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Chapter Text

Taeyong accepts the title of hipster. Probably defeats the purpose if he does, but he doesn’t think he has any other noteworthy traits, so he replaces his lack of personality with his taste in music and fashion and the label that comes with it. It’s comfortable. It makes him feel visible. 

Being at a pop concert contradicts this label. He’s surrounded by screaming teens and even some middle-aged adults, their gazes completely focused on the stage ahead of them, on the lyrics they’re yelling out, on waving their flowing white — it’s supposed to be silver but it looks fucking white — lightsticks to the time of the beat. None of them care about the fact that Taeyong doesn’t know the words. They ignore him. He’s of no consequence.

“Taeyong-ah!” Yuta yells in his ear, but it feels like a whisper amongst all the cheering, “You don’t even know Growl?”

Taeyong was vaguely aware of Growl, but he cared nothing for it.

The group’s name is EXO. While Taeyong has no interest in mainstream music, he doesn’t live under a rock — of course he knows EXO. Another assembly-line SM group, this time with 11 members, which was excessive if you asked Taeyong. No one ever did ask Taeyong, but if someone did, he’d say it was excessive. He didn’t know any of the individual members’ names except for that Doh Kyungsoo guy, but he is aware of EXO. Aware of their music. Aware of their presence.

The concert’s fucking boring, frankly. (It’s not. There’s this one song where they dance in suits without shirts underneath and it invokes something primal in Taeyong that makes him scared of himself, but like hell he’ll admit it out loud.) (There’s also another song about Tempo that Taeyong secretly thinks is a musical masterpiece, but he’ll take that opinion to his grave.) He’s glad when it’s over and he can finally drive Yuta home.

“What did you think?” Yuta asks, a bright smile on his face. Taeyong didn’t have the heart to lessen it even a little, she smiles back.

“It was bearable.”

“Wow, high praise coming from you. I’ll take it.”

“What’s the group’s name again?”

“Har har.”

Yuta insists on playing his EXO artist playlist on the ride home. Taeyong wants to protest, saying they just listened to their entire discography, but Yuta insisted he needed to listen to the studio versions now after listening to them live.

And plays the blandest of songs.

Using Taeyong’s Holy Aux Cord.

“Three, six, five!” Yuta chants at the top of his voice, as if they hadn’t spent three hours surrounded by screaming girls.

Taeyong was back to being 100% unimpressed by EXO.

Taeyong hasn’t changed much since high school. He hasn’t managed to develop a personality; he’s still relying on his music and fashion to define him. To his credit, he’s working as a composer for a small indie company now. It doesn’t pay much because their albums don’t sell well but it doesn’t pay abysmally because his songs get streamed on Melon and foreign streaming services often enough, so he’s happy. He needs a second job as a barista, but it’s bearable as long as he has his music to return to.

Okay, correction: it’s only just bearable. A bad day on the job has definitely made it unbearable. The café he works at is at Apgujeong, and some of the characters he comes across on shift are the kinds of people he didn’t realise existed.

One day a mammoth walks into his store — no, not a literal mammoth, but Taeyong thinks he might as well be. His hair is dark and perfectly coiffed. He’s wearing a massive fuzzy coat with “GUCCI” embroidered onto the back, sunglasses the size of Taeyong’s chest, and a Louis Vuitton face mask. A Louis Vuitton face mask.

Taeyong steels his nerves and readies himself for an experience as the mammoth steps up to the cash register. “Hello. What are you after?”

The mammoth tugs his face mask down below his chin and licks his lips, and Taeyong, very much unwillingly, follows the movement with his eyes. “Yes, uh, can I have a large iced americano, extra shot, less ice?” Taeyong enters it quickly into his till, but the mammoth interrupts. “Actually make that five and a half shots exactly.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow but otherwise decides not to say anything. “Sure. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“That’ll be 5,500 won.”

“Put it on my tab.”

Taeyong’s autopilot halts abruptly. Tab? He’s never seen this guy before. Granted, he’s working a different shift to usual — insufferably early morning as opposed to late evening — but he’s never seen anyone remotely like him. He thinks he’d remember a mammoth if he saw one.

