If You Go, Go Long

[warmboys]

After dropping out of every possible challenge this year, I finally finished what would've been my troisbang fic. Loads of thanks for the encouraging comments on Tumblr and Formspring. Don't know if it would've gotten written otherwise. This one's probably a bit confusing in terms of tense and POV changes but those were the only ways I could convey a sense of time without resorting to italics, which are a pain to read. Also, when in doubt check out the colors of the dividers! orz

If You Go, Go Long
Heechul/Hankyung(/Jay/Donghae/Leeteuk/Eunhyuk)
7600 words
PG-13
based on Nana the manga.





There’s a period between the denial, the quiet unmanageable shock, and the second time you hit the pause button, when everything starts running along. Smooth, like nothing has changed, except the hole in your blazer pocket feels a little more pronounced. You’d forgotten to get it mended when you stopped caring about the things in your closet. You fix your collar, slick back that wayward strand of hair, and slip into an old pair of shoes you haven’t looked at since several months ago. Dust jumps off the lid when you lift them out of the box, covering everything indiscriminately. You think of it as fortification, a way to measure time. I haven’t been touched in this long, it’s saying.

The car’s waiting downstairs. It takes you to the recording studio, where people are waiting with flowers and words of encouragement. Some of them cry and catch onto your sleeve. Leeteuk’s beating them off, one arm curled around your back, but your mouth quirks around the words It’s not like he’s dead. You’re not supposed to talk yet, but you’ve never been one to listen to orders before, why start now? It’s this thought that comforts you, like a little bird awakening inside the hollow of your chest. Says you’ve still got that fight, the leather-studded knuckles. You’re in the mood to spit some blood.



On the train Heechul adjusted his headphones so that they fit snugly over his ears. He leaned against the window and dully observed the frost that clung to the other side of the glass. The ticket stub sat in the groove in his left coat pocket, weightless and mostly forgotten. He was listening to something hard and Scandinavian Jay had sent him weeks ago-“Hey. This reminded me of you.” Jay was a proper white collar office worker now, but it looked good on him. Heechul didn’t mean it in a nasty way. Crisp lines looked good on him. But that didn’t mean people had never expected more from him, either.

Heechul closed his eyes and let the steady churning forward of the train lull him to sleep.

“This seat taken?”

He looked up. A pair of friendly eyes looked back at him. They belonged to a boy maybe a year or two his junior, under a set of slightly furrowed eyebrows and curling dark brown hair.

“No, go ahead.” Heechul moved his backpack to the floor between his legs.

“Thanks.”

As his neighbor adjusted in his new seat, Heechul closed his eyes again and tried to fall back asleep. He was almost there when an announcement jolted the entire section of the train. “We’re very sorry, but because of the snow, this train will be momentarily delayed at the station.”

“Shit,” said the boy, reaching in his pocket. “I told my friend I’d be there by nine.” He pulled out his cell phone and began texting.

Heechul watched his thumbs go. “You’re fast,” he said.

The boy grinned. “You think?”

“I’m faster, though,” Heechul laughed. He pulled off his headphones so that they hung around his neck instead. “We’re like teenage girls.”

“Pshaw,” the boy said. “The modern generation of dudes has to be technologically savvy, too.”

“Well-said, my friend.”

“I’m Donghae,” Donghae said. “Now that we’re friends.”

Heechul smiled. “Heechul. How old are you?”

“Nineteen. You?”

“Twenty-two. So we can’t be friends.”

Donghae looked surprised. “Hyung, then. Heechul-hyung.”

“That’s right.”

“So, hyung, what are you gonna do in Seoul?”

Heechul leaned back in his seat and folded his arms behind his head. “I’m not sure. Figure things out.”

“What kinds of things?”

Heechul rolled a couple words around in his head before settling on, “My life. You?”

Donghae didn’t pry. “Me? I’m… don’t laugh-I’m going to woo a girl.”

“‘Woo’?”

“Yep.”

“She must be beautiful,” Heechul said politely.

“Oh, she is. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen,” Donghae agreed. “Do you want to hear about how we first met?”

It was going to be a long train ride, Heechul thought. “Sure.”



You met through Jay. “I know a guy who knows a guy,” he said. “This guy, he’s not bad.”

“Better than you?” You asked. He flicked his lighter and turned up the radio. Don't know where you're goin', only know just where you've been. “Anyway, you should go see them perform when they open for Monster tonight.”

The guy Jay knew was Leeteuk, bright-eyed and a natural talker. “Hey,” he grinned and ushered you in through the backdoor like you were already friends. You liked him more after finding out he was only seven days older. At the time, maybe, you needed someone to respect.

Leeteuk was babbling something in your ear over the chanting of the crowd seconds before the lights went out. “Man, I wish I could shred like him. Those fingers…”

You tilted your head. “I thought you were supposed to be the best.”

