Work Text:
“Drop and give me twenty.” Yeosang eyes Jisung weakly, feeling strangely exposed in his eggshell pants. To his defense, Amazon had advertised them as white. Not eggshell, not off-white. White.
“Huh?” Yeosang tries, curling his shoulders in as the rest of the band snickers. He really doesn’t like the devilish smirk that Jisung’s wearing right now.
“Twenty. Do it.”
“But-” Yeosang’s weak attempt to defend himself is cut off by Jisung snapping his fingers in front of his face in a no-no gesture. He knows that Younghyun is somewhere off to the side watching all of this go down, but he can’t really plead to him for help.
Fucking eggshell.
“What did we say about the uniform?” Jisung asks, sweeping his gaze around the band to find a suitable target. His eyes land on Seungmin, standing off to the side with his sousaphone resting on the grass beside him. “What did we say?”
Seungmin smirks. “Blue polo. Any color belt you want. No sunglasses, no hats. White shoes with no logos. White pants. Not eggshell, not off-white, not dishwasher white, not vanilla, not cream.” Jisung nods his head approvingly at each item that Seungmin lists off. Yeosang feels attacked . “Last but not least, white underwear.”
Jisung turns his attention back to Yeosang. “And what color pants are you wearing?”
“E-eggshell…?” Yeosang stutters out weakly. This seems like bullying. Hazing. He looks around his fellow band members for help, any kind of help. He notices Chan standing off to the side, watching the drama unfold with an unreadable expression on his face.
Yeosang gives Chan the most adorable, most innocent, most pleading puppy dog eyes he’s ever done in his life.
Chan shakes his head, lips quirking up in a wry smile.
Dammit Amazon.
“Okay, okay.” Yeosang says quietly, reaching out to unclip his saxophone from his harness.
The rest of the band cheers, Jisung and Chan included. It’s such a large contrast to the tense silence that had fallen before that Yeosang jumps, barely managing to catch his saxophone and set it gently on the ground in time.
“This is hazing,” Yeosang mutters as he lowers himself to the ground. “Bullying. Harassment. Bullying is a federal offense.”
“Oh stop your pitiful pleas,” Jisung says somewhere above him. Yeosang can only make out the drum major’s sparkling white shoes in front of his face. “Twenty.”
Yeosang has never been more grateful for all the years of baseball that he’s played.
He does one pushup.
The band cheers very loudly, whoops and hollers erupting from some of the more enthusiastic members.
“GET IT YEOSANG!” Wooyoung screams from somewhere in the midst of blue polos, blinding white pants, and shoes.
He does another.
The screams double in volume. Yeosang is sure that everyone at the parade is watching them now. Including the old men in kilts with impressive sets of lungs and bagpipes to match. Even the little Boy Scouts with their neat little uniforms and navy blue banner.
“THREE!”
“FOUR!”
“FIVE!”
“Hey guys, I think the parade’s starting-” Changbin’s voice interjects weakly. Yeosang looks up to see another pair of white shoes join the rest.
“FUCK-” Jisung screams, then ducks down to hide behind the band as some of the Boy Scouts’ parents glare disapprovingly in his direction. “Okay, okay, okay, eVERYONE LINE UP!”
Yeosang collapses into the grass as the band scatters around him, everybody quickly scurrying back to their places. A hand enters his field of vision and he takes it gratefully.
“You’ve got grass stains on your pants.” Minho supplies helpfully after helping Yeosang up. Yeosang opts to shoot him a glare and a muttered “fuck you” before reaching down again to retrieve his saxophone.
“BAND AT THE READY!” Yeosang hears Jisung scream from somewhere, and he fumbles with his saxophone a bit before getting into position, feet shoulder-width apart and his head down.
Fuck you, Amazon.