. From that catering experience he gets that deception, however bitter served raw, is an essential ingredient for the tastiest shenanigans. 

For a beat, he thinks back to the actual kitchen. He bumps into a memory. His grip on the strap moves to the top of his arm with a sentimental touch. The smoke in his mind stings his eyes. He resists blinking to keep his moisture. 

“Ugh?” eyes to ceiling tile he masks a sniff with a skyward groan.

Just like that, his platinum poker face is gone. Jay’s vibe goes from temperamental chef to baby bird. Openly, he looks and feels fragile. 

Steps go from tread to trudge. Jay takes the fourth left listing into the wall holding his head up, neck bent awkward. Above he spots one of many cameras, those ever-present eyes he doesn’t mind until he absolutely does. For now, he gives no fucks.

Making the sound like a dry gargle, he droops, head dropping with a neck crack.

“Ow..?” he says to his shoes in Prada.

Jay loves these games, he enjoys this play, but he’s in no condition right now. Should anything shake in his periphery, its heads, tails, or both if he breaks into tears or a seismic ‘YA.’

The building air-conditioning comes on. A cool breeze blows from a vent directly above. He shivers, so do a few leaves on an adjacent indoor palm.

Sensing peripheral motion, Jay caws, “YA! I’m NOT upset?!” then he realizes he yelled at a plant, “… oh…” and wipes his face from eyes-to-mouth squeaking, “… my god?” 

I’m losing my mind. Get a grip, Jongseong! 

Without thinking, he makes a fist, curling fingers around his thumb with a pop.

Though that sounded like denial, it wasn’t. It was sincere, a will to get over petty thoughts. Perhaps that’s why the universe picks up on his spoken intention and gives him a nudge… or he snaps. What happens next is a matter of perception.

At the end of the hall, Jay turns the fifth corner leaning so hard into letting go, he lets everything go at once. 

That’s right. 

Jay copes like he does when the feels are too much. Functionally, he disassociates to 11 as is his brand of extra. His consciousness flips a row of switches, severing the connection between his body and brain, detaching his heart. The light in his eyes dim and walks past the fork.

Let’s take a peek within Jay when this fugue state starts.

In one corner, three interacting agents scuffle. His super-ego wrestles with his id while his ego watches unbothered. The id, an Eagle, caws. A giant Hand the size of a Super Smash boss, the harsh yet benevolent super-ego, grabs the angry bird by the beak. They bump into the ego. It almost tips, but instead, it rolls. The ego stays grounded because Jay’s ego is an ergonomic Chair, and a chair is a chair just because. 

 

On another corner of his psyche, Park Mind and Park Body sign an agreement. They’ll separate amicably but after they parent. The Inner Child’s had a tantrum. They carry it to bed for a rage nap. Park Body fits a sleep mask and earplugs on the Inner Child. Park Mind tucks him under covers with the plushy Park Heart. The Inner Child quickly falls into a peaceful rage nap with the help of a few pats on the comforter.

 

That’s when Park Mind and Park Body leave. They close the door. The pair springs into action in different directions, inward and outward.

 

In a closet turned home office, Park Mind fires up a few programs. In one monitor he runs code, auto-sorting hard feelings and difficult thoughts. In another, he reformats the brain, rerouting data from the overloaded emotional OS into a logical drive. While that processes, he opens a device, logs into the server and sends an ENcrypted zip to the remote Inner Tactician. 

 

Meanwhile, on autopilot Park Body plans a quick brain vacation and sets a course for somewhere with a view. The purpose, to find a mood-altering distraction and some actual sweetness.

A minute passes. The distance Jay travels isn’t far. When he comes to, he’s back at a familiar stretch of hall in the middle of an act of self-care.

Checked out, Jay stands in front of a vending machine selecting J-1. 

“Ah,” he blinks. 

That checks out.

A can of Lotte Let’s Be Mild dispenses with a dull THUNK.

“Wow,” he blinks deep. 

That also checks out.

After a quick look around, Jay bends at the waist to take a gift from himself, this desire made real via beverage. Sure, it’s a homophone and it’s no java chip latte, but it works. It’s sweet and it picks him up, plus it’s a visual pun. He lives for that corn. This can of coffee is a satisfying compromise. 

On the surface, Jay smiles a specific smile, the kind he makes when he eats corn alone. Deep inside, a celebration erupts within Jay’s person. 

