Work Header

Silence Is Golden (And Shades of Silver and Blue)

Work Text:

Jaebum isn’t fond of noise, favouring the quiet silence that finds him at ungodly hours of the day. He prefers the amiable humming of unspoken words in a group of two than the ruckus that accompanies a group of seven. It’s not that he prefers JJ Project over GOT7, because he loves them both the same, but when you have Jackson Wang shouting broken Korean at six thirty in the morning, Jaebum couldn’t help but reminisce the days where he was able to bathe in nothing but the soft breathing of Jinyoung. Where his mornings do not sound like a battlefield in ancient Sparta. Yes, he thinks while reclining into the leather seat of their hair salon, good old JJ Project days.

Except not really because Jinyoung joins in the war, sparring with both Jackson and Yugyeom at once. It’s all sort of loud and it clashes against Jaebum’s eardrums in all the wrong ways. Brows knitted together, Jaebum deepens his frown and closes his eyes in a petty attempt to ignore his members. Because if he couldn’t shut out audio, he should at least be able to shut out the visuals.

He’s successfully hypnotized himself to blur the yells into white noise when he feels the sofa dip next to him, musky cologne invading his personal space. (Jaebum thinks it smells like forest flowers) He opens his eyes to find Mark looking at him with a bemused smile, offering him a cup of hot tea. Jaebum reaches for the paper cup from the periwinkle-haired (Whether it was blue or grey, Jaebum couldn’t really tell) boy, letting the steam fog up his glasses as he muttered to his friend;

“You should have offered me vodka, not tea.”

The other simply snorts, sipping at his own cup of tea. “You’re too young to be drinking away your dissatisfaction with the world.”

“My nickname is grandpa, if you remember correctly.” Jaebum retorts in a half whisper, biting on the rim of his cup. If his members could make fun of him and his elderly tendencies, Jaebum likes to think that he has the right to act like a mean old grump yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

“You’re younger than me, remember?” Mark says with a raised eyebrow.

“Except you look like you’re sixteen.” Jaebum mutters under his breath. “And we’re technically the same age,” he adds.

A baritone hum in C-minor is all he gets for a reply and Mark goes back to sipping his tea, gazing absentmindedly at the rowdy bunch in front of them. Jaebum thinks Mark probably drugged his tea, because as he sits there staring at long eyelashes and pouty lips, Jaebum finds everything settling into a quiet that even Jackson can’t disrupt. The world slows down, almost to a still, and Jaebum sinks back into the couch as he watches doe-like eyes.

He definitely likes quiet.

Except quiet doesn’t exactly like Jaebum and he can’t even get a night of sleep without Youngjae singing into his ear. Three o’clock in the morning and Jaebum pushes himself up from bed, dark circles falling to his cheeks. Youngjae’s singing Moonlight three octaves too high and all it does is make Jaebum want to push their powerful lead vocal’s face into the wall. But he doesn’t—because he’s a mature and kind hearted leader-hyung. Three AM and he has two hours to kill before they have to be forced into salon chairs and fitting rooms again. And so Jaebum trudges his way to the kitchen, eyes half open, to indulge himself in cheap instant coffee.

All the caffeine, he thinks, as he dumps two packs of coffee mix into his mug. It’s his luck that there’s no more hot water left and Jaebum lets out a groan as he takes the kettle out of the pantry. It’s going to take at least fifteen minutes for the water boil and Jaebum sits down at the kitchen table, resting his head on his arms.

Tick-tock goes the clock.

Jaebum feels his eyelids drooping, sleep invading all of his senses as Youngjae hums in the distant background. He wakes up a while later to the subtle hiss of the kettle, and he pours the steaming water into his mug, dissolving caffeinated powder into liquid. Clink, goes the spoon against the porcelain mug as he stirs his coffee. Reclining back into the wooden chair, Jaebum closes his eyes as he raises his mug to his mouth.

He barely gets a sip of his coffee, acidic beverage grazing his lips, before he feels someone pull his arm back to the table. He opens his eyes and there’s Mark frowning slightly at the mug in his hand. There’s this thing about Mark’s frown that’s all too reprimanding in passive-aggressive behaviour that makes Jaebum feel like a drug addict at three o’clock in the morning.

“Why are you drinking black coffee at three in the morning?”

“I need it?” Jaebum responds, trying to release the older male’s grip on his arm.

