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agentwilight어떤 미래
pairing: lee jihoon/zhou jieqiong
words: 4,817
summary: at some point in his life, jihoon thought jieqiong would always be there. turns out life has different plans for the both of them. [ the ljh/zjq breakup fic that no one asked for. ]
crossposted on:![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
lamperouge
THE THING ABOUT JIEQIONG IS THAT SHE ALWAYS FEELS LIKE A BREATH OF FRESH AIR. While Jihoon wouldn’t go as far as saying that she is akin to being some sort of a savior, she has a specific air to her that makes him forget just how taxing his lifestyle is. He writes songs, arranges them, masters them, and then performs them months later to a huge audience is the very manifestation of his passion and dreams — yet this passion of his can still be draining in so many ways that he needs a breather every now and then.
He would never admit this to anyone else, but he always feels more rested and renewed whenever he spends time with Jieqiong than when they’re taking their downtimes as a group. There’s nothing secret about his relationship with China’s Dance Machine. Everyone knows he’s dating her (and by everyone he means everyone in I.O.I, Seventeen, and Pristin), — hell, they probably knew even before they were dating themselves.
Jeonghan being Jeonghan, cheekily told Jihoon that he should put a label on whatever it is he has going on with Jieqiong before she debuts in I.O.I (there was no way Jeonghan could have called her debut, the results weren’t even out yet ), and Jihoon only tilted his head in response. Were they really that obvious?
Nevertheless, Jeonghan was only in it after a bet with Minghao. Apparently he gets ten dollars if Jihoon and Jieqiong end up together before I.O.I officially debuts. Frankly, Jihoon didn’t really care whether Jeonghan or Minghao gets money, but he also wants to date Jieqiong.
It’s funny how the start of the end is foreshadowed by Jeonghan losing his bet. Essentially, the concept of this is that Jihoon would be on Jeonghan’s side. They are accomplices now after all, even if Jihoon didn’t particularly agree. But Jieqiong waited until the group finished their first comeback to answer Jihoon’s question, which meant that Minghao won and that nothing ever really goes Jihoon’s way when it comes to love.
Unbeknownst to Jihoon, Jeonghan losing the bet meant that nothing would ever really go his way when it comes to love in the end. But now as he looks at Jieqiong’s smiling face, Jihoon could only feel the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach, and the unmistakable feeling of contentment.
There’s no place he’d rather be than beside Jieqiong, especially at this moment.
“YOU NEED TO STOP FROWNING SO MUCH, WOOJI-AH.” Jieqiong only ever calls him his stage name when she desperately needs to get his attention. Jihoon has the habit of ignoring the people around him when he’s incredibly focused unless they call him Woozi.
Woozi is the Jihoon that is often in the spotlight. He needs to be quick on his feet, answer questions fast, and don’t leave the fans hanging — unless it’s really one of his non-negotiables involved.
Unsurprisingly, Jieqiong caught up to this and used it to her advantage. She’s quick-witted after all and knows how to properly draw attention to herself in different ways. Maybe it’s the reason why she’s perfectly idol material, she knows how to capture people without having a hard time.
“Sorry. I just couldn’t figure out what lyrics to go with this ballad melody I have in mind.” Jihoon scratches his forehead with a pencil, his other hand hovering on the black and white keys of the keyboard in the studio.
“Do you have an idea of what you’re writing about?” Jieqiong’s questions always hit him where they need to be. Sometimes Jihoon thinks that Jieqiong lives permanently inside his brain, but he will never tell her that just because he knows that Jieqiong will never let it go.
Jihoon gives Jieqiong an apologetic smile, “I don’t think I do…”
The laugh she gives off is soft and comforting. Her hands are on his shoulders and her pink hair cascades down her side as she leans over to bring her face closer to his. He could smell her perfume, a gourmand scent of flowers and marshmallows all blending into one addicting scent. He could feel her eyes on him, but Jihoon doesn’t dare to look at her in fear that she might see him weaken over her mere existence beside him.
“Write about me, Jihoon-ah.” Jieqiong muses. Even without looking at her, Jihoon knows she’s smiling. “You’re not as affectionate as I am. So let me have this. Just one song.”
He recognizes that as one of his faults in general. While it’s true that Jihoon isn’t as affectionate as she is, it’s also because he never really knew how to properly verbalize his feelings in a way that doesn’t sound so… cringeworthy in his head. Jieqiong was always better at that than he is.
“Alright.” He finally dares to look at her.
JIHOON HAS NEVER SEEN JIEQIONG CRY BEFORE. It baffles him how this is the first time she’s seen her cry during all their years as trainees together in the beat up Pledis building way before it received any form of renovations. He thinks it’s ironic how she’s crying against the newly painted wall of the new practice rooms, the paint dry enough for her to lean on it, but still reeking of that new-paint smell.
He doesn’t talk. He never really knew what to do when it came to girls crying. Sure, Jihoon knew how to comfort his group mates when they cried. He knows that Seokmin prefers some form of verbal assurance, and Minghao would rather Jihoon pat his back and talk afterwards. But Jieqiong? Jieqiong is different.
They’ve been together a year but he’s never seen her cry this bad. Usually Jieqiong would tear up and laugh about it only to bury herself in Jihoon’s shirt, but it’s never like this. Nerve-wracking sobs cause her shoulders to move. He could see the droplets of tears on the floor and he could hear the snot in her nose as she sniffled. Her sobs are controlled, like she doesn’t want a sound to come out so it comes off as weird and awkward and… almost pathetic.
Jihoon pulls her to him and Jieqiong easily wraps her arms around him, her sobbing buried through the fabric of his shirt, her tears dropping down on his neck.
“Will I ever get another chance?” There’s desperation in her voice. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Jieqiong is talking about debuting again. They’re set to record Downpour in a few days ( “This is different from the song you’re going to write about me, okay?” She made sure to remind Jihoon about it just last week.) and Jihoon knows that this marks the end for I.O.I.
