GET OUTTA MY HEAD.

   SEOKJIN GETS OUT of the hospital after two days, aching and bruised. jeongguk stayed with him the whole time; two days of sleeping cramped up on a chair, of watching seokjin cry whenever his wounds hurt, just from sitting up and trying to eat the hospital food. two days of visits from maxxie where jeongguk would leave and chat to angel on the hospital payphone because he just can't stand seeing them both so in love.

on the morning of the day that seokjin gets out of hospital, hoseok calls the phone in menswear, which jeongguk picks up. he's been taking care of the bar since last night, tidying it up for seokjin, he knows it's his pride and joy, and that maxxie's been in too much of a state to clean properly. the phone rattles in it's receiver and jeongguk stops scrubbing down the bar to answer it, propping it between his shoulder and ear. "menswear pub and nightclub, what can i do for ya?"

"alright gguk, it's me," hoseok's rough, cigarette scarred voice rings through the phone, and jeongguk scoffs. "y'alright?"

"'m alright, yeah, considerin', well, everything," jeongguk sighs softly, hoisting himself up to sit on the bar, one hand searching for his cigarettes in his leather jacket pocket. "what d'ya want?"

"you always assume i want somethin' gguk, it's a bit annoying," hoseok laughs softly. "anyway, punk rocky's tomorrow, right?"

"yeah, but jin can't play," jeongguk says, cigarette between his teeth. "he's in a bad shape, hobi."

"already sorted that, got us a bassist, he just needs to learn the songs. 'm calling a practice today, get your drums ready. i'll be there in ten minutes."

jeongguk sighs. he's really not in the mood for playing, especially not at a festival; his head's been fucking him over, the last few days, making him spiral downwards, sleepless nights in that creepy and fucking cold hospital, wondering why his heart is behaving oddly. he needs a shag, he reckons. maybe he'll go out on the pull¹ tonight. he pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales. "yeah, alright, see you in ten."

he puts the phone down and sighs, heading to the old jukebox to find some music. it'll distract him from his brain, something upbeat and fun, so an old abba song seems to be the solution, the swedish stars making him dance despite his supposed hate of disco. super trooper plays while he mixes hot water and bleach and starts to mop the floor, the chemical smell mingling with the cigarette smoke spouting from his lips. his drums and all their band equipment is in the dingy basement of the pub, which is where he supposes he'll be spending most of the day — brilliant, just what he wants, to hang around hoseok and whatever twat he's found to substitute jin, just brilliant.

maxxie calls after he finishes mopping to tell him that he and seokjin are gonna be at home all day ( clearly he's playing nurse, and maybe jeongguk wants to be the one taking care of seokjin, but that's nothing big ), so jeongguk tells him to send seokjin his love which is just what you do when someone's hurt or ill, it means nothing, right? absolutely nothing... ( oh but maybe it meant more when he said it ). then there's just time to switch the music off and wait for hoseok, reading the newest edition of NME that the postman pushed through the mail slot.

he's halfway through a review of the newest the police album ( quite terribly written honestly, and the album isn't that bad ) when hoseok busts through the door, looking as proud as a dog with two dicks, arms outstretched and little red veins peppering his eyes, wearing his favourite denim jacket.

"oi oi saveloy!" he yells, and he's a lot happier than jeongguk's seen him for a while, all beaming smiles and victory grins. oh man, he's definitely gotten some dick.

"oi oi," jeongguk says, forcing a smile onto his tired face, spotting the guy hoseok bought with him walk in behind the lead singer. he vaguely recognises him from that day that hoseok was fucking enraged, some short dude with long black hair, disheveled, in a red and black flannel and tattered jeans, black doc marten boots on his feet, a cigarette clamped in his teeth and a very sexy looking red bass on his back.

"y'alright?" hoseok asks, clapping jeongguk quite forcefully on the back. jeongguk coughs out cigarette smoke, wheezing.

"yeah, i'm okay. this our lad?" he cocks his chin at hoseok's company, grinning cheekily.

"'m yoongi, supposedly your extremely-short-notice replacement bassist," yoongi sticks out his hand and jeongguk shakes it, before crushing his cigarettes beneath the heel of his steel toecaps. "jeongguk, right?"