Park Mind and Park Body reunite with the tightest hug. The Hand feeds the Eagle crumbs from its palm. The Chair just IS because a chair is a chair just because. This collaborative party of self-love is so lit that Jay’s Guard makes an appearance. He’s clocked out to join the fun. The Guard is a generous guest. He brings a gift, a glass bottle of grape juice. The Eagle pops the cork with its beak. The Hand carefully pours juice into wine glasses. The Chair serves, rolling around using its surface as a tray. 

 

Everyone awake takes a glass. Juice to the air, they toast to victory against R.A.S. with a chorus of ‘YA’s. 

 

In another room far from the commotion, the Inner Child snuggles with Park Heart. It mutters a name in deep sleep that rhymes with J-1.

With this short can of coffee, Jay fills his own cup. He shows himself he loves himself with this mild treat from Lotte Chilsung. 

Jay’s head tilts with an “Aww,” but like a Park must with another Park, he lobs an affectionate dunk. “You simple simp, Jongseong.” 

Lopsided smirk on, he digs in his bag for a utensil. Expensively, he pulls a black brass straw from a silicone pouch. The can’s tab lifts, the tube meets tin with a dull CLINK.

“Pff? HA! AhaHA?” he touches the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. 

That CLINK hit his laugh button hard, but for what? To whit does Jay owe this spontaneous chuckle?

The straw is twice as tall as the can. That’s it. Nothing deep. Just visual disproportion followed by a disproportionate reaction.

“Aah? Ha hah..? Aesthetically, this is wrong!” Presenting the can with the straw, he turns to an innocent cluster of palms for a reaction. “Doesn’t this look wrong!?” 

“…” says the indoor palms.

Jay’s okay. He’s okay in the way the globe post-COVID is okay. Essentially okay but far from actual okay. Emotionally, he’s concussed, hence this wheeze. He wheezes like he needs this because he DOES.

So much.

If these indoor trees could talk, they wouldn’t. Not in front of Jongseong. They’d wonder about missing context like security would be if they were paying attention. The ahjussi in charge of this floor is distracted with some other CCTV feed—but that doesn’t matter... here. In this story what does is that Jay’s reset and his curdled walk EN-route to solo practice has ripened into a cheesy strut.

Now sipping, grinning, chilled, and chilling with a straw, Jay drinks in the scenery along the outer hall. Sweet caffeine enters his system. Eyes out the floor-to-ceiling glass he starts humming in beverage. In the distant sky, he finds a friendly cloud. Inexplicably, he raises his drink, head tilted and smiling like Jay Gatsby.

The straw returns to his lips. Out of nowhere, a random thought. 

Same. 

He sips, savoring the cool splash of sweet on his tongue… then brows furrow wondering where that thought came from. 

Hey..?

In trying to touch that random thought, he topples a surrounding thought. That thought hits another thought, then another, and another. Soon all around that single thought, a cascade of thoughts fall like dominos. The endless clicking moves pieces around, tripping, triggering greater thought. When the last piece falls something big clicks.

Ready with his findings, Jay’s Inner Tactician submits a report. 

“Ah!” The straw slips from lips with another dull CLINK. 

Like that single cloud in the baby blue above, Jay sees the bigger picture. It’s a blur, pixelated at first. His eyes grow large, blinking stops. He buffers, this is huge. It takes a beat to load. For a second, everything blurs when moisture budges contact lenses from his corneas as tears fill his eyes, not in emotion, but out of necessity as dry eyes eventually water.

When the data comes through, he finally blinks and his vision clears. Two drops roll down his cheeks, past a wide grin, to the lapels of his distressed denim collar.

He sees what this is, what’s up, and knows what time it is, but he checks his Cartier wristwatch.

“The FUCK!?” he caws, teeth out in a brilliant smile. Why he looked his watch is irrelevant, he just enjoys acting with props. 

Stoked by the results of his internal investigation, Jay puts on his detective (bucket) hat on and reexamines evidence.

Rewind to every DING in C♮. Every DING is a crumb. Jay vacuums those crumbs and examines the collection chamber. He picks a few notable samples and slides them under a microscope.

Heeseung’s gentle aggression, Jake’s bromantic hug, Niki’s attachment to his phone, Sunghoon’s frozen stare, Sunoo’s giggle fit, and that name—Boy Onion. There’s a reason why that grinds at him like five sets of hips at once. He’ll find out why, but after later.

Struck with a spontaneous shudder, he recalls this sequence: A high-pitched squeak in his ear, a boy’s nose on his neck while arms wrap around his chest. Straight ahead another boy leans forward at the panel, blowing a ridiculous kiss in his direction, and then a tap. 