He doesn’t know what it would feel like if Seventeen were to disband, and judging by the way Jieqiong is crying right now, he hopes that he will never have to experience this anytime soon. He’d prefer it if his group were to disband after ten or fifteen years when everyone just wants to settle down and leave the spotlight altogether.
“You’re Zhou Jieqiong. Of course you’re going to get another chance.” He presses a chaste kiss on Jieqiong’s shoulder blade.
“But what if I don’t ?” There's a bite in her words that Jihoon couldn’t quite stomach. He’s aware that the industry is so cutthroat and it would take more than just a great debut to keep yourself at the top.
He says nothing because Jihoon never went through the rollercoaster of emotions that Jieqiong must be going through. Her promising career is cut short because her group is merely temporary and now she’s going to be back to square one. While Jihoon is sure that the company has a plan for her and Nayoung after I.O.I, he isn’t sure if the reception would be just as strong as it was back when they were in I.O.I.
Jihoon wishes he could do more for her, but the most he could do right now is to hold her and pretend that everything’s going to be okay.
SEOKMIN CATAPULTS A SINGLE PIECE OF PEA FROM HIS SPOON STRAIGHT INTO JIHOON’S FOREHEAD. Jihoon glares at him, but Seokmin only sticks his tongue out and laughs even when Jeonghan told him that catapulting a small part of his dinner straight into Jihoon’s face might not be the best idea.
“Jieqiong stopped by a while ago.” Seokmin says it like it’s no big deal. Jihoon’s posture straightens and he finds himself clutching his fork tightly in his hands.
“Did she tell you why?” Of course Jieqiong wouldn’t, Jihoon knows that much by now. Jieqiong would just tell Seokmin to stop being so nosy and tell her when Jihoon’s back.
Seokmin only shrugs and Jihoon is left to wonder why Jieqiong stopped by without any notice beforehand.
Admittedly, Jihoon has been a bit too busy to text Jieqiong. There’s a lot of songs waiting to be written, choreographies to be learned, and songs waiting to be chosen for their next comeback. He still checks in every now and then, but there’s not a lot of messages in between their ‘good mornings’ and ‘good nights’, and it makes Jihoon doubt if he’s still a good boyfriend.
“You could always just sneak out and come see her, you know.” Joshua finally speaks up, filling his bowl with another serving of rice. “And bring her here because we miss her. We haven’t hung out properly with Jieqiong since she debuted in Pristin.” His words are muffled by all the food in his mouth, but Jihoon knows Joshua enough to understand what he was saying.
“If she has free time, maybe.” Jihoon responds, but only because he’s greedy and he doesn’t want to share Jieqiong with everyone else. He’s already sharing her with millions of her fans, he doesn’t want to have to do it with his group mates too.
JIEQIONG’S HEAD IS ON HIS LAP AND HE’S SWEATING PROFUSELY BECAUSE THERE’S NO WAY HE CAN BE FOUND IN PRISTIN’S DORM BY ANY OF THE MANAGERS. Every now and then, Jihoon gives in to the thrill of youth by visiting Jieqiong in their dormitory. Most of the younger members went home to their families and it’s just Jieqiong, Nayoung, Eunwoo, and Yuha in here at the moment.
The girls don’t really care about Jihoon’s visits. Sometimes they catch up with him, and drop a few jokes here and there, but mostly they just leave him and Jieqiong alone. He doesn’t know if it’s out of respect for their relationship, or if it’s because they don’t really approve and are just trying to be civil.
Nonetheless, Jieqiong always looks happy when he visits. The smile on her face is priceless and precious that Jihoon wishes he could frame each moment and hang it up on his dorm wall — even if it meant his other members seeing it.
“This isn’t a long-distance relationship but I feel like I miss you more than those girls miss their boyfriends who are thousands of miles away from them.” Jieqiong’s eyes are closed, but there’s a small smile on her face and Jihoon takes it as an opportunity to take a photo. He wouldn’t show it to her today, not yet.
“I feel like you’re belittling them too much.” He responds in jest, nothing biting in his tone. Just the same soft tone that he reserves only and only for Jieqiong.
“Well it’s true. They don’t know how hard it is to date someone within five feet of you during music shows and pretend that you don’t care about their existence. Do you wanna know how good you looked last time? I wanted to hold your hand there. Nayoung would kill me if I did, though.” Jieqiong looks so regretful, like she just made a grave mistake about not holding his hand then.
The thought of telling the world about their relationship makes Jihoon still in place. He knows that the world is cruel to idols who dare to defy society’s standards of what an idol should be. They should always be available; the people’s boyfriends and girlfriends. One must never be caught dating because to date would earn the ire of their fans — much as they want the fans to learn that they’re human beings capable of falling in love as well.
Jihoon knows that Jieqiong is aware of this and he doesn’t need to remind her. Even then, he still thinks that it’s so cruel that he’s thinking of reminding her about this when all he wants is to be with her peacefully.
“You can hold my hand now.” Jihoon compromises. He watches Jieqiong’s nose scrunch up while thinking about it.
“You’re not wearing the same thing anymore, though.” She pouts. Typical Jieqiong behavior. Cheeky and adorable all the damn time that it makes Jihoon’s knees weak.
Jihoon laughs and kisses her on the nose. The smile on Jieqiong’s face almost seemed like he made up for the time she couldn’t hold his hand in public.
JIEQIONG SLIPS THROUGH THE WINDOW OF THEIR DORM ROOM AT TWELVE MIDNIGHT. While Woozi gives the other boys a head’s up every time, it still surprises them every time Jieqiong shimmies her way into the unit without much struggle.
“There’s this thing called the front door, Jieqiong.” Mingyu tells her off when she trips on two legos stacked against each other on the floor. Probably Jeonghan’s.
“And risk letting your manager see me? I’d rather choke on my own spit and die.” She rolls her eyes.