“Your tab?” Taeyong near stutters, quickly pulling up the list of customers that have one open. There are a collection of customers who pay for their coffee in bulk at the end of the week. “Your name?”

Taeyong doesn’t get an answer immediately, so he’s forced to look up. He can feel the mammoth judging him through his oversized sunglasses. “You don’t know who I am?”

Taeyong frowns. “Should I?”

The mammoth continues staring, and Taeyong takes a minute to observe him. It’s only now he realises that there’s a sizeable number of women with large cameras standing at the windows of the café, customers with phone cameras directed at them.

Taeyong’s café is very close to the SM building. He thinks fast.

“Ah, I recognise you!” He snaps his finger, and he thinks the mammoth’s eyes might widen under his glasses. “You’re from that group… Shinee! Ring Ding Dong?”

The mammoth’s entire stance collapses in on itself, the lower half of his face morphing from confusion to disbelief to pure devastation in the space of a few seconds. Taeyong doesn’t understand what the big deal is. So he doesn’t know the name of one of the members of Shinee, so what? Did he have to?

“It’s Seo Youngho,” the mammoth finally offers, voice weak and throat seemingly in serious need of lubrication.

Taeyong searches the name up and finds him on the list. He doesn’t remember an idol named Youngho, but he never expected to anyway. “Okay. A large iced americano with exactly five and a half shots, yes?” He waits for a nod. “It’ll be ready for you on the side, Youngho-ssi.”

“Thank you.” There’s a pause, and Taeyong feels a little uncomfortable when the mammoth doesn’t move along. “Taeyong-ssi.”

He finally steps away from Taeyong’s line of vision, and Taeyong finally feels at peace at the sight of the sun that aforementioned mammoth had previously been blocking.

Well. Somewhat at peace.

There’s the matter of the girls in the window. Taeyong counts 18, but he might have missed a few, all breathing on the glass that Taeyong will inevitably have to clean up himself. There’s the customers seated at the café, gaping at Youngho from Shinee open-mouthed — though, really, with a jacket like that, Youngho from Shinee is practically asking for it.

And also literally asking for it, as he waves at the girls outside and not-so-subtly poses for the cameras inside, twisting his body into a pose that belongs on a teaser photo for a drama and not in real life.

The bar and till area is small to allow for more space for seating, so Youngho from Shinee isn’t standing very far away. It’s not hard for him to catch Taeyong observing. (Staring, if Taeyong wants to be honest, but he doesn’t want to be honest, and he doesn’t want to be honest about the blood rushing to his ears as a direct result of being caught staring, either.)

The mammoth throws him a perfect, plastic surgery smile. He pulls his his Louis Vuitton face mask down so it’s sitting right below his lower lip and mouths “they fund my paycheck” only for Taeyong to see.

Taeyong wants to throw a coffee machine at him and then go throw up.

Chapter Text

Taeyong’s friendship with Yuta isn’t entirely comfortable. Not because Taeyong has a problem with Yuta — no, absolutely not. Taeyong would follow Yuta to the ends of the earth and back, he’d kill a man and then kill himself if Yuta asked. They’d been through too much together for Taeyong to just drop him, and even if they hadn’t, Taeyong genuinely enjoys Yuta’s company. From the bottom of his heart. No guilt. No ulterior motive.

Taeyong just has a problem with Yuta’s choices.

Yuta’s choices in music, in particular.

“You and me in the moonlight!” Yuta screeches, much to the misfortune of Taeyong and his poor overworked ears. Taeyong makes his distaste known by sighing very loudly every 30 seconds or so.

(All at the risk of having him and his current Naver activities exposed, of course, but his sensitivities need to be protected. His artistic integrity is of the highest priority.) 

(Yeah, fine. He’s looking up Seo Youngho on Naver.)

Yuta finally relents after a while, turning the volume on his second-hand JBL waterproof bluetooth speakers (so he could listen to his trash in the shower) down. “C’mon, Taeyong-ah, everybody likes Twice!”

“Everybody does not like Twice,” Taeyong snipes back. “I do not like Twice.”