He thought he looked away, but he didn’t. The discomfort was so strong he blocked out what he saw, but now he remembers that push of a button.

The BUCK!? Heeseungie hyung!

But that’s just the beginning. That’s not the only time that happened and it wasn’t just the mathyung. With every sudden touch of skinship, every deep cringe, every rowdy cackle, every subunit’s arrival in the elevator was there was a hand on a button where it didn’t belong.

“Oh, deer god.” Jay gets he’s done the emotional equivalent of taking a plane next door. “I’m a dumb.” 

For a split, he cringes with on-brand self-deprecation. However, while that cringe is strong, his attraction to power is stronger. The cringe becomes an ally he reviews recent events with of the ride up. Like the greatest detective, this homme puts together his discoveries to solve the mystery of the elevator. 

Here are the facts: The liftgate opened to a passenger that stayed on. Jay was on the ground floor. The digital panel above indicated it came from the 7th. That’s the same floor he’s on, allegedly Hee’s shared destination. Less than 5 minutes passed between the press of the ‘up’ button to that first ding in C♮. He knows this because his eyes were fixed on his screen. Every time he switched apps or hovered on a button he didn’t press, he reflexively glanced at the upper left corner.

He deduces Heeseungie was the first wave of reconnaissance, parked on the lift waiting for a specific Park. To misdirect Hee came on strong, upgrading a round of gay chicken into a cockfight before reinforcements could enter.

Either that or Hyungie snapped and used the structure of an elevator ride for some time alone. Park Money’s on the first hypothetical. However, if it wasn’t his birthday, he wouldn’t be so sure. He’d feel bad. No sane person takes a vertical roundtrip for no reason.

Emotionally, he tacks these factors up on a wall, unspools a ball of yarn, and threads these clues together. Then he steps back, squinting, looking for the yacht he knows exists within the larger 3D poster.

Now Jay is ON. Jay is GAME. This game’s recognized the game. He IS the game, the hunted bird they’ve been playing around. Not news, but he’s pumped he’s solved part of this puzzle. This peek behind the smokescreen fills him with enough confidence to call that there’s more to this than cake in the dark. 

Between this Player ’02 and that Player ’04, this is an unspoken declaration of WAR.

While his understanding of the rules and objectives is broad and essentially, he still has no idea what’s really going on, he’s the basics down. There are elements of this game’s design he’s taken inventory of.

The board is this building, The Yongsan Trade Center. The pieces in-game are a Rook, a King, and Pawns. He’s the Rook (a black plumed bird by dictionary definition,) they’re the Pawns (the team minus JayWon,) and as for the king, there can bee only ONE. The King, Wangja Ngwon, moves through the board with the pawns out front.

Feeling a sense of accomplishment, Jay starts snickering through his nose.

That snicker sprouts into a closed-mouth giggle, “Hm-hm-hmm…” that blooms into a lazy laugh, “Ha hah… ahaha…” and explodes into a cackle. “HAHA hA haHAA! AHAhaHAHA!!!” 

⬟

A passing staffer in a parallel hall ups the volume on her phone, unbothered. Everyone in this building is going nuts living through consecutive comeback seasons, just like the two she passes with a curious package and backs flush against the wall.

Those eyes meet hers. They pop.

She bows in salutation.

Eyes unpop. They bow back politely, all smiles plus charisma. Cellophane rustles.

She nods, adjusts her Airpods and walks past a crew of maintenance workers hauling a brand-new vending machine.

⭑

Now back again to Jay’s side of the hall.

While Jay’s unclear what sort of game he’s playing right now—where the board and the pieces fit in the grand scheme of things, he’s still not sure—he believes he’s got that elevator pitch down. The angle of the throw, the curve, the spin, the wind-up. When it’s time to swing, this Park’s sure he can knock it out of the park. He knows it’s not that simple. His birthday game is part sport, party strategy, part puzzle, part side-scroller. Whatever the racket really is, the more elements Jay uncovers, the better he feels about playing hard.

Pointing to the cloud in the distance like an Ace Attorney with a glint in his eye and black brass straw he minces genres yet again with a bold taunt, “Checkmate, Yang Jungwon!”

Ten floors up, Player ’04 sneezes into his elbow.

3000% Jay is back in full force. He’s bought into the hype, up for whatever’s about to go down, ready to spar. Sure, he’s still sour, but knowing what level he's on in this game gives him immense comfort. It’s no walkthrough guide, but at least he knows what to expect when he dukes it out with the final boss.