Jihoon doesn’t say anything, but the little interaction between Jieqiong and Mingyu triggers something in his system akin to jealousy. He wants to pull her into one of the closets and talk to her there instead of sharing her with the rest of his dorm mates. Nevermind the fact that the closet would probably be too small for the two of them, and that none of his dorm mates would actually try to go after his girlfriend. At this point, Jieqiong is more of a sister to them.
He knows that Jieqiong mostly comes to their dorm when she needs some form of respite. She doesn’t have any misunderstandings or drama with any of the other girls, but being popular in her hometown and here meant that there’s a lot more activities for her than anyone else. While Jieqiong doesn’t explicitly talk about it, Jihoon knows that the other girls must not be dealing with all of this well.
It’s a weird time for the company. The girls are on this ambiguous form of break and Jieqiong has been going back and forth from China and Korea, performing a song for five girls all by herself. The boys on the other hand are simply doing okay with the same typical schedules as before.
No one brings it up whenever Jieqiong comes around. Everyone in the dorm had half a mind to know that the girls didn’t have it easy in the company. It’s a miracle that Jieqiong is still around because at some point, Junhui asked Jihoon what he would do if there ever was a time where Jieqiong chose not to go back.
“What’s up, Kyulkyung?” Sungcheol asks and Jihoon ignores the way her Korean name sounds different. As if Kyulkyung is a different person and not Jieqiong.
It used to be Pinky. Jihoon thinks that it suits her more than Kyulkyung, but Jieqiong prefers her own name better. She told him that she feels more herself if he calls her by her real name.
“I need a breather. I’ve been to China and back twice in the past two weeks.” Jieqiong sighs, lying down on Jihoon’s bed and ignoring the fact that there are three other people in this dorm room that aren't her boyfriend.
“They’re working you down to the bone, huh?” Mingyu comments, a rhetorical question that Jieqiong only responds to with a glare.
“I think Kyulkyung and Jihoon would like their privacy right now.” Sungcheol, ever the leader, brings it up and the rest of the boys file out of the room before Jieqiong could even protest.
She curls her body around Jihoon who’s sitting at the edge of the bed. Her arms around him, her stomach against his lower back, her thighs just somewhere to his side. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, and Jihoon doesn’t try to ask anything. He always waits for Jieqiong to say something and doesn’t press.
He feels her reach for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his’, followed by a small whimper. He hopes she doesn’t cry because Jihoon isn’t ready to face a crying Jieqiong right now. Try as he might to be emotionally there for her all the time, he is also incredibly tired and exhausted.
A few minutes pass and Jieqiong isn’t saying anything, that’s when Jihoon looks at her and sees this faraway look on her face. She’s right here beside him, but her mind is wandering off somewhere else. As much as Jihoon wants to say anything, when Jieqiong goes into these moods, he doesn’t know where she goes.
Despite them being together for two years, Jihoon never found out where Jieqiong goes during times like these.
In the end, Jihoon gives in to his concern. “What’s wrong, Jieqiong?”
“I want to go home.” She says it without a second thought. It didn’t even take four beats of Jihoon’s own scared heart for her to answer it.
“Home?” Was the concept of home ever really discussed between the two of them? He knows that her hometown is China, but Jieqiong had referred to Seoul as her second home more than once.
There’s a bone-chilling feeling creeping on his spine, anticipation of something that would inevitably lead to his own heartbreak.
“Taizhou.” While her tone conveys sadness, it also implies finality.
Jihoon has been a producer for as long as he could remember and is accustomed to using different kinds of sounds for his songs, but never did he expect that he would be hearing the sound of his own heartbreak.
If she’s leaving, where does that leave him? Are they going to be like those long-distance couples she used to make fun of? Is he going to have to compromise with seeing her for twice a year? Or maybe even less?
What does the future have in store for them if she’s going to leave for China?
“What about Pristin?” He asks, holding onto a single thread of hope. Jieqiong loves her group, and she loves performing with them. Surely there’s no way she’s going to leave them hanging, right?
“Pristin is on the way to disbandment. I’m just counting down the days before the announcement.” There’s a bitter laugh in her tone which scares away Jihoon’s own selfishness.
He understands now that he is in no place to ask her to stay. She is at the crossroads of her own career and her life that Jihoon doesn’t think there is a place for him to try and fit himself in a brand new jigsaw puzzle that’s yet to build itself.
The room fell silent and he could only hear the cold autumn air from outside the dorm window. Jieqiong moves from her position and sits next to him, their shoulders touching, but only that.
Jihoon is scared.
“I love you, Jieqiong.” It’s the only thing he’s still certain of, even if their future seems blurry and unlikely at this point.
Jieqiong smiles at him, eyes glassy with tears.
“我爱你” I love you. She replies in Mandarin.
Jihoon laughs in his head because the way she responded only means one thing: He already lost her.
She stands up and opens the window, but Jihoon goes after her and wraps his arms around her torso. His forehead behind her shoulder.
“Five more minutes, Jieqiong.” He whispers, feeling her sobbing against him as he tries to hold onto the last remnants of their relationship that wasn’t broken by any cruel means. He’d forgotten that life has a thing for bringing people to extreme crossroads where they’re only left with two options: to start over, or to continue.
Jieqiong had always been a ‘continue’ type of girl until today.
“What happened to that song you’re writing for me?” She asks, trying her best to compose herself even when she’s already a crying mess in front of him.
Truth be told, Jihoon never knew what to write for Jieqiong. There’s so much to say and yet he couldn’t seem to let the words out. The melodies always seem to be wrong, as if they could never measure up to her laughter and her happy go lucky attitude. The lyrics never seem to perfectly describe the way Jihoon feels when he’s around her. It’s a mess of a project that he could never seem to complete.
“I’m still working on it.” He admits, “I can never seem to get anything right. You’re just so… you, and none of the lyrics I wrote seem to fit you.”