“Their songs are so catchy! Maybe if you wrote more songs like this, you wouldn’t have to work your barista job on the side.”

Taeyong half scoffs, half gasps, as if Yuta had thrown him the most offensive remark he possibly could — because Yuta has thrown him the most offensive remark he possibly could. He places his phone on the counter, face down. He’s ready to fight for his honour. “I’m an artist, Yuta-yah. Not a hamster on a wheel. 

Yuta snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“Expressing myself and the world around me with my craft is my evolutionary duty as a human being.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Yuta rolls his eyes, “You know what else is your evolutionary duty as a human being? Paying the rent.”

“I always pay the rent!”

“Yeah, for now. What if your music stops selling because your connections get tired of your bullshit and stop listening to your demos?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Uh huh.” And that’s when Taeyong feels a shiver down his spine, and he realises he’s talked himself into a trap. Yuta swipes Taeyong’s phone away and quickly punches in the pin. “Why are you looking up pictures of Seo Youngho?”

“None of your business,” Taeyong grumbles, snatching his phone back. He briefly considers changing his pin.

Yuta looks at him with an raised eyebrow and smiling like the spawn of Satan. Taeyong will definitely change his pin. 

“He came to the café the other day.”

“Oh my god!” Yuta gasps, hand over mouth and everything. “I knew you’d meet an idol eventually working near the SM building, but you got to meet Johnny of all people? You’re so lucky!” 

“Jya… ni?”

“Yeah? That’s his stage name.”

“So he’s not Youngho from Shinee? He’s Jyani from Shinee?”

Yuta blinks. “What? He’s not from Shinee.”

“He’s not?”

“No. I thought you were looking him up?”

“I… was about to.”

“So… you were just looking at the pictures, is what you’re saying.”

“I wanted to make sure it was the same guy. Before I waste my time on research and everything.”

“You’d scrolled a long way down.”

“He had a face mask on and giant sunglasses, so.”

“You like his face.”

“I have no opinion of his face.”

“Sure, you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep telling yourself that, Taeyong.” Yuta leans back in his stool, far enough that he could definitely fall if Taeyong pushed him. “He’s in EXO, by the way.”

Taeyong frowned. “EXO? Isn’t that the concert we went to?”

“Mhm.”

“I didn’t even notice him between the 10 fucking members on stage. Why are there so many, anyway?”

“There were 11, and there used to be 14.”

“14? What for?”

“Seven in Korea and seven in China. But three of the Chinese members left.”

Taeyong shrugs, a few inches added to his stature. “That’s what happens when you force a group of rich people with a mild interest in music and bare minimum skill to work together.” 

Yuta nearly does fall off his stool, and considering all the stress Taeyong was put through in the past five minutes, Taeyong feels vindicated. “Harsh.”

“But true.” 

“You know one of them has a PhD in music, right?”

“Is it that Do Kyungsoo guy?”

“No— why do you think he’s so great?”

“He’s not great, he’s just the decent one. He was in Swing Kids.” 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have the PhD.”

“Well, that’s another one, then. Doesn’t explain the others.”

“God,” Yuta says, “You’re so obnoxious, it’s a wonder I put up with you at all.” 

“It’s no wonder,” Taeyong replies simply, innocently, a slight but deliberate pout in his lips — the kind he knows Yuta can’t stand. (He can almost taste the sweet, sweet victory.) “What was it you texted me the other day when you were drunk? You’re as big of an asshole as me, so we’re the only ones who can tolerate each other?”

Yuta shoots him a dirty look. “Fuck off.”

Taeyong bats his eyelashes. “My platonic soulmate!”

“Fuck off.”

Taeyong grins. He might not like Yuta’s choices, but for him, he can live and let live.

A day off for Taeyong with no work, no chores and no social engagements is a rare occurence, and Taeyong takes them very seriously.

He’s at a gallery for this day off. The art is a little weird and a little wonderful and definitely doesn’t attract large crowds. Taeyong feels special; like he’s part of some exclusive club, like he’s somehow better than the common man for having seen these exhibits and appreciating them. He doesn’t quite understand any of it, but he reads the placards, and thus he thinks he has a direct window to the artists’ souls.

