Entry tags:
fic advent 2013: day seventeen
for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
samstrident ♥
m.i.b gen
pg, 1.3k words
"M.I.B GOES TO IKEA"
samstrident ♥m.i.b gen
pg, 1.3k words
"M.I.B GOES TO IKEA"
“We’ve lost Jongsu,” Yasuo announces. He doesn’t seem too concerned, though, leaning on the cart as they make their way down the lighting aisle. He prods at a lamp with a strange shade, and Hangil waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. They’re both still a little hungover at this point, and Hangil has decided to use this as the excuse for why they thought it would be a great idea to talk their manager into a field trip to IKEA. He scratches a hand across his scalp, still a bit achey from a recent dye job, and yawns. It’s too early for this shit.
Yasuo turns to face him, some heinously ugly lamp in his hand, and his eyebrows furrow, eyes searching over Hangil’s shoulder. “And Giseok,” he adds. He squints down the aisle. “Should we...do...something…?”
Hangil grunts. Jongsu is one thing - kid’s younger than the rest of them but he’s probably got more sense than all of them put together. If it was just Jongsu, they wouldn’t have to worry. They could spend hours making the full tour of this giant place and at the end they’d find him eating swedish meatballs or playing in the ball pit with the rest of the kids. He’s fine. Giseok? Not so much. Hangil’s fairly certain he couldn’t navigate his way out of a paper bag, and by the time he looks up from his phone and realizes he’s wanders off, well. Hangil has this vivid image of Giseok camped out on a couch in a showcase room, taking sad little near-identical selcas every five minutes and sending them off to all of them with SOS messages.
Hangil looks over at Yasuo, and he can see his eyebrows raise over the top of his giant glasses. “Yeah,” Hangil says slowly. He carefully takes the lamp out of Yasuo’s hands and puts it away, since they’re supposed to be looking for a new couch, not something that Hangil is fairly certain will give him nightmares. “Probably.” What Hangil really wants to do is find a nice display mattress and take a nap, but their manager would take poorly to them losing half the group. They’re supposed to be the hyungs or whatever. “Or we can just cut them loose, and I can do all of their lines. What do you say?” Sounds like less effort. Now anyway.
“No,” Yasuo says immediately, his lip curling in disgust. “Please, God, let’s never do that.” They head further down the aisle and Yasuo casually ditches their cart in the middle of an intersection. “It’s hard enough carrying your dead weight with other people to help,” he sniffs. Hangil has half a mind to abandon him too, to leave them all behind, debut solo or at least eat IKEA meatballs, but Yasuo is reaching for his arm and pulling him back towards the showcases.
“I’m offended,” Hangil says. Yasuo just hums, gripping him tighter. “Offended,” he says again, with emphasis this time, but Yasuo purses his pretty lips and the fight leaves Hangil. He can be the bigger man, let Yasuo think that he’s in charge. He is older, right? Theoretically, that should make him responsible.
Theoretically. Yasuo gets distracted before they’ve even managed to backtrack on aisle, squinting at a shelving unit. “Yah,” Hangil laughs, and when Yasuo turns to look at him, Hangil spreads his hands. “Weren’t we doing something?”
“Ah, yes,” Yasuo says. He snaps his fingers at Hangil. “Did you bring your phone? Mine’s dead.” Hangil doesn’t immediately reply and clearly that was not the answer Yasuo was looking for. He waves his hand under Hangil’s nose until a phone magically finds its way there. “Thank you.”
“Sure, hyung.”
Hangil hooks his chin on Yasuo’s shoulder as he opens up his line account, and as expected, he’s got four messages from Giseok, looking forlorn. There are also shots of the showcase he’s sitting in, and a pair of school girls peeking out from around a shelving unit at him. “It’s like Where’s Waldo,” Yasuo says fondly. “Except instead of lots of guys in striped shirts, it’s Giseok’s selca face.”
“Does this one count?” Hangil asks. “I think he’s showing an emotion here.”
Yasuo laughs, and it sounds loud even in the bustle of the noisy store. “I think I know where he is. He’s sent us plenty of clues.” He grips Hangil’s arm again, and off they go.
They find Giseok, as expected, huddled in a mock-up of a teenagers room, bent over his phone. “There you are,” he says, grumpy. “I’m getting hungry.”
“It must be exhausting, all that texting,” Hangil says seriously. He doesn’t dodge the half-hearted punch Giseok sends his way, but he’s got tiny little arms so it’s not that big a deal. “How old are you again?”
“Shut up,” Giseok grumbles, his eyes darting over to the school-age girls. They’re clutching at each other, eyes wide, and aw. They must be fans. Giseok has always been the most concerned with his image. It’s adorable that he thinks it matters. “Hyung, stop.”