He laughed, a flop of hair bouncing to the side. “I know, but-“ The screaming drowned out his unfinished sentence, and then you both fixed your eyes on the stage.

They came out together, no fog machine or frills. The bassist had scraggly black hair, a long thin face peeking through the centerpart. His fingers reminded you of cobwebs, summoning ghosts from machines.

Leeteuk was nudging you in another direction, and when you looked, you almost missed him. His hair was the color of the background wall paint, shiny under the makeshift lighting. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, but there wasn’t much to look at. There never would be. Your eyes caught on to the rusty gleam of the chain around his neck. He looked up and, accidentally, right at you. You kept your eyes dull.

“What’d you think?” Leeteuk asked you afterwards when you’d left the claustrophobic warmth of the concert hall. You hugged your peacoat close to your chest, and Leeteuk offered his scarf. Burberry, you noticed without intending to notice. He looked like the type who’d sell his soul for one good thing. “Not bad,” you said. “The blonde one, that was, what’s his name?”

“Hankyung,” Leeteuk reminded you eagerly. “Hankyung, the one I was telling you about. Isn’t he brilliant? He also plays bass.”

You chewed up the inside of your bottom lip coming up with a response. “Yeah, maybe.” It would’ve been wrong to tell him what you were really thinking when you saw the flash of platinum across the stage, the concave hollow of his chest. That one. That’s the one I want.



The street was slick with snow, mostly of the brown variety. They were merely moments out of the station when a pretty girl the size of a bird called out,

“You’re late!”

Instantaneously Donghae lit up. He ran across the street, bags thumping heavily against his back. Heechul repressed a smile. “I’m sorry! But the train was delayed… didn’t you get my text?”

“I’m just kidding,” the girl said, a little grudgingly.

“Hey, I want to introduce you to someone. We sat next to each other and talked the entire five hours-“

By the time he turned back, Heechul had already walked around the corner.



“I’m thinking, something wild. Budoukan. Madison Square Garden.” Jay paused with the straw between his teeth. You sat cross-legged on the floor, flicking used gum wrappers at his feet. High school passed this way, in a haze of classic rock buzzing from the radio. Cloudy rooftops overlooking courtyard sand and people, the days you bothered to attend class. The bitter cigarette aftershave that followed Jay around like a faithful shadow.

“You’d bring them to their knees with that voice.”

“My voice isn’t anything to write home about,” you said.

Jay bit down, pulled, and spat. It landed soundlessly, after a few twirls, its yellow ends darkening with spit. A small riverbank. “It’s called spirit. You reel people in however you can. Some people do it with skill.” His tongue curled over his lip. “You’ve just got this thing about you.”

He reached over to tousle your hair. The metal of his ring knocked against your scalp, the playful clink.

“I don’t like it when people touch me,” you said.

His fingers carded through your hair, slipped over the ends, and stilled on your shoulder before he returned them to his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit up with a steady hand, expression unreadable behind the shades.

“It’s a good dream, though.” You brought your knees to your chest and thought of the screaming of thousands. Maybe a couple more zeros if you were lucky. You didn’t really know. You still couldn’t play guitar, but you were good at yelling.

“It’s not a dream, Heechul. We’ll make it happen.”

Two o’clock Leeteuk burst through the door with an armful of magazines. “We have to do research,” he said, all excited business. He’d sweat through the uniform, you saw, when he removed the navy blazer.

He uncapped a red marker, a little pop as the cap came off and rolled over the table. Jay caught it with the bend of his foot, and you grinned, because this was teamwork. The beginning of a collective.

You perused the local band advertisements, rated their haircuts. You weren’t good with the business side of things. Those weren’t the things you wanted to worry about. Jay cocked his head toward the window and hummed a little ditty. He drummed dust off the windowsill with his knuckles. The particles suspended in midair, caught by a beam of sunshine that ended at his foot.

The early days weren’t scary. They were elating. You belted out Zeppelin, making up the lyrics as you went, and Jay would correct you when your voice hit an off note. You didn’t think about Seoul. Seoul was far away, a concept. Several hours by train. A smattering of bright pinpoints of light. Buildings crowded with bodies. Bodies falling out of buildings. The suicide rate was high and rising. You didn’t think about hurting yourself back then. Not when the future folded out like a highway before you, tar carpeting. More sophisticated than a country road, if less nestled by trees. You could breathe in the exhaust. Your lungs tarred with the smoke filtering out of Jay’s cigarette. It was a miracle that his small room could contain the three of you at once. You were too big for it, yet the space expanded to hold. You were sophomores. The bad eggs. Except Leeteuk, who stumbled in every afternoon, his tie loosened and his pants too large.

“How’s school?” You asked with a cackle.

“School’s a bitch,” he admitted. “But it’s a bitch I can take. My dad won’t let me play unless I do well.”

Leeteuk’s dad was a bitch, you thought but didn’t say.