If his read is right, it shouldn’t be long before he confronts the Moriarity to his Sherlock. Justice is on the horizon.

Riding high on the spoils of his investigation, Jay takes on a light-hearted thought exercise, divvying his position for fun.

I’d tag for Heeseungie for moral support. Excellent call having him front and center. Obviously, Ddeonu’d be the delegator since he’s already HR… Niki-ah’d be perfect as a creative director for mind games. Maybe dongsaeng line forms an executive board to check schematics? Course, Sunghoon ah fits right as the token Park. That’s a must. The boss needs a Park. Long as his garbage imagination stays away, he’s an asset. And then there’s Jake…

That’s when Jay’s imagination goes south.

In the penthouse suite of his mind, he sees Jungwon sitting on Jake’s lap on a couch having an animated talk about sentient canker sores. 2Js minus Jay share a laugh, then the brain-Jake makes eye contact with a Nest cam before wrapping arms around a waist like a seatbelt and sniffs.

One of these days, Jay ought to collect rent. Jungwon’s fine. He lives there but lately, there’s been too much Jake for what.

Slurping the last dregs of coffee, Jay chews on his rigid straw. He hurts his teeth forgetting its material. Grimacing, he takes the final corner once again in a rush. Almost, he walks into indoor foliage but stops before he loses balance. 

In that dizzy step, yet another fleeting memory comes. Just a face in close closed space. Smiling eyes, deep dimples, and a smirk… then a powder blue blur. 

Without thinking Jay’s hand flies to his face, knuckles to his lips, and jumps back from a phantom. Heart rate up, endorphins flood his blood. He blinks, stunned with a slow crooked grin. Because he doesn’t care if security or trees judge, he openly licks his lips and breathes a long sigh out.

That series of movements restore what’s been lost throughout this walk. Sure, the memory was the trigger, but it’s all in what Jay does. From strengthening a sensory memory with an analog to that a jolt of energy from a reflexive hop to a languid pause, then that lick of lips—a psychological trick to summon confidence—to that long, slow breath out. All those micro-reactions both meant and subconscious build up a state of being that has Jay emanating effortless cool. This recipe for instant swagger is one part science, one part reflex, and all parts JayWon’s day out.

Tongue on his teeth, Jay adjusts loose collar. Heat rises from his chest to his neck. In this building’s benevolence, a gust blows again from above and again, it stirs palm tree branches.

Jay looks at those indoor plants with a face reflecting his attitude adjustment. The expression: cool and cocky with a fatal smirk for what but benevolent as if to say, ‘Like what you see? You’re welcome.’ 

This time what he sees isn’t projected hostility, apathy or judgment. Instead, he reads in Japanese:

風と木の詩が きこえるか
青春のざわめきが

( The song of the wind trees, can you hear it ?
Can you hear the rustle of our youth? )

“PFFFT???” Jay sputters, raising a finger to his lips, “Shh?!” he winks and clinks tin with a straw as he walks off.

This was all silly, kind of sad, and extra. too much internal drama for a ten-minute walk, but that’s how this creative extrovert gets where he should be, from a lonely sulk in the hall to point B

Seven seconds before his timer goes off, he’s at point B completely present after that transparently emotional walk.

The eagle caws. With a peek in his jacket pocket, Jay taps his screen and pulls a key card to this restricted room. He’s psyched to get into it with his elite practice partner.

As mentioned, it’s not a ‘who’ but a ‘what’ Jay’s got time booked. This piano has clout, a digital lock, a waitlist, and liability waivers.

For the memes, he called this a baby grand, but it’s no baby. It’s just grand, worth way more than a grand. Every Yamaha he’s played is a Fischer-Price toy by comparison. To put it in numbers, this grand piano is one of 88 limited editions retailing for 777 million won. 

No joke, these are facts about this Lang Lang Black Diamond by Steinway & Sons.

For that reason, he has no illusions of privacy. It’s known this room is always watched. At least he knows that for the next hour, he’s got peace on his horizon.

With a deep breath in and a tin clink, he waves the card over the access terminal. The door unlocks with a digital BEEP. 

As he grips the latch, he gets a tap on a shoulder. He jumps, heart skipping a beat. Behind him he hears a rustle. Anticipation kicks in, so does relief.

Biting his lip, he turns on his heel with a playful clink of a straw “Wo—WOAH…” and is stunned.

Centimeters away from Jay’s face is the most beautiful thing he’s seen today, a breathtaking display

…of corn.