Yasuo and Hangil exchange a look, and then they descend on Giseok. Hangil ruffles his hair so hard that Giseok’s chin knocks against his chest, and Yasuo grabs a hefty pinch of his cheek, the two of them cooing over Giseok. “I’m going to kill you both,” Giseok hisses, his eyes murderous. Yasuo tweaks his nose.
At least their aggressive coddling spurs Giseok into action, and they wind their way through the massive IKEA, but there’s no sign of Jongsu and he’s ignoring his texts. “What is the point of a cell phone if you don’t answer it?” Yasuo scowls, shoving Hangil’s phone into his pocket as they make their way through kitchen goods.
Giseok is doing his level best to pretend he doesn’t know them, while they do their best to humiliate him. Yasuo is delighting in playing the obnoxious housewife, and he’s uncannily good at it. “Giseokie, what do you think of these spoons?” Yasuo calls, sugar sweet, and Hangil nearly chokes laughing at Giseok’s miserable expression.
They find Jongsu near the exit, finishing off a plate of meatballs. “Took you guys long enough,” Jongsu says amicably. He swings his heels against the box he’s sitting on. “Find a couch?”
“Crisis averted,” Hangil says, and Yasuo raises his arms in victory. “We won’t have to figure out how to tell the fans that we lost the kids.” Yasuo grabs Hangil’s hands too and holds them up in the air. He wrestles one free to press his palm against his heart. “And my solo career had such promise.”
Jongsu grew up fast in the group, and he doesn’t really look his age, except when he laughs the way he’s laughing at Hangil now. “Okay, hyung,” he says. “Sure.”
For the first time this afternoon, Hangil’s phone rings. It’s their manager. “I love this song,” Yasuo says, and his mouth quirks up. He jerks his chin at a line up of carts near them, and oh yeah, Hangil knows where this is going.
With a whoop, Hangil throws himself at the nearest one. It rocks forward, nearly tipping, but he catches himself and then he’s off, skating down the hallway. Yasuo isn’t far behind, laughing loudly enough that Hangil can pretend he doesn’t hear the horrified voice of the IKEA staff member, begging them to stop.
When they make it to the front of the store, their manager is waiting, watching them approach with a resigned expression. Hangil grins, skidding to a stop in front of him. “Sorry!” he says cheerfully. Yasuo collides with him, his cart spinning out and hitting a wall. “We didn’t find anything.”
Giseok and Jongsu bring up the rear, and their manager rubs at his temples and sighs. Yasuo throws an arm around Hangil’s shoulders as they head out of the building. Hey, maybe not so bad a morning after all.
Yasuo turns to face him, some heinously ugly lamp in his hand, and his eyebrows furrow, eyes searching over Hangil’s shoulder. “And Giseok,” he adds. He squints down the aisle. “Should we...do...something…?”
Hangil grunts. Jongsu is one thing - kid’s younger than the rest of them but he’s probably got more sense than all of them put together. If it was just Jongsu, they wouldn’t have to worry. They could spend hours making the full tour of this giant place and at the end they’d find him eating swedish meatballs or playing in the ball pit with the rest of the kids. He’s fine. Giseok? Not so much. Hangil’s fairly certain he couldn’t navigate his way out of a paper bag, and by the time he looks up from his phone and realizes he’s wanders off, well. Hangil has this vivid image of Giseok camped out on a couch in a showcase room, taking sad little near-identical selcas every five minutes and sending them off to all of them with SOS messages.
Hangil looks over at Yasuo, and he can see his eyebrows raise over the top of his giant glasses. “Yeah,” Hangil says slowly. He carefully takes the lamp out of Yasuo’s hands and puts it away, since they’re supposed to be looking for a new couch, not something that Hangil is fairly certain will give him nightmares. “Probably.” What Hangil really wants to do is find a nice display mattress and take a nap, but their manager would take poorly to them losing half the group. They’re supposed to be the hyungs or whatever. “Or we can just cut them loose, and I can do all of their lines. What do you say?” Sounds like less effort. Now anyway.
“No,” Yasuo says immediately, his lip curling in disgust. “Please, God, let’s never do that.” They head further down the aisle and Yasuo casually ditches their cart in the middle of an intersection. “It’s hard enough carrying your dead weight with other people to help,” he sniffs. Hangil has half a mind to abandon him too, to leave them all behind, debut solo or at least eat IKEA meatballs, but Yasuo is reaching for his arm and pulling him back towards the showcases.