“The apartment’s mine,” Heechul said from the doorway. He’d been watching the boy for minutes, trying to place the face. The boy’s eyes had widened upon seeing the window, which overlooked a park, a river, and an overwhelmingly large piece of skyline. He’d sucked in his breath and moved his knuckles over his mouth. A country kid, without a doubt. There was no malice in the thought.

He jumped. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry.” Heechul’s lips moved into a humorless grin.

The boy squinted. “You look familiar. Hey, you’re, you’re my train friend!”

Everything clicked into place. Ah … Donghae. “Heechul,” Heechul reminded him. “But this place is mine.”

“What?”

The real estate agent, a rare gentle middle-aged man, raised his hand, webbed with veins. “I’m sure there has been a misunderstanding.”

“With all due respect, sir, I already paid the deposit.”

“There’s a deposit?” Donghae asked.

“Thirty thousand won,” Heechul said.

Disappointment settled plainly into his features. It didn’t sit well on his face. Heechul remembered his history, what drove this bright-eyed country boy to the city.

“Maybe you can share it,” the real estate agent said. “There are two bedrooms and more than enough space for never mind one, but two people.”

“But I hardly know this guy,” Heechul and Donghae protested at the same time.

The real estate agent smiled.

Beside Heechul Jay stirred from his standing-up nap. He turned towards Heechul, shaking off the last of his brief sleep. “This way I won’t have to worry about you being lonely.”

“You’re insane,” Heechul said, but Donghae looked at him curiously.

“I was going to post online for a roommate,” he said slowly. “You’re not an axe murderer or anything, are you?”

Jay curled his lip. “Not literally, no. Though in place of an axe he’s got a sharp set of claws-“

Heechul hit him on the head. It was something he rarely did, to Jay at least. “I liked you better when you didn’t talk,” Heechul said, before extending his hand to the boy. “Let’s discuss living habits.”



In December his hands started shaking and you didn’t notice at first. He dropped the pan and scalded his own foot, and you rubbed your thumbs over his temples, said, “Klutz” in a low and indulgent tone. You ordered takeout and tipped the boy with money you didn’t have yet; you weren’t exactly selling out, but that was okay because Jay had faith in the band, and you trusted Jay with your own life more than you did yourself. Then he dropped the flower vase and that was when you thought something was wrong, when you knelt down to pick up the pieces and he looked at you with wild, red eyes like he was trying to tell you I’m so fucking sorry with them, and then you found the white streaks across the dresser, the grains finer than sand. You swept them into your palm and emptied it over the sink.

You waited for him to tell you, but he didn’t. Spring came, and his vision cleared, and you stopped holding your breath watching his fingers. He’d caught you once before, smiled unsteadily, asked, “What?” and you’d shaken your head, “No, keep going,” because there was beauty in the decay, and it thrummed from the instrument through his fingertips and filled the studio and its slick linoleum floorboards like a dream that drifted in through the window and was fabricated just for you. You would hold him and disintegrate together.



“Hyung,” Donghae pulled on Heechul’s arm. “Maybe we should get matching mugs.”

The tone in his voice was playful enough to be joking but Heechul detected a thin layer of earnestness in it. He looked at the strawberries painted onto the ceramic.

“Obviously cherries are better.”



“I would die for you,” you mused lazily over the fuzz of the television, the stirring of sirens from the back street. You lay flat on your stomach composing, and he was bare-chested, smoking on the bed. He frowned at you and paused before exhaling, “Don’t.” The chain you gave him clanked around his neck when he pushed you into the comforter, the small engraved cursive letter dangling just above your nose. You extended your tongue to taste the metal and then kissed him so that he could too.

Silver and ash.



Leeteuk just showed up one day. The voice outside the door called, “Delivery!” but Heechul turned the knob, and it was that idiotic, knowing grin, full of promise, as always.

“What are you doing here?” Heechul asked, but he was happy, really happy.

“I brought over some of your things,” Leeteuk said, smoothly allowing himself into the room.

“It was Jay’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“Give me some credit.”

He looked good in the months they hadn’t seen each other. They were brothers, if not by blood, then by age and history. Family followed you even when you were apart. In Leeteuk Heechul saw his younger self, school rooftops, cigarette butts littered all over the ledge. They were vastly different people by nature, but you didn’t choose family. It was meant to be.

“I’ve been thinking,” Leeteuk started. Heechul was quiet; he smiled like he half-knew. “I think you can guess.”

“You miss me.”

“I miss your scratchy, uneven voice,” Leeteuk said. “I miss us. The four of us.”

It was a proposal, but.

“You mean three,” Heechul corrected.

“He’s here too, Heechul.”

“And?”

“And-“ Leeteuk sat back. He suddenly appeared haggard, years older than Heechul remembered. When did this happen?

“Look, I didn’t come here to argue.” Leeteuk reached into his pocket and removed his cell phone. “You can talk to Jay about this-he wants to do this too.”