She smiles once more, but a sad one. Jihoon wishes he could wipe that smile away from her face and make her stay, but it’s impossible to get Jieqiong to change her mind once she’s already set on something.
“You have all the time in the world to finish it.” She holds the right side of his face with her small hand, “No matter where I am, when I hear it, I’ll know it’s for me.”
She kisses him and then shimmies out the window without looking back.
It’s good that she didn’t look back. Jihoon didn’t want her to see the sight of his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.
HE HASN’T SEEN JIEQIONG IN OVER A MONTH. The lack of constant communication with her leaves a void in his chest that he’s desperately trying to fill by writing songs only to scrap it afterwards because it’s just too much for him. Seungcheol tells him that it might be better if he stops trying to look for Jieqiong in every way he could find, (Looking at their old messages, their old photos, holding onto the strawberry plush she’d left in his room months ago.) and that it would help him move on.
But that’s the thing, Jihoon is still stuck in time, hoping that all of this is just some kind of bad dream. At some point in his life, Jihoon thought Jieqiong would always be there. Turns out life has different plans for the both of them. He didn’t expect that she would eventually leave him behind because everything seems so unfair to her here.
He couldn’t fault her for that, of course. There’s no one else to blame, except perhaps the company that made his own career possible, and the very same company that caused hers to crumble.
AN AD POPS UP ON HIS INSTAGRAM FEED SHOWING A PHOTO OF JIEQIONG POSING WITH A LIPSTICK. He lives his days mostly on autopilot. It may seem pathetic, but she’d done a number on him and it is only now that Jihoon realizes how bad heartbreaks can be. It’s nothing he can fix with just sleeping all day, or by writing music while holed up in his studio. It’s everywhere. It’s in her face in that ad, followed by her instagram on his suggested following list, and the concerned looks from the rest of Seventeen.
He just hopes that she’s happy wherever she is.
HE TAKES A DEEP BREATH AS SOON AS HE GETS OFF THE STAGE. He promised Jieqiong a song, and he delivered it even if it’s a few years late. Performing the song on stage feels like he’s baring his entire heart out to the world, but they have no idea what happened behind the scenes. No one knows how he could still feel the ghost of Jieqiong’s lips lingering on his’, or how he could still hear her loud laughter ringing in his head whenever Seungkwan makes an extremely funny joke.
Nevertheless, he just holds on to the fact that Jieqiong would know that this song is hers. Regardless of what Jieqiong might think, there is one thing that will always be hers and another that is still hers as of the moment: that song, and his heart.
Seokmin places a comforting hand on his shoulder, a gesture Jihoon appreciates.
“Are you okay?” Seokmin asks, though he probably knows the answer anyway.
Jihoon only shrugs, not wanting to talk about Jieqiong, or how he basically confessed to the entire world that he misses her more than anything.
“I’m sure she’ll love it.” Seokmin gives him one last comforting smile before disappearing back into the dressing room.
It’s not that Jihoon’s priority is for Jieqiong to love the song. He just wants her to know that he misses her, and that he understands at the same time why she has to leave.
SOMEWHERE IN CHINA, Jieqiong is scrolling through her phone and sees a YouTube recording of Jihoon performing a song that’s personal to him. The thing about her relationship with Jihoon is that she’s always struck with gut feelings about what will happen. She knew when he was going to ask her out even before he managed to get two words out. She knew when he was going to kiss her for the very first time. And she knew that he would be crying the moment she slips out of that window on the last day they saw each other.
She thinks first about this decision, like Jieqiong always does. Her gut feeling is telling her that this song is the song. The one she’d asked him to write for her all those years ago. What she’s afraid of is how just one listen would make her come running back to him in a place she almost cursed out.
The breakup was her decision, but it didn’t mean that Jieqiong wanted to leave him. If she had it her way, she would make all the compromises in the world if it meant keeping Jihoon in her life. Sadly, that’s not a very feasible decision to make. Jieqiong wanted to cut out everything in Korea and start fresh. As much as she considered Seoul her second home, it’s a place with one too many harsh memories of her career that she would prefer if she just left it in all of its entirety.
The cost of her self-esteem is Jihoon, and that’s the hardest pill to swallow.
She’s an entire ocean away from him yet he still holds her heart in his hands. Her feelings for him are unwavering and steady like those stone forests here in China. But some hard decisions have to be made, and Jieqiong is mature enough to deal with those decisions by herself, and sticking by them.
With a deep breath, she presses play on the video and hopes for the best. She never expected anything from his songwriting, or how he would write the lyrics — but Jihoon writing about his heartbreak is enough to take her aback. He still holds the same magic his voice has, captivating and enough to make her rethink about going back to Seoul just once to see him.
Just to prevent herself from doing anything impulsive, Jieqiong plays the song on loop using one of those bluetooth speakers Nayoung had given her before she left, and places her phone on top of her cabinet. She’s not going to text Jihoon and risk messing up his process of moving on, even if she desperately wants to hear him say that he loves her in that affectionate voice he only reserves for her.
(Jihoon doesn’t tell her he loves her often, but when he does, he makes it count — which is why their breakup only hurts more because she could hear the desperation in the way he told her he loves her.)
In the end, what kind of future will come to us? The words linger in Jieqiong’s head like a broken record. A part of her hopes that their futures will still intertwine. Hopes that Jihoon’s pinky is on the receiving end of the red string tied to her own, and not someone else. But there’s no way of knowing that, right?
With a sad smile, Jieqiong turns to her table and looks at a framed photo of her and Jihoon from one of their dates.
(She refuses to take that photo out of her table, not until she’s ready.)
“Until next time, Jihoon.” Because even if this decision was Jieqiong’s to make, she’s not ready to say goodbye to Jihoon, even if it was essentially what she did that night.
