Second Chances

"Please take care of yourself," Taecyeon muttered over the phone. Thousands of miles away, he heard Chan-seong whisper a curt reply. It was obvious that his bandmate still hadn't forgiven him, or their manager for his state of exile. "Chan-seong, I need you to promise me you won't do anything foolish," the lanky Korean said again.

I need you to tell me, and convince me, was what he really meant, but the real words failed Taecyeon. Chan-seong's strained voice was still tense, unchanging and cool. It wasn't that a permanent rift had been formed after what the singer thought of as the "betrayal," but it had cut a wound too deep to heal over just a few days. An almost twenty four hour journey across the Pacific didn't seem to have changed much, either.

"Hyung, I'll be fine. Please give my regards to the rest of the band and keep safe." After a short silence, Chan-seong added, "Goodbye" and there was a dial tone.

Taecyeon tried not to let the conversation get to him. What had he expected, anyway? For Chan-seong to forgive him the minute he landed in whatever country it was Manager Kim had sent him to? That was another thing Taecyeon didn't like about the whole situation they were currently in. Even after he and the other guys co-operated with J-Y-hyung, their manager still wouldn't disclose Chan-seong's destination. It was as if the incident at the club that night had driven a wedge straight between label, manager, and the band members themselves. That wasn't even taking into account the Hottest fans - most of whom had taken to posting their frustrations out on their facebook pages, twitter and fanboards. And it was all because of her.

Resetting the phone back into its cradle, Taecyeon ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and let out a frustrated groan. He should have known she was trouble the minute he laid eyes on her. He should have seen it play out, realized her intentions when she walked towards their group - making short work of the bodyguards with her heavily made up eyes and ruby red lips - and traced a lazy finger across Chan-seong's shirt clad chest.

He blamed himself, honestly, for everything, for Chan-seong getting caught by the photographers, for the bag of coke they found in her purse, and the beer bottles that littered the back seat of the car they'd driven away in. Taecyeon blamed himself for the car crash that landed them in hospital, for Manager Kim's furious rant when he came to pick them up and for the still healing bruise on Junho's cheek from the angry punch a drunk Chan-seong had thrown out. He should have seen it, figured it all out. It had been his job to take care of everyone; most especially the maknae of the group.

Upset, the rapper pulled off the necktie he'd put on for the press conference earlier that afternoon and threw it on his still unmade bed.

"Bapo!" he growled, when he remembered back to Chan-seong confronting him after the final court hearing. Chan-seong had been humiliated; ashamed. He had expected his band mates to have his back that day but was sorely disappointed to find them bowing down to their Manager's demands that they keep away from the case until a ruling had been made. And they'd kept away - even when every single aspect of what they'd learned to stand for as a team screamed at them to reach out. Taecyeon's long fingers made another frustrated trip through his ruffled hair before he stomped towards the lounge. Junsu sat on the sofa set they had, nose in a book. He looked up when he heard the rapper walk in.

"Yah - where are you off to in such a foul mood?"

Taecyeon grabbed his sunglasses off of the countertop and the car keys from its' hook on the wall. "I'm going for a drive. Would you like to come?"

Junsu gave the man a suspicious glance before shaking his head. It didn't seem like a good idea to get into a closed space with a man that troubled.

"No, thank you. Will you be coming by the shop, though?"

Taecyeon just rolled his eyes and said, "Would you like me to get you something?"

Junsu smiled and nodded. "We're out of mangoes."

The rapper pulled his wallet from the top cabinet and shoved it into his back pocket. "Anything else?"

Junsu shook his head. "That's all."

Once Taecyeon reached the car, and had pulled into the afternoon traffic, the words of the conversation he'd just had with Chan-seong came rushing back.

"I thought you'd have my back, hyung!"

"Look, we had our hands tied. Manager Kim told us to stay away from the issue until he had solved the problem."

Chan-seong scoffed, "The issue being me."

"Why can't you understand this, Chan-seongie? We tried to help you. We told J-Y hyung we would testify on your behalf. But we weren't allowed to."

"Real friends would have tried harder."

Taecyeon growled at the maknae over the phone. "It wasn't our fault you were stupid enough to leave with that woman in the first place!"

And that had been the end of that conversation. Chan-seong had refused to say anything anymore, no matter how much Taecyeon apologised or tried to explain. It was as if he'd closed a door, locked it and thrown away the key.

"Why couldn't you have just listened to us?!" Taecyeon muttered, pushing the pedal a little further to the floor. The jaguar crunched gravel and shot forward.