“Do what?”

A creak sent them both staring at the door. Donghae was taking off his shoes as inconspicuously as possible. He looked from Leeteuk to Heechul.

Leeteuk smiled his benevolent Mother Teresa smile. “Reunite as a band.”

“You’re-you’re in a band?”

“We are.”

“Were,” Heechul said. “I’m not interested, Jungsu.”

But Leeteuk didn’t let it faze him. He knew Heechul through and through, and Heechul knew this, too.

“Okay,” he said. “But at least listen to my song.”

“I didn’t know you sang,” Donghae said after Leeteuk had fallen asleep on the couch. “That was chilling.”

Heechul laughed, feeling the soju in his throat. “I like putting on shows. Lucky you get all this for free.”

“Home entertainment,” Donghae grinned.

“Exactly.”

“You think you’re gonna go back?”

To the band, he meant.

Heechul was in that good place. Just drunk enough to be happy and say yes to anything. But not right now-“No,” he said. “We’re going forward. We’re going all the way this time.”

The last thing he remembered before closing his eyes was the look on Donghae’s face. Like he was something to be proud of.

One call from Jay, that’s all it took.

“I have the rest of my life to work,” a smaller, tinny version of him told Heechul. He sounded like he was recovering from a cold.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Jay said. “Keep that voice intact. Still smoking?”

“All the greats do.” Heechul kept his smile to himself. He wanted this, the two of them by his side again, even if he couldn’t tell them straight. That wasn’t how things worked. He had nothing if not pride.



The way Donghae gave himself to Heechul, Heechul thought he must’ve been a great person in his past life. Maybe he’d been a war hero, or a firefighter. It didn’t make sense to have someone this good in his life, just there.

The way Heechul worked, he didn’t tell people that he loved them. When it happened, he knew it like he was made to, but it embarrassed him, like a dirty little secret. The things he’d do for them. The things he wanted to do for them. Instead, he teased them, provoked them. He kept them close while playing the game. Later he would marvel at how childish he’d been, but not at the moment. In the moment he was scared to admit he cared.

Donghae wasn’t like that. He hugged with both arms. His eyes didn’t dart back and forth nervously when he did. He buried his face in Heechul’s neck, said, “Hyung, I missed you.”

“It’s only been a day.”

“Twenty-seven hours. Why do you sound like that?”

Heechul coughed. “I had voice lessons today.”

“I thought you’d been smoking.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Heechul patted him on the back, reaching into his pocket. Donghae smiled thinly but didn’t say anything. “It’s not good,” he’d said before, but Heechul had only nodded idly. Donghae wanted to keep him there. He wouldn’t say anything to jeopardize their relationship.

Donghae loved him; it was plain to see.

Heechul didn’t know why, though. He just knew he was lucky.



Leeteuk made the posters with the help of his office lady friend who could print colored paper for free if she did it discreetly. “A penny saved.” He snapped his fingers and handed Heechul a box of thumbtacks.

Bassist wanted. Must be good.

“You wasted all this space for these couple of words?” Jay laughed. “Seriously.”

“No one reads ads anyway,” Leeteuk said, growing red. “The pithier the better.”

“Pithy?” Heechul repeated, smoothing out a corner over the wall. “You’re turning into a dictionary, Teukie.”

“The frontman of a band’s gotta be eloquent,” he said, laughing but even redder now. Heechul and Jay exchanged a look and then playfully shoved him into the wall. You, the frontman?

A day later, the kid found them in the studio.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you guys still looking?”

“Yeah!” Leeteuk jumped up, flipping over his stool. Jay stopped it with his foot.

He wore a plain white t-shirt that’d been carefully ripped in ten different places. A chain connected his bottom lip to his ear, and when he showed teeth, it looked like it tore his face apart. His tentative smile radiated warmth and a feeling of being lost, like a stray kitten that’d crawled up the wrong alley. He looked at the others but he did not look at Heechul.

“You play bass?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d he be here if he didn’t?” Heechul walked over. The boy wasn’t that much shorter, just shy of his brow. They saw nearly eye-to-eye if Heechul slouched. His face was clean. The piercing looked out of place on his white skin.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

The boy was afraid of him, Heechul could tell. His eyes flickered to the floor, then to Leeteuk. Heechul didn’t know what he’d done to inspire fear in a stranger, much less a boy three years younger than him.

Heechul told him to play something, and he did. Jay listened with his eyes closed-Heechul could tell despite the shades because of the way his brow relaxed-and when it was over, he said, “I can hear it.”

I can hear him in it.

“Who’s your favorite bassist?” Leeteuk asked.

The kid carefully placed his bass aside.

“Hankyung from Monster.”

So Jay was right. There was a silence, but Heechul filled it with his laughter, light and frivolous, and extended his hand.

“I like you, kid. What’s your name?”

He looked at him for the first time since he entered the room. “Lee Hyukjae.”