“I’m offended,” Hangil says. Yasuo just hums, gripping him tighter. “Offended,” he says again, with emphasis this time, but Yasuo purses his pretty lips and the fight leaves Hangil. He can be the bigger man, let Yasuo think that he’s in charge. He is older, right? Theoretically, that should make him responsible.
Theoretically. Yasuo gets distracted before they’ve even managed to backtrack on aisle, squinting at a shelving unit. “Yah,” Hangil laughs, and when Yasuo turns to look at him, Hangil spreads his hands. “Weren’t we doing something?”
“Ah, yes,” Yasuo says. He snaps his fingers at Hangil. “Did you bring your phone? Mine’s dead.” Hangil doesn’t immediately reply and clearly that was not the answer Yasuo was looking for. He waves his hand under Hangil’s nose until a phone magically finds its way there. “Thank you.”
“Sure, hyung.”
Hangil hooks his chin on Yasuo’s shoulder as he opens up his line account, and as expected, he’s got four messages from Giseok, looking forlorn. There are also shots of the showcase he’s sitting in, and a pair of school girls peeking out from around a shelving unit at him. “It’s like Where’s Waldo,” Yasuo says fondly. “Except instead of lots of guys in striped shirts, it’s Giseok’s selca face.”
“Does this one count?” Hangil asks. “I think he’s showing an emotion here.”
Yasuo laughs, and it sounds loud even in the bustle of the noisy store. “I think I know where he is. He’s sent us plenty of clues.” He grips Hangil’s arm again, and off they go.
They find Giseok, as expected, huddled in a mock-up of a teenagers room, bent over his phone. “There you are,” he says, grumpy. “I’m getting hungry.”
“It must be exhausting, all that texting,” Hangil says seriously. He doesn’t dodge the half-hearted punch Giseok sends his way, but he’s got tiny little arms so it’s not that big a deal. “How old are you again?”
“Shut up,” Giseok grumbles, his eyes darting over to the school-age girls. They’re clutching at each other, eyes wide, and aw. They must be fans. Giseok has always been the most concerned with his image. It’s adorable that he thinks it matters. “Hyung, stop.”
Yasuo and Hangil exchange a look, and then they descend on Giseok. Hangil ruffles his hair so hard that Giseok’s chin knocks against his chest, and Yasuo grabs a hefty pinch of his cheek, the two of them cooing over Giseok. “I’m going to kill you both,” Giseok hisses, his eyes murderous. Yasuo tweaks his nose.
At least their aggressive coddling spurs Giseok into action, and they wind their way through the massive IKEA, but there’s no sign of Jongsu and he’s ignoring his texts. “What is the point of a cell phone if you don’t answer it?” Yasuo scowls, shoving Hangil’s phone into his pocket as they make their way through kitchen goods.
Giseok is doing his level best to pretend he doesn’t know them, while they do their best to humiliate him. Yasuo is delighting in playing the obnoxious housewife, and he’s uncannily good at it. “Giseokie, what do you think of these spoons?” Yasuo calls, sugar sweet, and Hangil nearly chokes laughing at Giseok’s miserable expression.
They find Jongsu near the exit, finishing off a plate of meatballs. “Took you guys long enough,” Jongsu says amicably. He swings his heels against the box he’s sitting on. “Find a couch?”
“Crisis averted,” Hangil says, and Yasuo raises his arms in victory. “We won’t have to figure out how to tell the fans that we lost the kids.” Yasuo grabs Hangil’s hands too and holds them up in the air. He wrestles one free to press his palm against his heart. “And my solo career had such promise.”
Jongsu grew up fast in the group, and he doesn’t really look his age, except when he laughs the way he’s laughing at Hangil now. “Okay, hyung,” he says. “Sure.”
For the first time this afternoon, Hangil’s phone rings. It’s their manager. “I love this song,” Yasuo says, and his mouth quirks up. He jerks his chin at a line up of carts near them, and oh yeah, Hangil knows where this is going.
With a whoop, Hangil throws himself at the nearest one. It rocks forward, nearly tipping, but he catches himself and then he’s off, skating down the hallway. Yasuo isn’t far behind, laughing loudly enough that Hangil can pretend he doesn’t hear the horrified voice of the IKEA staff member, begging them to stop.
When they make it to the front of the store, their manager is waiting, watching them approach with a resigned expression. Hangil grins, skidding to a stop in front of him. “Sorry!” he says cheerfully. Yasuo collides with him, his cart spinning out and hitting a wall. “We didn’t find anything.”
Giseok and Jongsu bring up the rear, and their manager rubs at his temples and sighs. Yasuo throws an arm around Hangil’s shoulders as they head out of the building. Hey, maybe not so bad a morning after all.