Jieqiong retreats into the covers of her bed and closes her eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of both Jihoon’s heartbreak and hers.
pairing: lee jihoon/zhou jieqiong
words: 4,817
summary: at some point in his life, jihoon thought jieqiong would always be there. turns out life has different plans for the both of them. [ the ljh/zjq breakup fic that no one asked for. ]
crossposted on:
BEFORE.
THE THING ABOUT JIEQIONG IS THAT SHE ALWAYS FEELS LIKE A BREATH OF FRESH AIR. While Jihoon wouldn’t go as far as saying that she is akin to being some sort of a savior, she has a specific air to her that makes him forget just how taxing his lifestyle is. He writes songs, arranges them, masters them, and then performs them months later to a huge audience is the very manifestation of his passion and dreams — yet this passion of his can still be draining in so many ways that he needs a breather every now and then.
He would never admit this to anyone else, but he always feels more rested and renewed whenever he spends time with Jieqiong than when they’re taking their downtimes as a group. There’s nothing secret about his relationship with China’s Dance Machine. Everyone knows he’s dating her (and by everyone he means everyone in I.O.I, Seventeen, and Pristin), — hell, they probably knew even before they were dating themselves.
Jeonghan being Jeonghan, cheekily told Jihoon that he should put a label on whatever it is he has going on with Jieqiong before she debuts in I.O.I (there was no way Jeonghan could have called her debut, the results weren’t even out yet ), and Jihoon only tilted his head in response. Were they really that obvious?
Nevertheless, Jeonghan was only in it after a bet with Minghao. Apparently he gets ten dollars if Jihoon and Jieqiong end up together before I.O.I officially debuts. Frankly, Jihoon didn’t really care whether Jeonghan or Minghao gets money, but he also wants to date Jieqiong.
It’s funny how the start of the end is foreshadowed by Jeonghan losing his bet. Essentially, the concept of this is that Jihoon would be on Jeonghan’s side. They are accomplices now after all, even if Jihoon didn’t particularly agree. But Jieqiong waited until the group finished their first comeback to answer Jihoon’s question, which meant that Minghao won and that nothing ever really goes Jihoon’s way when it comes to love.
Unbeknownst to Jihoon, Jeonghan losing the bet meant that nothing would ever really go his way when it comes to love in the end. But now as he looks at Jieqiong’s smiling face, Jihoon could only feel the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach, and the unmistakable feeling of contentment.
There’s no place he’d rather be than beside Jieqiong, especially at this moment.
“YOU NEED TO STOP FROWNING SO MUCH, WOOJI-AH.” Jieqiong only ever calls him his stage name when she desperately needs to get his attention. Jihoon has the habit of ignoring the people around him when he’s incredibly focused unless they call him Woozi.
Woozi is the Jihoon that is often in the spotlight. He needs to be quick on his feet, answer questions fast, and don’t leave the fans hanging — unless it’s really one of his non-negotiables involved.
Unsurprisingly, Jieqiong caught up to this and used it to her advantage. She’s quick-witted after all and knows how to properly draw attention to herself in different ways. Maybe it’s the reason why she’s perfectly idol material, she knows how to capture people without having a hard time.
“Sorry. I just couldn’t figure out what lyrics to go with this ballad melody I have in mind.” Jihoon scratches his forehead with a pencil, his other hand hovering on the black and white keys of the keyboard in the studio.
“Do you have an idea of what you’re writing about?” Jieqiong’s questions always hit him where they need to be. Sometimes Jihoon thinks that Jieqiong lives permanently inside his brain, but he will never tell her that just because he knows that Jieqiong will never let it go.
Jihoon gives Jieqiong an apologetic smile, “I don’t think I do…”
The laugh she gives off is soft and comforting. Her hands are on his shoulders and her pink hair cascades down her side as she leans over to bring her face closer to his. He could smell her perfume, a gourmand scent of flowers and marshmallows all blending into one addicting scent. He could feel her eyes on him, but Jihoon doesn’t dare to look at her in fear that she might see him weaken over her mere existence beside him.
“Write about me, Jihoon-ah.” Jieqiong muses. Even without looking at her, Jihoon knows she’s smiling. “You’re not as affectionate as I am. So let me have this. Just one song.”
He recognizes that as one of his faults in general. While it’s true that Jihoon isn’t as affectionate as she is, it’s also because he never really knew how to properly verbalize his feelings in a way that doesn’t sound so… cringeworthy in his head. Jieqiong was always better at that than he is.
“Alright.” He finally dares to look at her.
JIHOON HAS NEVER SEEN JIEQIONG CRY BEFORE. It baffles him how this is the first time she’s seen her cry during all their years as trainees together in the beat up Pledis building way before it received any form of renovations. He thinks it’s ironic how she’s crying against the newly painted wall of the new practice rooms, the paint dry enough for her to lean on it, but still reeking of that new-paint smell.
He doesn’t talk. He never really knew what to do when it came to girls crying. Sure, Jihoon knew how to comfort his group mates when they cried. He knows that Seokmin prefers some form of verbal assurance, and Minghao would rather Jihoon pat his back and talk afterwards. But Jieqiong? Jieqiong is different.
They’ve been together a year but he’s never seen her cry this bad. Usually Jieqiong would tear up and laugh about it only to bury herself in Jihoon’s shirt, but it’s never like this. Nerve-wracking sobs cause her shoulders to move. He could see the droplets of tears on the floor and he could hear the snot in her nose as she sniffled. Her sobs are controlled, like she doesn’t want a sound to come out so it comes off as weird and awkward and… almost pathetic.
Jihoon pulls her to him and Jieqiong easily wraps her arms around him, her sobbing buried through the fabric of his shirt, her tears dropping down on his neck.
“Will I ever get another chance?” There’s desperation in her voice. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Jieqiong is talking about debuting again. They’re set to record Downpour in a few days ( “This is different from the song you’re going to write about me, okay?” She made sure to remind Jihoon about it just last week.) and Jihoon knows that this marks the end for I.O.I.