As he’s come to find on days off, however, his peace was very quickly ruined.

“Whoa!” a voice exclaims, loud and booming but slow, like the fucking Abominable Snowman had just discovered the sun. And when Taeyong turns his head in the direction of the now multiple footsteps entering the gallery, surprise, surprise —

“Shit,” Taeyong whispers under his breath, as Jyani from EXO lumbers into the room, followed closely by a shorter, better dressed man, and then somewhat further down by a goddamn camera crew. Mr Homo Habilis is dressed in an ugly neon Hawaiian shirt, khakhi shorts, and Balenciaga slides, and Taeyong hates everything his eyes are registering. “Shit.”

“Wow, wow, wow,” the shorter man adds, much quieter, thank god. He, too, seems like he’s had a nose job. At least, that nose seemed too perfect to be natural. “Oh, this is so nice.”

The cameramen are glaring at Taeyong and he flees upstairs before he can get in the way of any of their shots. The gallery is open plan, though, and Taeyong is unfortunately still subject to the mammoth’s voice. “So cool! They even have seats!”

“Yah, don’t sit on those!”

Jyani from EXO’s laugh is dumb and loud and not infectious, so Taeyong is not also silently chuckling along. The “seats” are a work of art that someone painfully toiled away at, put their heart and soul into, and Taeyong is disgusted at the lack of respect from Jyani from EXO and the lack of respect mundanes have towards contemporary art in general, even if he doesn’t understand what the fuck those seats are meant to represent.

Jyani from EXO speaks in fluent english, which makes Taeyong think he wants to look Jyani from EXO up for real instead of just looking at his pictures and relying only on what Yuta tells him and he refuses to hear. His companion, Mr Fashionable, speaks in less fluent english, but definitely not any that Taeyong understands.

(Taeyong’s english comes from Oscar award-winning movies, which are sometimes in French, and Post Malone before he got famous. It’s not very good.)

He quickly scours the area for an alternative exit and finds, much to his horror, that there is none. If he wants to leave the top floor, he has to go back the way he came, which is the way Jyani from EXO and Instagram Model and the entire camera crew are heading right now — 

“You!” Jyani from EXO exclaims, voice somehow projecting to every single corner of the gallery.

Taeyong turned around slowly from where he was pretending to observe the floor-to-ceiling installation art that was the main attraction of the room. He kept his face as innocently curious as possible. “Sorry? Do I know you?”

“I—” Jyani from EXO falters, pointing to himself dumbly. “You don’t remember me?”

“Should I? Are you quite memorable?” 

Mr Instagram snickers in the corner, and the camera crew look mightily unimpressed. Jyani from EXO’s mouth falls to the floor, and Taeyong can almost see the phantom hand pick his jaw back up and fit it into place. Taeyong wants nothing more than to be anywhere but here.

“It’s me?” Jyani from EXO points again. “Ah… Youngho from Shinee?”

Full-Time Colour-Coordination splutters. “You’re who, now?”

“I ordered a coffee at your café,” Jyani from EXO continues, whining. That’s another thing Taeyong hates about these idols — what business do grown men have whining in public like that? 

“A lot of people order coffee from my café.”

“Yeah, but… I’m Youngho from Shinee.”

Taeyong scratches his chin. “What’s Shinee do again?”

Jyani from EXO’s pout deepens. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

“You knew last time! I swear to—”

“Excuse me—” one of the camera men says, shoving his camera in Jyani from EXO’s arms, and when Jyani from EXO nearly let them fall, he shoved them in Wannabe European’s arms. (Why are so many people walking around in berets? What’s the point of partial hat hair?) 

“You said Ring Ding Dong!”

“— Excuse me, we’re filming here—”

“Sorry,” Taeyong says, pulling his neon green cotton string bag closer around his shoulder. “I’ll be going now. Hope you enjoy the rest of the gallery, Jyani.”

Jyani from EXO’s eyes widen. “You said my name… you know who I am!”

Taeyong freezes. “No I don’t.” 

“Yes you do!” 