---

An ocean away, Chan-seong was fuming. Glaring at the cell phone in his hand, he resisted the urge to throw the contraption against the wall and placed it, instead, on the cabinet above his bed. The room the maknae had been moved into was comfortably large. It housed a double bed, study table and chair to one side, and an adjoining bathroom. There was a small closet - still pretty bare considering that he'd only just moved in a few days ago - and a wall to wall carpeted floor. He liked it, to be honest. It wasn't so small to be constricting, but not so large where he felt the bitter loneliness creep up on him.

And yes, it was lonely here. In a country where English was barely a national language, where he stood out like a sore thumb, where the weather was a constant humid and where men wore skirts on almost daily basis; it was lonely. Chan-seong missed Korea terribly. He missed the food, the cold, the people, the language, everything. Goodness forbid, he even missed his bandmates - despite the circumstances that had led to his exile - and that in itself was saying something. Chan-seong thought back to the night everything had fallen apart and mulled over the memory like a miser missing a coin.

He was going onto his second run through when a knock on the door distracted him. Clearing his throat, Chan-seong marched forward and pulled open the wooden panel. Api stood there, smiling. For a moment, there was silence. Chan-seong was trying to decipher the various English words in his head into a proper sentence and Api was trying to compose her internal fan girl into quiet submission.

When they were done, they spoke at the exact moment the other did.

Blushing, Api gestured. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, but my mother asked me to deliver these to you."

It was then that Chan-seong noticed the soft parcel in her hands. Reaching forward, he received the gift and gave her a formal bow of appreciation. Api stifled a giggle.

"Thank you. May I ask what this is?"

Api's smile never wavered. "It's for the dinner tonight. Our province is holding a fundraiser potluck and we'll be attending."

The boy nodded slowly, thanked her and bade her farewell. It wasn't until a few hours after though, when Api had just about settled into the evening bula design that her mother had asked her to wear for the night, that she heard him call out her name. The sound was, to be honest, a little unnerving. It wasn't every day you heard your Kpop bias ask for you personally from your guest room.

A few seconds later, she was by his door, knuckles brushing lightly against the wood. It flew open almost immediately. The sight that confronted her had her struggling for her next breath. Chan-seong stood there, muttering at the piece of nylon fabric that was hanging low off of his hips. His hair was ruffled - still a little wet from what she guessed was the shower - and he was, for the lack of a better word, fabulously shirtless.

"Please help me with this," Chan-seong said, still glaring at the strings of cloth attached to the sulu she'd handed him just a few hours earlier. Api spluttered out a choking sound and blinked. She swore she had mentally fainted a while back.

"Excuse me?" she asked, trying to hold on to her Korean. It was hard. You try coherence when you had a Korean music pop god standing shirtless before you.

Chan-seong glanced up at her. He took in her sudden blush, the attractive pink that spread from her neck to her cheeks and smirked. It seemed he had as much effect in Fiji as he had in Korea.

"Could you help me with this? I seem to be having some trouble."

Trembling, Api looked at Chan-seong's outstretched hands and sucked in a deep breath. A good hostess, she told herself, is neutral, graceful, helpful and kind. And that was exactly what she was, Api scolded the shrieking, fainting fan girl inside. She was a good hostess. Not a fan, but a hostess. A hostess who wasn't going to have any untoward ideas about her family's guest, or let her eyes follow that drop of shower water that was making a slow path down the side of his beautifully muscled, finely chiseled, lightly bronzed... oh god, stop, stop, stop.

"Are you alright?"

The girl blinked. Yes, yes, why of course she was alright. A little lost for breath but otherwise perfectly fine.

"Can you help me with this?"

Tearing her eyes away from the man's chest, Api nodded furiously and reached for the straps. With skill and control that she really had no idea she possessed, she made short work of the straps and buckles and had him ready in no more than a few seconds. She was sure to avoid touching him for as long as she possibly, humanely could. It wasn't easy.

"Thank you," Chan-seong said afterwards, still smirking.

Api blinked and cleared her throat. "I'll be waiting, uhm, outside."

The singer chuckled and nodded. "That would be a good idea."

They stood there for a few moments, frozen, before the passing breeze carried in Lesi - Api's older brother's - voice from the kitchen.

"Apisake, na cava o cakava tiko i loma qori?"

The sound was enough to have them spiralling out of each other's way. Chan-seong shut the door and Api covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep the internal hyperventilation from leaking out.

"Apisake?"

Rolling her eyes, the twenty year old shook her head, and herself free of the memory of Chan-seong, and stalked towards the kitchen.

"Coming!"