He doesn’t know what it would feel like if Seventeen were to disband, and judging by the way Jieqiong is crying right now, he hopes that he will never have to experience this anytime soon. He’d prefer it if his group were to disband after ten or fifteen years when everyone just wants to settle down and leave the spotlight altogether.
“You’re Zhou Jieqiong. Of course you’re going to get another chance.” He presses a chaste kiss on Jieqiong’s shoulder blade.
“But what if I don’t ?” There's a bite in her words that Jihoon couldn’t quite stomach. He’s aware that the industry is so cutthroat and it would take more than just a great debut to keep yourself at the top.
He says nothing because Jihoon never went through the rollercoaster of emotions that Jieqiong must be going through. Her promising career is cut short because her group is merely temporary and now she’s going to be back to square one. While Jihoon is sure that the company has a plan for her and Nayoung after I.O.I, he isn’t sure if the reception would be just as strong as it was back when they were in I.O.I.
Jihoon wishes he could do more for her, but the most he could do right now is to hold her and pretend that everything’s going to be okay.
SEOKMIN CATAPULTS A SINGLE PIECE OF PEA FROM HIS SPOON STRAIGHT INTO JIHOON’S FOREHEAD. Jihoon glares at him, but Seokmin only sticks his tongue out and laughs even when Jeonghan told him that catapulting a small part of his dinner straight into Jihoon’s face might not be the best idea.
“Jieqiong stopped by a while ago.” Seokmin says it like it’s no big deal. Jihoon’s posture straightens and he finds himself clutching his fork tightly in his hands.
“Did she tell you why?” Of course Jieqiong wouldn’t, Jihoon knows that much by now. Jieqiong would just tell Seokmin to stop being so nosy and tell her when Jihoon’s back.
Seokmin only shrugs and Jihoon is left to wonder why Jieqiong stopped by without any notice beforehand.
Admittedly, Jihoon has been a bit too busy to text Jieqiong. There’s a lot of songs waiting to be written, choreographies to be learned, and songs waiting to be chosen for their next comeback. He still checks in every now and then, but there’s not a lot of messages in between their ‘good mornings’ and ‘good nights’, and it makes Jihoon doubt if he’s still a good boyfriend.
“You could always just sneak out and come see her, you know.” Joshua finally speaks up, filling his bowl with another serving of rice. “And bring her here because we miss her. We haven’t hung out properly with Jieqiong since she debuted in Pristin.” His words are muffled by all the food in his mouth, but Jihoon knows Joshua enough to understand what he was saying.
“If she has free time, maybe.” Jihoon responds, but only because he’s greedy and he doesn’t want to share Jieqiong with everyone else. He’s already sharing her with millions of her fans, he doesn’t want to have to do it with his group mates too.
JIEQIONG’S HEAD IS ON HIS LAP AND HE’S SWEATING PROFUSELY BECAUSE THERE’S NO WAY HE CAN BE FOUND IN PRISTIN’S DORM BY ANY OF THE MANAGERS. Every now and then, Jihoon gives in to the thrill of youth by visiting Jieqiong in their dormitory. Most of the younger members went home to their families and it’s just Jieqiong, Nayoung, Eunwoo, and Yuha in here at the moment.
The girls don’t really care about Jihoon’s visits. Sometimes they catch up with him, and drop a few jokes here and there, but mostly they just leave him and Jieqiong alone. He doesn’t know if it’s out of respect for their relationship, or if it’s because they don’t really approve and are just trying to be civil.
Nonetheless, Jieqiong always looks happy when he visits. The smile on her face is priceless and precious that Jihoon wishes he could frame each moment and hang it up on his dorm wall — even if it meant his other members seeing it.
“This isn’t a long-distance relationship but I feel like I miss you more than those girls miss their boyfriends who are thousands of miles away from them.” Jieqiong’s eyes are closed, but there’s a small smile on her face and Jihoon takes it as an opportunity to take a photo. He wouldn’t show it to her today, not yet.
“I feel like you’re belittling them too much.” He responds in jest, nothing biting in his tone. Just the same soft tone that he reserves only and only for Jieqiong.
“Well it’s true. They don’t know how hard it is to date someone within five feet of you during music shows and pretend that you don’t care about their existence. Do you wanna know how good you looked last time? I wanted to hold your hand there. Nayoung would kill me if I did, though.” Jieqiong looks so regretful, like she just made a grave mistake about not holding his hand then.
The thought of telling the world about their relationship makes Jihoon still in place. He knows that the world is cruel to idols who dare to defy society’s standards of what an idol should be. They should always be available; the people’s boyfriends and girlfriends. One must never be caught dating because to date would earn the ire of their fans — much as they want the fans to learn that they’re human beings capable of falling in love as well.
Jihoon knows that Jieqiong is aware of this and he doesn’t need to remind her. Even then, he still thinks that it’s so cruel that he’s thinking of reminding her about this when all he wants is to be with her peacefully.
“You can hold my hand now.” Jihoon compromises. He watches Jieqiong’s nose scrunch up while thinking about it.
“You’re not wearing the same thing anymore, though.” She pouts. Typical Jieqiong behavior. Cheeky and adorable all the damn time that it makes Jihoon’s knees weak.
Jihoon laughs and kisses her on the nose. The smile on Jieqiong’s face almost seemed like he made up for the time she couldn’t hold his hand in public.
DURING.
JIEQIONG SLIPS THROUGH THE WINDOW OF THEIR DORM ROOM AT TWELVE MIDNIGHT. While Woozi gives the other boys a head’s up every time, it still surprises them every time Jieqiong shimmies her way into the unit without much struggle.
“There’s this thing called the front door, Jieqiong.” Mingyu tells her off when she trips on two legos stacked against each other on the floor. Probably Jeonghan’s.
“And risk letting your manager see me? I’d rather choke on my own spit and die.” She rolls her eyes.