“Hyukjae,” Heechul said. “Promise me one thing.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me you’ll be better than Hankyung.”

His eyes flashed, startled, but he recovered quickly. He shook Heechul’s hand, and his hand didn’t waver.

“I’ll be better.”



“Our manager is telling us we need an image change,” Heechul said, skimming his fingers in the water. “He doesn’t know the first thing about fashion.”

“A pleb,” Hankyung said from behind.

“Exactly. I swear I’m going to fire him one of these days.”

“It’s your right to.”

“We have a new bassist. He’s young, but don’t underestimate him.”

“I won’t,” Hankyung said. He placed two fingers on the nook between Heechul’s neck and shoulder and began rubbing. Heechul shrugged them off.

“I’m serious. Why won’t you ever take me seriously?”

“I am taking you seriously.”

“He’ll surpass you.”

“I’m ready.”

Heechul sighed. His flesh was goosepimpled where it lay naked to the air. He sank deeper into the tub until he was lying against Hankyung’s stomach. The water floated below his ears. Hankyung’s fingers began massaging his scalp.

“That feels good,” Heechul said. “Don’t stop doing that.”

A minute later he was alone in the tub, the water getting cold.



“I came here to study.” Donghae pulled up a chair and sat down. He rested his hands in the crack between his legs, a lazy but practiced stance. He wasn’t what he seemed, exactly, even with those eyes like open fields and the strong, honest jaw. Heechul had underestimated him and seen only what he needed to see.

He leaned forward. “That’s not what you told me.”

“That’s what my mom think.” Donghae’s face broke into a small smile. “There was a girl.”

“I remember this part.”

“I came to propose to her.” His hand dropped to his pocket, remembering a velvet box there.

“How long have you known each other?”

“Since we were little. We were neighbors.”

Heechul didn’t pry. There was always someone: a girl, a boy. His hesitance said more than enough.

Donghae lowered his glance, still smiling. “She moved away two years ago. We wrote letters.”

“That’s a good sign.”

“I visited her the first week I got here. She’s already engaged to someone else.”

Donghae looked up. Heechul didn’t know what to say. He latched his thumb onto the handle of the mug.

“There’s always a girl,” he said. “But there will always be another girl.” He paused, weighing the words. “There will be someone else.”

They sat together quietly, wishing it to be true.



“They say, do you think it’s true, that we never fully recover from losing someone, we are forever shells of our former selves afterwards?”

“Who said that?”

“Something I read on a blog.”

The beer was ice against Heechul’s lips. “Don’t trust people on the internet.”

“Hyung,” Donghae said. “You’re the biggest netizen I know.”

Heechul posted on forums from time to time.

“I like to be on top of things.”

Donghae made a humming sound in his throat, slight and gurgly, like air mixed with alcohol. A deep glow set his face and neck aflush. “So you don’t believe in it.”

The stars were exceptionally bright tonight.

“I believe in independence. No one’s going to tell me what to become.”

“What if it’s not up to you?” He asked.

Heechul lifted his chin. “That’s never happened before.”



It’s called a white lie. They are never as often deliberate as they are slipups. Conveniences.

The truth is, you read the horoscope now. You lay yourself out under the stars, saying, “Go ahead and take me.” They say nothing back.

You pray sometimes, as an exercise. This is the beginning to admitting-something. Things out of your control. There are so many of them.

Faith is not your puppet, Jay warns you. It doesn’t lead to easier roads either.

When have I ever asked for easier? You smile to soften the words.

When you are left alone, you have plenty of time to think. Your mind wanders like a pair of unkempt hands.

“Thrashthroat? What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just supposed to sound cool.”

Hankyung nodded and lit up a cigarette. You hovered against the barbed wire fencing before the ledge of the roof. They set it up last spring to prevent student suicides. As if the will to die were that feeble.

Smoke curled out of his nostrils like ram horns. He held the cigarette expertly between his index and middle fingers. His eyes skimmed across the sky and the courtyard below before landing on you. He watched you with a muted, quizzical expression as you watched him.

“What?” He asked, laughing.

“What?”

“What’s so interesting about my face?”

You shrugged and averted your gaze. “I was just thinking that you don’t look that different.”

A fine line appeared on his forehead. So this was what restraint looked like, you thought, and remembered the look of concentration he wore at that first concert, the sweat, and his naked chest. The line evened itself out, and he was smiling again.

“Asian peoples-we’re all the same,” he said before taking another drag.

He didn’t believe it. There was a block; he didn’t trust you. Why would he? You’d only just met two weeks ago. Leeteuk told him you guys needed a bassist. “We were really impressed seeing you live,” he said, probably using his perfect pitch salesman voice. Hankyung thought about it and nodded. In Jay’s room you were tapping your foot against the floor to the drumline of “Satisfaction” when the door opened. “Look who’s here,” said Leeteuk, still using that voice, and Hankyung’s hair came into view first. A burst of silver against the sun and you stopped your foot. “Hey.” He had an effortless grin, the kind devised to facilitate closeness but in reality maintained a friendly distance that one could rarely trespass. No, you didn’t think that then. You thought, Wow, I want to be his friend, and I don’t know why.