“No you don’t.” Mark replies and the next thing Jaebum knows, the silver haired male pulls his mug away from him and dumps its contents in the sink. All his caffeine, Jaebum mourns as he drops his face into his hands. “Mark,” he whines and the silver haired (Jaebum catches the faded blue streaks under the kitchen light) male only opens the cabinet to take out his jar of tea. Since when did they have so much tea?

“Here,” he says a moment later, settling two mugs of steaming tea on the table. “Chamomile tea.”

“I needed to wake up, not fall back asleep.”

“You need to relax,” the older male says as he drinks his own share of tea.

“Sure,” Jaebum says in between sips, porcelain mug burning his fingertips.

Three fifty in the morning and Jaebum falls asleep with his head on Mark’s shoulder. He dreams of forest nymphs and wildflower fields. He also dreams that Mark’s a fairy, wings gleaming silver blue.

Jackson talks too much, too loud, too animate. And all in all, it gives Jaebum a headache—especially since he realizes how the Hong Kong male riles the rest of the group into shouts of conversations. Even Jinyoung, his beloved dongsaeng who used to sit by himself and read in silence, is screaming at one point. It breaks a bit of his sanity and Jaebum plummets his head to the car window. Bam Bam and Yugyeom are fighting over breakfast choices, no help to the pounding in his cerebral cortex, and Youngjae’s shouting in his Mokpo dialect. (Which was endearing and adorable but still too loud to his liking.)

Wincing at the increasing decibels, Jaebum presses his forehead against the glass surface of the window in hopes that the coldness of the glass can do something to soothe the headache he’s suffering from. It doesn’t and Jaebum groans inwardly, pulling his scarf over his ears. The cotton and polyester blend do little to muffle out noise but at least he feels a bit more comfortable. He stays attached to the window until warm hands reach out to tug him back. He falls to the crook of Mark’s neck and eight minutes later, he falls asleep to the gentle massage of Mark’s fingers on his temple. Jackson’s yelp fade out to a buzz and all he remembers hearing is the rhythmic sound of Mark breathing.

Inhale. Exhale.

Jaebum falls in and out of sleep and Mark only pulls him closer. He’s resting on the older male’s chest now. Rise and fall, goes Mark’s lungs. Rise and fall, goes Jaebum’s heart. “Sing me a lullaby,” he mutters into Mark’s cardigan, and when the latter starts humming to the chorus of Moonlight, Jaebum feels the vibrations break his soul.

“I’m always falling asleep when I’m with you.”Jaebum states, frowning at the thought that his chic leader image was being thrown away for one of a sleeping polar bear.

“It’s okay.” Mark replies, and Jaebum wonders exactly what he means by okay. He wasn’t apologizing for his actions, it’s not his fault—it’s Mark’s.

“It’s all your fault.”

“For what?”

“Making me sleep. Taking away my coffee and feeding me drugged sleeping potions that—“

“Tea. I fed you tea.”

“Same thing.” Jaebum dismisses, crossing his arms in attempts to maintain his forceful image. “I can’t spend all my time falling asleep, you know?”

“It’s okay, you can fall with me in different ways.”

“Oh.” He says.

“Oh.” Mark repeats.

Jackson is away filming roommate, probably turning Kangjoon into an insomniac and poor, poor Dongwook-hyung into a devastated soul. Youngjae’s singing adlibs two in the morning and Jaebum tiptoes his way into Mark’s room. The moonlight illuminates Mark in the strangest ways, blue and silver hair faintly flickering as the light casts a shadow on his face that accentuates just how long his eyelashes were. He tries to make his way inconspicuously to the Taiwanese male’s mattress, failing when the floorboards beneath him creak. Mark’s a light sleeper, and it doesn’t take much more than the other’s sudden tensing that alerts Jaebum that the other was awake. Mark lets out a groggy “Hey,” lifting the covers to pull Jaebum next to him.

“Hey,” Jaebum replies in a soft mutter.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve decided that I can’t spend all my time falling for you.” He says with utmost dignity, he still has leaderly duties after all.

“Of course you can.” Mark blatantly states in accented Korean.

“No I can’t.”

“Well, you’ve been doing it all this time anyways.” He says, resting his hands comfortably around the younger male’s waist.

“No I don’t.” Jaebum defends himself, snuggling a bit closer to Mark who strangely smells like lavenders. “I only like you because you’re quiet and I hate loud noises.”

“Mmmh,” is all he gets for a reply and Jaebum falls asleep without counting stanzas that night, mind spiraling in the abyss of quiet that Mark bestows upon him.