Jihoon doesn’t say anything, but the little interaction between Jieqiong and Mingyu triggers something in his system akin to jealousy. He wants to pull her into one of the closets and talk to her there instead of sharing her with the rest of his dorm mates. Nevermind the fact that the closet would probably be too small for the two of them, and that none of his dorm mates would actually try to go after his girlfriend. At this point, Jieqiong is more of a sister to them.
He knows that Jieqiong mostly comes to their dorm when she needs some form of respite. She doesn’t have any misunderstandings or drama with any of the other girls, but being popular in her hometown and here meant that there’s a lot more activities for her than anyone else. While Jieqiong doesn’t explicitly talk about it, Jihoon knows that the other girls must not be dealing with all of this well.
It’s a weird time for the company. The girls are on this ambiguous form of break and Jieqiong has been going back and forth from China and Korea, performing a song for five girls all by herself. The boys on the other hand are simply doing okay with the same typical schedules as before.
No one brings it up whenever Jieqiong comes around. Everyone in the dorm had half a mind to know that the girls didn’t have it easy in the company. It’s a miracle that Jieqiong is still around because at some point, Junhui asked Jihoon what he would do if there ever was a time where Jieqiong chose not to go back.
“What’s up, Kyulkyung?” Sungcheol asks and Jihoon ignores the way her Korean name sounds different. As if Kyulkyung is a different person and not Jieqiong.
It used to be Pinky. Jihoon thinks that it suits her more than Kyulkyung, but Jieqiong prefers her own name better. She told him that she feels more herself if he calls her by her real name.
“I need a breather. I’ve been to China and back twice in the past two weeks.” Jieqiong sighs, lying down on Jihoon’s bed and ignoring the fact that there are three other people in this dorm room that aren't her boyfriend.
“They’re working you down to the bone, huh?” Mingyu comments, a rhetorical question that Jieqiong only responds to with a glare.
“I think Kyulkyung and Jihoon would like their privacy right now.” Sungcheol, ever the leader, brings it up and the rest of the boys file out of the room before Jieqiong could even protest.
She curls her body around Jihoon who’s sitting at the edge of the bed. Her arms around him, her stomach against his lower back, her thighs just somewhere to his side. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, and Jihoon doesn’t try to ask anything. He always waits for Jieqiong to say something and doesn’t press.
He feels her reach for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his’, followed by a small whimper. He hopes she doesn’t cry because Jihoon isn’t ready to face a crying Jieqiong right now. Try as he might to be emotionally there for her all the time, he is also incredibly tired and exhausted.
A few minutes pass and Jieqiong isn’t saying anything, that’s when Jihoon looks at her and sees this faraway look on her face. She’s right here beside him, but her mind is wandering off somewhere else. As much as Jihoon wants to say anything, when Jieqiong goes into these moods, he doesn’t know where she goes.
Despite them being together for two years, Jihoon never found out where Jieqiong goes during times like these.
In the end, Jihoon gives in to his concern. “What’s wrong, Jieqiong?”
“I want to go home.” She says it without a second thought. It didn’t even take four beats of Jihoon’s own scared heart for her to answer it.
“Home?” Was the concept of home ever really discussed between the two of them? He knows that her hometown is China, but Jieqiong had referred to Seoul as her second home more than once.
There’s a bone-chilling feeling creeping on his spine, anticipation of something that would inevitably lead to his own heartbreak.
“Taizhou.” While her tone conveys sadness, it also implies finality.
Jihoon has been a producer for as long as he could remember and is accustomed to using different kinds of sounds for his songs, but never did he expect that he would be hearing the sound of his own heartbreak.
If she’s leaving, where does that leave him? Are they going to be like those long-distance couples she used to make fun of? Is he going to have to compromise with seeing her for twice a year? Or maybe even less?
What does the future have in store for them if she’s going to leave for China?
“What about Pristin?” He asks, holding onto a single thread of hope. Jieqiong loves her group, and she loves performing with them. Surely there’s no way she’s going to leave them hanging, right?
“Pristin is on the way to disbandment. I’m just counting down the days before the announcement.” There’s a bitter laugh in her tone which scares away Jihoon’s own selfishness.
He understands now that he is in no place to ask her to stay. She is at the crossroads of her own career and her life that Jihoon doesn’t think there is a place for him to try and fit himself in a brand new jigsaw puzzle that’s yet to build itself.
The room fell silent and he could only hear the cold autumn air from outside the dorm window. Jieqiong moves from her position and sits next to him, their shoulders touching, but only that.
Jihoon is scared.
“I love you, Jieqiong.” It’s the only thing he’s still certain of, even if their future seems blurry and unlikely at this point.
Jieqiong smiles at him, eyes glassy with tears.
“我爱你” I love you. She replies in Mandarin.
Jihoon laughs in his head because the way she responded only means one thing: He already lost her.
She stands up and opens the window, but Jihoon goes after her and wraps his arms around her torso. His forehead behind her shoulder.
“Five more minutes, Jieqiong.” He whispers, feeling her sobbing against him as he tries to hold onto the last remnants of their relationship that wasn’t broken by any cruel means. He’d forgotten that life has a thing for bringing people to extreme crossroads where they’re only left with two options: to start over, or to continue.
Jieqiong had always been a ‘continue’ type of girl until today.
“What happened to that song you’re writing for me?” She asks, trying her best to compose herself even when she’s already a crying mess in front of him.
Truth be told, Jihoon never knew what to write for Jieqiong. There’s so much to say and yet he couldn’t seem to let the words out. The melodies always seem to be wrong, as if they could never measure up to her laughter and her happy go lucky attitude. The lyrics never seem to perfectly describe the way Jihoon feels when he’s around her. It’s a mess of a project that he could never seem to complete.
“I’m still working on it.” He admits, “I can never seem to get anything right. You’re just so… you, and none of the lyrics I wrote seem to fit you.”