You lied to Donghae. You don’t always get to choose.



The future came in a standard business envelope marked with Lee Donghae’s name and one careless postman’s fingerprint. “You got mail,” Heechul called from the kitchen table. He frowned at the sender’s address, a company he didn’t recognize.

Later Donghae was yelling. “I won!”

“What did you win?”

“Tickets. You have to come with me.”

Heechul stirred his tea slowly. “To? Hawaii? Okinawa? The Bahamas-“

“No, no,” Donghae shook his head, breathless from the screaming. He squeezed into the chair opposite Heechul’s and reached across the table to grip his arms. Heechul could see the brown flecks in his irises. He could almost see his own reflection. “The Monster concert in two weeks.”

Heechul dropped the cup.

He retained a small star-shaped scar on his ankle after slipping on the broken remnants of Donghae’s favorite teacups.

“You didn’t have to act that surprised,” Donghae joked. “Now you have to come with me.”

“I don’t like their music.” He tried to keep his hands steady as he sorted through the pieces of glass.

“You expect me to find my way there on my own? I might get lost.”

Little glints of sunlight reflected off the sharp uneven edges. Donghae’s hands covered his own. When Heechul looked up, he saw the same unchanging eyes. That was when he knew that Donghae knew. It felt like a punch to the ribcage.

“How long?” he asked.

“Since Eunhyuk told me.”

“What?”

“Leeteuk got drunk one night.” Donghae shrugged a careful shrug, calculated to mean nothing. He looked hesitant, but brave. “I wish you’d told me.”

“Donghae,” Heechul started, but the words deflated instantly in his mouth. “It’s a thing of the past.”

“Sometimes, hyung, you talk in your sleep.”

The dreams were infrequent, but always vivid. He would wake up drenched in sweat, sometimes the sheets sticky, smelling of shame. Heechul hoped Donghae didn’t know.

“Do it for me,” Donghae said.

After the third cigarette he felt the tremor in his left arm stabilize to a twitch. He peered at his reflected face in the mirror. Gaunt and pale, the way he’s always looked. Older but, he thought, hardly any wiser. What was he doing here? He ran the faucet over his fingers.

He found Donghae in the third row after a series of maze-like stairs and steps. Fans with cardboard cutout signs decorated in neon marker. The way the stadium filled with so many voices at once it seemed to speak with one united rumble. Heechul had never been to a concert like this. This was the dream. A reality for some.

Nothing could have prepared him for the roar that nearly propelled him forward when the lights dimmed. Twenty-thousand arms reaching for the stage at once.

Jay was the one who gave Heechul directions to the hotel, staying with him as Heechul cursed through the taxi ride, fingers never leaving the key in his pocket. He was going to return an item, he told himself. It would be a short visit.

The world was painted tan through his shades. He made it to the thirteenth floor but barely took a step outside the elevator doors before a security guard stopped him and asked for identification. Heechul panicked on instinct, searched his pockets for something he knew wasn’t there. So this was how it would end, he thought, on an anticlimax.

“He’s with me.”

He didn’t have a chance to look up before a hand closed around his wrist, five fingerprints he had memorized from another lifetime.

And then it was easy, too easy to fall back in. The key stayed in his pocket. He allowed himself to be touched again, to look into the eyes that plagued his dreams.

“I’ve missed you,” Hankyung said, lying back.

“Yeah,” Heechul said.



Afterwards, he was briefly happy. The days rolled by like clouds.



“You know that greasy old man who came by the park last time?” Leeteuk’s voice bounced into the room. The door slammed behind him. He unwound his scarf carelessly and draped it over the chair Eunhyuk had claimed before his bathroom break. Heechul was in the middle of contemplating a cigarette.

“Yeah,” Jay said, setting down the drumstick he’d been twirling. “I remember him.”

“With the briefcase and unfortunate combover?” Heechul frowned, struggling to recall.

“Yeah, that one!” Leeteuk fell into Eunhyuk’s seat, squashing his own scarf. He was still in uniform from his part-time restaurant gig, except the first three buttons on his shirt had come undone. “He likes us.”

“You smell like deep-fried chicken,” Heechul said.

“We have a deal?” Jay said.

“We have a fucking deal,” Leeteuk yelled.

The words took their time sinking in. When Heechul’s mind picked itself up again, Jay had stood up, hands pulled behind his head, sunglasses hooked in the collar of his sweater. Eyes wild. Leeteuk’s face was stretched into such a show of happiness Heechul thought it’d break. And even then he didn’t get it. His knees shook when he asked, “What?”