"yup, i'm the exhausted drummer," jeongguk nods. "c'mon, lets get down to the basement. jin couldnae make it, maxxie's takin' care of him at home... he's still pretty fucked, hoseok."

hoseok hums, hands in his pockets while he follows jeongguk to the basement door. "could he at least come along tomorrow, to watch, like? 'e'd like that, i reckon. we could set him up in his own, like, vip section yanno?"

jeongguk shrugs, heading down the stairs and flicking on the startling white strip lights, making the musty room light up, his drumkit shining and gleaming. yoongi whistles lowly. "nice set, mate."

"thanks," jeongguk smiles, going to sit behind. "right, so, we'll do covers first, i reckons. your guitar's all tuned?"

hoseok picks up his beloved purple guitar, malcolm, and nods, while yoongi sits on an upturned apple crate from oxford farmer's market and flicks the strings. "yup. all good."

"a'ight, what's your knowledge of the band the specials and their music, matey?" hoseok asks him, hips cocked to the side, his leather pants disturbingly tight and stretched over his muscles. yoongi bites his lip and shrugs.

"know the words well enough, could probably learn the chords easy as," he says, lighting a cigarette. "which songs we talkin'?"

"we're doin' do the dog, concrete jungle, and rat race," jeongguk answers, tapping a tune out with his drumsticks. "all's you've gotta do is back up and do all the ad-libbing 'n whatev's, you get the whole gist?"

"yeah, yeah, easy enough, i get it," yoongi nods. "what're the other two covers, then?"

"rebel rebel, of course," hoseok laughs softly, strumming the tune to rat race. "and we was thinkin' that i need a hero song, by bonnie tyler? 'cause it sounds pretty sick in a rock version."

"sounds pretty sick in general." jeongguk says quietly, recalling that one night he was drinking miserably in menswear and seokjin had tried everything to get it out of him. he'd tried so hard to get jeongguk to tell him what was wrong, or even just to smile, but he only got what he wanted when seokjin put on i need a hero and belted out the lyrics, all dramatic and shit, dressed in his gorgeous, oversized and probably silk cherry red button down, and these, like 70s highwaisted and flared trousers, and he'd belted it to jeongguk with lipstick slick lips and these stupidly dramatic expressions, and jeongguk, despite himself, laughed until he almost fell off his barstool.

jeongguk smiles at the memory, before realising they're actually practicing, hoseok strumming the opening to rat race, so he kicks in with the drums, yoongi picking up the pace quickly, singing along lowly in this perfect, gravelly northern accent that suits their sound perfectly, and if jeongguk weren't head over heels and arse over tit for seokjin, he'd be a brilliant addition to the heaven's devils, but the role of charming bassist is long gone.

hoseok's got the voice down for the specials, all heavy accent and rolling syllables, shaking his hips as he sings, bouncing on the balls of his big boots and grinning as he belts out the chorus. jeongguk gives it all he's got, stops thinking about seokjin 'cause that makes his brain hurt worse than that coke he snorted the other night, makes himself focus on keeping the beat and nowt else, inhaling deep and ad-libbing along with yoongi, drumming faster than lightening.

"right, brill, absolutely fuckin amazing!" hoseok beams, his grin brighter than jimmy saville's fuckin' golden shellsuit². he looks at yoongi and there's something there, something in their eyes when they look at each other — they've definitely fucked.

"fuckin' alright, wonnit³?" yoongi says, arms crossed and resting on his ruby red guitar, shoving hoseok off when the singer tries to give him a one-armed hug. "shall we crack on, then?"

jeongguk nods. at least it's something to take his mind off things, even if hoseok is a bit of a twat and hanging out with him is like a hole being drilled into your head.

━━

written – 300819

BRIT VOCAB
¹out on the pull: going out on the look for a hookup
²jimmy saville's golden shellsuit: jimmy saville was a telly star back in the 80s with a sorta charity wish-granting show for kids called jim'll fix it, and he wore a gross shellsuit. he's been found guilty of multiple accounts of pedophilia since then so he's a bit of a dodgy subject in the UK...
³wonnit: slang for 'wasn't it'

AUTHOR'S NOTE
i don't like this chapter :// but ig it has development?? @ y'all that want more jinkook i promise it's coming but i'm trying to develop the band as a concept more than i am the ships and that's probably terrible and y'all probably hate it asfds

i have so much fanart for this fic i stg i spend more time drawing for it than writing it ... would u like to see some ?? i can post a thing of just art n shit like as part of the intro or w/e :]

hope u enjoyed!

— love, jace