“Youngho-yah,” Cameraperson #2 says, “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Bye!” Taeyong was out of there in a sprint, not even bothering to see the look on the neanderthal’s face as he ran out. (Okay, maybe a brief glance. A mere second’s glance. Jyani from EXO’s face was almost red with anger, and Taeyong didn’t find it cute. Not one bit.)

He didn’t stop to catch his breath till he was out of the building; hands on his knees, chest inflating and deflating like a frog.

It’s at least a whole two months until Taeyong has another day off like this.

Fuck Jyani from EXO.

Chapter Text

Taeyong’s on his usual late shift at the café when The Devil Himself strides in wearing an orange hoodie with multiple multi-coloured drawstrings and similarly orange polarised wraparound sunglasses not sitting properly on his nose. He was colour coordinated, but his outfit was ugly.

It had been hardly a week since he bumped into Jyani from EXO at the gallery. Definitely not long enough.

“I’ll have an iced americano with exactly six and a half shots,” he says before Taeyong can even greet him. He didn’t even bother being polite. (He does look exhausted, but Taeyong thinks he doesn’t deserve the sympathy.)

“And that’s for Seo Youngho?”

“Oh, so you remember me now?”

Taeyong scowled at him. “Or are you going by a different name, today?”

Jyani from EXO glared back. “Yes, actually. Put it under Park Chanyeol.”

“If you say so.” Taeyong punches the new name into the customer search. He’s tired. It’s half past one in the morning. He doesn’t want to play whatever game Jyani from EXO thinks he’s playing. 

“Do you know who that is?”

Taeyong looks up. “Who?” 

“Park Chanyeol.”

Taeyong barely gives it a thought. “No.”

“How do you… do you not know EXO?”

“I know EXO exists.”

“Okay.” Jyani from EXO presses his hands together. “You know our songs, right? Monster? Growl?” 

“No english,” Taeyong replies in terrible english. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Why’s it such a big deal to you that I don’t know who you or Park Chanyeol are? Like, how important are you?”

Jyani from EXO splutters? “Very important! Everyone knows who we are!”

“I don’t.”

“You’re the only person I’ve met who doesn’t!” 

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Maybe if EXO actually contributed something worthwhile to society, I’d know who you are. Until then…”

“We contribute to society! People love our music! And we got #goatchallenge trending twice!”

Taeyong doesn’t know what #goatchallenge is, and he’s not sure he wants to have the conversation where he learns what it is. “I don’t care about trends. Mass attention cheapens the significance of an event. It’s not special when it’s trendy.”

Jyani from EXO stares back at Taeyong dumbly. He really does look dumb, with his hideous orange sunglasses sliding down the tip of his suspiciously perfect nose. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.”

The gall. 

The audacity.

Taeyong would kick him out of the café if he could.

“Will your coffee be the only thing for today, Youngho-ssi?” Taeyong asks, customer service voice on. 

“Yes,” Jyani from EXO replies without missing a beat. “But you know how stupid that sounds, right?” 

“It’s not stupid. I’ll have your coffee ready for you soon.”

Jyani from EXO follows Taeyong over to the bar counter. “When something’s popular, it’s popular for a reason. Popularity just justifies its quality.”

“The general public don’t like wasting their energy enjoying things with real meaning. All popularity does is prove it’s meaningless.”

“Are you saying all of the music I make is meaningless, then?” 

“Yes.” 

Jyani from EXO seems to have no response to that other than glaring at Taeyong over the counter. He’s tall, and Taeyong feels towered over and slightly unsafe, but the café has a security cam and he figures he can just leak it to the press if he gets attacked.

“Your iced americano with six and a half shots.”

Jyani from EXO narrows his eyes, glances down at the cup and then back at Taeyong. “Thank you,” he says, snatching the cup away and taking a long sip of the straw. “Taeyong-ssi.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. He didn’t expect Jyani from EXO to remember his name. “Youngho-ssi.”

“The other guy who makes coffee is way better, by the way. Yours just tastes like Starbucks.”

Taeyong feels a his chest heat up with anger, but Jyani from EXO is gone before he can reclaim his intellectual high ground.

Jyani from EXO will be back. And Taeyong will get the last word next time.