Leeteuk looked at him, and it was then that Heechul realized he was about to cry. “He’s a bigshot at a midrange record label.”

“Holy--” Heechul bit the back of his hand.

“What did I miss?” Eunhyuk asked, strolling back into the studio. He looked back and forth between their faces, each red and filled with repressed joy.

“You little constipated fucker,” Heechul said, letting the tears fall now, and kissed him. “We’re gonna be fucking famous.”



People, for whatever reason, are sometimes taken by the numbing urge to mark or alter themselves. Post-heartbreak, girls sometimes find snipping their hair as therapeutic as sitting with a carton of ice cream and a blanket before the television. For you, it wasn’t heartbreak but something else that drove you downtown into the alleys to visit a guy Jay had hesitantly recommended.

Hankyung stopped in the doorway when he noticed. You noticed him noticing and made not to know. A little thrill danced inside you, afraid and waiting.

Hankyung put out his cigarette and sat down next to you. The denim of his jeans scratched against your bare knee when he pressed a finger to the newly inked lines on your arm-red, for many things. “What’s this?”

The pad of Hankyung’s thumb was fleshy, the fingertip callused. You crossed your arms, channeling confidence you didn’t feel. “It’s for Korea.”

Hankyung’s mouth softened. “Korea, huh.”

“Don’t look so sad.”

“Heechul.”

“I wanted to.”

Outside it was raining. You were suddenly aware of the muted sounds of wet rubber scraping over tar, tires and tires, rolling and rolling. Time stilled as you held your breath and wondered what was happening to you.

“When’d you get it done?” Hankyung kept his finger on the tattoo.

“A couple days ago.”

Hankyung was quiet. He took your hand and leaned in to land a butterfly kiss on your shoulder. The kiss was prickly where he hadn’t shaved in days. Without thinking you closed your eyes and dropped your head back. “It’s lovely,” Hankyung said, a warm gasp of breath onto your neck. “It’s, I’m-“

“Mine,” you said, opening your eyes. “That’s what you are.”

You made the effort to look at Hankyung. It was difficult, to look and know and feel how strongly you loved someone, enough that you wanted to carry a bit of them with you everywhere you went. Ink was just ink, but now it was an intersection of small rivers running through his skin. You knew, you were stupid, you knew this was trespassing. Dangerous territory. You were crossing a self-drawn emotional boundary, letting yourself go. The risk had to be worth it.

Even just inches apart you could tell the exact expression Hankyung was wearing by the curvature of his eyes.

“I love you,” Hankyung said in a way that he’d never sounded before, like this was the first and only time it’d ever happened, this was a miracle.



The car ran into brick, and Heechul was playing mahjong with the guys. His finger stroked a tile nimbly, and he gave them the look. Eunhyuk groaned, and Jay leaned back in his chair. Leeteuk ran his hand through his hair, like he couldn’t believe Heechul’s luck. “The fates,” Heechul shrugged, raking in his winnings. Leeteuk’s watch, Jay’s D&G shades, Eunhyuk’s silver necklace. “Win them back next time. If you can.”

A reporter tailed Hankyung that night. He watched the airbags inflate as the vehicle imploded in on itself, the metal compressing and changing form. The smell of burnt aluminum, the squeeze of rubber. Maybe his eye caught Hankyung’s in the rearview mirror before his head knocked forwards and then jolted back. He might’ve been reaching for his camera, about to snap a shot of the famous bassist, when he heard the crash. He had a bag of potato chips sitting on the dashboard.

The reporter, Lim, his hands shook before he dialed for the cops. He thought of the English princess, of whether his career would end this way, early and pathetic, when he’d barely gotten started. He would be blamed, of course, and he doubted himself, too. There was some sorry there. Ten minutes passed after he punched in the numbers, and he still hadn’t pressed the button. If he left now, maybe no one would know. It wasn’t his fault. Hankyung was an addict, and a foreigner. The media could paint him negatively. The story had to be spun. Lim rested his hand on the ignition. His finger went through the loop in the keychain. He reached for a cigarette in his shirt pocket when it occurred to him that the man in the car might’ve already been dead. He shuddered, his shoulders tensed. He thought of his mother. He picked up the phone again and pressed call.

Heechul didn’t ride in the ambulance, because he was drinking by the river. Eunhyuk dipped his toes in the water, and his eyes gleamed when he said, “hyung.” Heechul was still wearing Jay’s sunglasses, and he liked the weight over his nose, heavy and friendly. Jay looked naked without them, in an unassumingly beautiful way. Licking the foam off the tin cover Heechul felt dimly proud of himself for never having gone there, though he suspected he could’ve, because for some inexplicable reason, it was true that the fates favored him, that he was able to get away with things most other people didn’t dare dream of. He harnessed this power within him, this undeserved blessing. Heechul linked his arm in Jay’s and leaned gently into the crook of his shoulder. Jay’s fingers landed on his hair tentatively, as though measuring. “The moon is so big and round I could just eat it up,” Leeteuk’s voice sent ripples over the water, or maybe it was the wind.