She smiles once more, but a sad one. Jihoon wishes he could wipe that smile away from her face and make her stay, but it’s impossible to get Jieqiong to change her mind once she’s already set on something.
“You have all the time in the world to finish it.” She holds the right side of his face with her small hand, “No matter where I am, when I hear it, I’ll know it’s for me.”
She kisses him and then shimmies out the window without looking back.
It’s good that she didn’t look back. Jihoon didn’t want her to see the sight of his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.
AFTER.
HE HASN’T SEEN JIEQIONG IN OVER A MONTH. The lack of constant communication with her leaves a void in his chest that he’s desperately trying to fill by writing songs only to scrap it afterwards because it’s just too much for him. Seungcheol tells him that it might be better if he stops trying to look for Jieqiong in every way he could find, (Looking at their old messages, their old photos, holding onto the strawberry plush she’d left in his room months ago.) and that it would help him move on.
But that’s the thing, Jihoon is still stuck in time, hoping that all of this is just some kind of bad dream. At some point in his life, Jihoon thought Jieqiong would always be there. Turns out life has different plans for the both of them. He didn’t expect that she would eventually leave him behind because everything seems so unfair to her here.
He couldn’t fault her for that, of course. There’s no one else to blame, except perhaps the company that made his own career possible, and the very same company that caused hers to crumble.
AN AD POPS UP ON HIS INSTAGRAM FEED SHOWING A PHOTO OF JIEQIONG POSING WITH A LIPSTICK. He lives his days mostly on autopilot. It may seem pathetic, but she’d done a number on him and it is only now that Jihoon realizes how bad heartbreaks can be. It’s nothing he can fix with just sleeping all day, or by writing music while holed up in his studio. It’s everywhere. It’s in her face in that ad, followed by her instagram on his suggested following list, and the concerned looks from the rest of Seventeen.
He just hopes that she’s happy wherever she is.
HE TAKES A DEEP BREATH AS SOON AS HE GETS OFF THE STAGE. He promised Jieqiong a song, and he delivered it even if it’s a few years late. Performing the song on stage feels like he’s baring his entire heart out to the world, but they have no idea what happened behind the scenes. No one knows how he could still feel the ghost of Jieqiong’s lips lingering on his’, or how he could still hear her loud laughter ringing in his head whenever Seungkwan makes an extremely funny joke.
Nevertheless, he just holds on to the fact that Jieqiong would know that this song is hers. Regardless of what Jieqiong might think, there is one thing that will always be hers and another that is still hers as of the moment: that song, and his heart.
Seokmin places a comforting hand on his shoulder, a gesture Jihoon appreciates.
“Are you okay?” Seokmin asks, though he probably knows the answer anyway.
Jihoon only shrugs, not wanting to talk about Jieqiong, or how he basically confessed to the entire world that he misses her more than anything.
“I’m sure she’ll love it.” Seokmin gives him one last comforting smile before disappearing back into the dressing room.
It’s not that Jihoon’s priority is for Jieqiong to love the song. He just wants her to know that he misses her, and that he understands at the same time why she has to leave.
SOMEWHERE IN CHINA, Jieqiong is scrolling through her phone and sees a YouTube recording of Jihoon performing a song that’s personal to him. The thing about her relationship with Jihoon is that she’s always struck with gut feelings about what will happen. She knew when he was going to ask her out even before he managed to get two words out. She knew when he was going to kiss her for the very first time. And she knew that he would be crying the moment she slips out of that window on the last day they saw each other.
She thinks first about this decision, like Jieqiong always does. Her gut feeling is telling her that this song is the song. The one she’d asked him to write for her all those years ago. What she’s afraid of is how just one listen would make her come running back to him in a place she almost cursed out.
The breakup was her decision, but it didn’t mean that Jieqiong wanted to leave him. If she had it her way, she would make all the compromises in the world if it meant keeping Jihoon in her life. Sadly, that’s not a very feasible decision to make. Jieqiong wanted to cut out everything in Korea and start fresh. As much as she considered Seoul her second home, it’s a place with one too many harsh memories of her career that she would prefer if she just left it in all of its entirety.
The cost of her self-esteem is Jihoon, and that’s the hardest pill to swallow.
She’s an entire ocean away from him yet he still holds her heart in his hands. Her feelings for him are unwavering and steady like those stone forests here in China. But some hard decisions have to be made, and Jieqiong is mature enough to deal with those decisions by herself, and sticking by them.
With a deep breath, she presses play on the video and hopes for the best. She never expected anything from his songwriting, or how he would write the lyrics — but Jihoon writing about his heartbreak is enough to take her aback. He still holds the same magic his voice has, captivating and enough to make her rethink about going back to Seoul just once to see him.
Just to prevent herself from doing anything impulsive, Jieqiong plays the song on loop using one of those bluetooth speakers Nayoung had given her before she left, and places her phone on top of her cabinet. She’s not going to text Jihoon and risk messing up his process of moving on, even if she desperately wants to hear him say that he loves her in that affectionate voice he only reserves for her.
(Jihoon doesn’t tell her he loves her often, but when he does, he makes it count — which is why their breakup only hurts more because she could hear the desperation in the way he told her he loves her.)
In the end, what kind of future will come to us? The words linger in Jieqiong’s head like a broken record. A part of her hopes that their futures will still intertwine. Hopes that Jihoon’s pinky is on the receiving end of the red string tied to her own, and not someone else. But there’s no way of knowing that, right?
With a sad smile, Jieqiong turns to her table and looks at a framed photo of her and Jihoon from one of their dates.
(She refuses to take that photo out of her table, not until she’s ready.)
“Until next time, Jihoon.” Because even if this decision was Jieqiong’s to make, she’s not ready to say goodbye to Jihoon, even if it was essentially what she did that night.
Jieqiong retreats into the covers of her bed and closes her eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of both Jihoon’s heartbreak and hers.