Lim held his hand in the ambulance. He noticed it was immaculate, untouched. It gave him hope, irrationally, that Hankyung could be saved. Medical technology and all that. He’d gone from considering fleeing the crime scene to sympathizing with the enemy. He gained a scrap of faith in his own humanity. Hankyung had that effect on people, but Heechul thought that in retrospect.



You’re not crazy. You remind yourself this a couple of times a day, because public perception colors the fabric of self-awareness, even for someone as steady as you, but now they are saying otherwise. He is unstable. He is not well. Please, someone take him to the doctor. Please don’t let the band die because of him. There need not be any more casualties.

The hours immediately following the news that broke are not ones you remember. When you came to, the room you were in was warm with yellow painted walls and a broad window. The IV drip ran a faint pulse of its own. You dipped your pinky finger in a glass of water and then took it out again. Then back in. The TV sounded in the background; someone was watching tennis. Forty-love. There is too much of it, you thought, smiling at your own bad pun. There is too much of it and not a drop to drink. Et cetera. One mirthless thought introduced another, until you were taken by sleep.

Jay’s snoring woke you up. He had slumped in his chair, head rolled to the side. His sunglasses had slid down until they stood down over the tip of his nose. You reached out to push them back up, and it was then that you noticed he was gripping your hand. Your hand felt cold when it let his go.

He stirred, his eyes back into hiding. “You’re awake.”

“Your snoring woke me up.”

There was a silence in which you imagined he felt embarrassed. You took pride in being able to shame him, however momentary and miniscule the shame.

“Sorry,” he said. “People have told me that before.”

“Now that you know, you can correct it.”

He moved his hand to the cigarette box in his front pocket and held it there before letting it drop. This was the hospital. No one was allowed to smoke.

“Shit,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. This is all a dream.”

“Heechul.”

“We’re all dreaming. Everyone, the doctors, the nurses,” you continued. “In real life you are still snoring.”

Jay looked at you, and you felt that you could see his eyes through the tinted lenses.

“I wish you’d take those damn things off already.”

Then he did, and you understood why he had kept them on.



The ground is humming, and for a moment you are convinced this is a dream. But the dreams in which you question their reality are few and far between. It’s like the floor is speaking to you through the balls of your feet. You grip the metal frame of your bed below the mattress, pressed against the backs of your calves, and let the deep vibrations caress you through wood, then skin. You are waiting for an earthquake, something to turn you upside down and take you apart. You won’t take cover under the desk, though they will bang on your door, Jay will break it down with sheer force of desperation-only for you, and you know this-and you will be here sitting, smiling, serene, and they will scream things about doorways and you will stay, because this is the best thing that could happen to you right now.

The pitch changes. Bunched up waves moving faster, and then again. You realize with a start that it’s Eunhyuk, one floor below, tuning his bass.



His place looked like a warehouse. He hung his bracelets over the door, and they clanked every time you went to the bathroom. “This is it,” he said when he let you in, embarrassed in a way you didn’t think he was capable of, but you didn’t know much then, did you. He didn’t blush, and neither did you, you were both too sure for it. But he lowered his eyes, and when he looked back up, you knew.

So there are things. So I’m not the only one who.

“Could’ve been worse,” you allowed. “Do you like pets?”

“I like animals.”

“What kind?”

“Wild ones.” He touched your chin, and you leaned in first.



“You will never not break my heart,” you say.

I’m sorry, he says. His voice has taken on a different quality, wispy, like straw.

“Always going to be a disappointment. A regret, but I’m not blaming myself. It wasn’t my fault.”

Of course not, he says. I should’ve known better.

“You did know better. That’s what makes it so hard. It wasn’t like-we weren’t doomed from the start.”

It just happened that way.

“Yeah.”

You lower yourself onto the grass, still wet from this morning’s rain. You reach out an unsteady arm to trace his initials in the stone.



If there’s anything you’ve ever known, it’s how to draw a crowd.

You knows by the numbness growing in your fingertips this is where you belong, under the lights. Your mouth curls as you cast a heroic glance in the vague direction of where Donghae is probably standing, those eyes would never leave you. Even if you can’t see them right now, you know.

Backstage Eunhyuk drank water religiously. Jay jiggled his leg like a hyperactive mutt, though you always supposed him more of a hound. Leeteuk slept hunching forward. You’d been so preoccupied with yourself you hadn’t noticed his own dark circles. You swallowed back the guilt-you still have difficulty owning up to things-and draped your leather jacket over him. From the back you could count his vertebrae through the holes in the t-shirt, like jigsaw puzzle pieces joined to hold him up.

Tonight you’re wearing his shades. They’re yours now.

Leeteuk nods at you, the go-ahead. Your fingers slide over the mic like they’ve always been there, and you open your mouth to sing.