never close our eyes ; part one
Title Never Close Our Eyes (part one)
Pairing: Yongguk/Himchan
Rating: R
W/C: 6.2k
Warnings: Violence and mentions of blood (nothing extreme), eventual character death (not BAP)
Summary: Dystopian AU | All music has been outlawed, except for approved performances by the Ministry's Orchestra. A small clandestine movement aims to share music with the world. Invited to join by a friend, apathetic Kim Himchan, one of the Ministry's Orchestra's favorite violinists, meets the resistance's leader and is swept into a reality that flips his world upside down.
A/N: birthday present for taehyuks. ❤ look emily, the banghim exists! it's not just a mythical being anymore! i originally wanted to finish the whole thing for your birthday, but it morphed into this huge multi-chaptered beast of a story, so, have the first part instead!
Himchan squints at the building in front of him, unimpressed. He’s not sure what he was expecting. Surely he wasn’t expecting anything grandiose, but the building’s presence is so underwhelming. It’s nothing more than a rundown warehouse.
It’s ugly, the brick crumpling and the metal rusted. A handful of gnarled crabgrass grows in splotches around the building. It looks like one of the apartment buildings in the city’s downtown slums, the sort of building Himchan tries not to look at as he passes by. He doesn’t like to look at these buildings because they make him feel guilty. Why do others have to live in homes like that, when his own house is the penthouse at the top of a clean and polished silver tower?
Why is he so different from the rest?
Because he’s one of the Ministry’s lapdogs? Hardly seems fair.
Fair has nothing to do with the Ministry, though.
Himchan shifts nervously on his feet. He told Daehyun that he’d meet him here, but now he’s not so sure. It’s not too late; he could turn around right now. But the resistance's - is that even the right word to use? they weren’t actively revolting against the Ministry - headquarters is an hour away from the city. It’d be a waste to chance travelling this far away from the center of the city just to turn back.
Besides, he promised Daehyun. Himchan might be a nervous mess, but he still honors all of his promises. He throws an anxious glance over his shoulder, worried that someone might have followed him. It’s completely unlikely for anyone to see him here - this place is so far away from the city, and rightfully so - but this underground music movement is so far past the realm of illegal that he has to worry.
He doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if someone saw him here.
Himchan hurries up to the door, anxious to get out of the open. He knocks once before an intercom next to the door comes alive. “Password?”
Uncrumpling the piece of paper in his shaking hands, he squints at Daehyun’s handwriting. “Unbreakable?” he answers a little unsurely, his voice wavering.
He hears the audible sound of a lock clicking before the door cracks open a fraction. Pushing it open, he steps into a narrow hallway that tapers off into a staircase. Himchan shoves his hands into his jean pockets as he descends, nervous to see what’s awaiting him at the bottom.
There’s a second door at the bottom and when Himchan opens it, he’s immediately assaulted with bright, multicolored lights and loud, thumping music. The beat is unfamiliar to him, and he can’t even place what instrument is making the sound. It’s none of the instruments in the Ministry’s Orchestra, and it doesn’t sound like a guitar or drums or any of the banned instruments.
Then it dawns on him. Is the music electronic? The concept is a weird one, but he knows it existed in the old days. He’d studied it back in grade school. In the Ministry grade history textbooks, electronic music had been lumped into the section on banned music.
He gets quite a few odd glances as he moves through the crowd of people, desperately trying to find Daehyun. On one end of the room, there’s what looks like a bar, and he decides to make that his destination. Himchan has never felt quite so out of his element as he does now, and he’s starting to think that coming was a bad idea.
When he reaches the bar, a hand claps down on his shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“You made it!” Daehyun yells over the music, drink in hand.
Himchan glances around, at the curious faces looking at him. He shuffles closer to Daehyun. “Yeah,” he says, nodding stiffly. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have.”
“Relax,” Daehyun says, turning towards the bar to order Himchan a drink. “You seem super worried. Why?”
Watching as the bartender pours amber liquid into a glass, he answers, “What if someone sees me and the Ministry finds out? I’ll be fucked.”
The bartender slides the drink across the counter, mumbling something about it being for the “Ministry’s princess.” Daehyun just laughs and pays for it. Himchan narrows his eyes at the bartender - Jay, Daehyun had addressed him as - and accepts the drink with a scowl.
“Relax,” Daehyun says again, the word rolling off his tongue easily like it’s nothing, and Himchan figures it’s probably supposed to be nothing, but he’s always tense, always on edge. “No one here is connected to the Ministry. Well, except you, of course.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asks, giving the drink an experimental taste. It’s strong and stings a hell of a lot more than the champagne and fine wines he’s used to. He likes it.
“Because,” Daehyun says, leaning against the bar. “Everyone who’s here,” he motions around them with his hand, “is here because they got a referral. Invitation only. Before you can invite anyone, Bang has to approve them.”
Himchan raises his eyebrows. “Bang?”
“The leader of all this,” Daehyun answers, sipping his drink casually. “He likes to know exactly who he lets in. You can never be too careful, y’know?”
That explanation is probably supposed to clear a lot of things up. To one extent, it does, but to another, it confuses him more. “If he doesn’t want anyone with Ministry connections inside, then why am I here?”
“I told him how much you hate it, and that it wasn’t really your own choice.” Daehyun smiles fondly, probably thinking of the encounter, proud of the way he spun his words. Daehyun can be damn good with words when he wants to be. “He said, and I quote, ‘he sounds like the least loyal Ministry bitch ever,’ and seemed kind of curious to meet you.”
Himchan frowns. “You didn’t tell him why it wasn’t my choice, right?” Himchan doesn’t even like thinking about that moment, and he doesn’t want anyone else to know. Daehyun is his best friend and one of the few other people in the world who know. He wants to keep it that way.
Daehyun shakes his head, and Himchan is instantly relieved. “Not my family, not my place to tell.”
Himchan moves to speak again, but the lights dim and the electronic music fades away into silence. The crowd stills, and it’s sort of eerie how everyone quiets down in anticipation. Someone steps onto the stage then, and the crowd erupts into cheers. The person on the stage is just an outline, the lights too dark to make anything out, so Himchan is confused as to how the entire crowd knows who this is.
“That’s Bang,” Daehyun whispers, nudging him with an elbow. “He only performs every once and awhile. Guess you being here is a cause for celebration, hm? Or maybe he’s just trying to show off. I bet he is, the stupid asshole.”
He hears the sound of drum sticks clicking together once, twice, three times, cuing the song in. The rock instrumental continues on alone for a few moments before this Bang guy dives into a heated rap verse, and Himchan does nothing but stare as he watches the man move across the stage.
This song is so illegal, so banned, but he loves it, loves the harshness of how it sounds, the roughness of the man's voice. There’s something alluring about the contraband, he discovers. It’s dark. Gritty. Loud.
It’s beautiful.
He’s so used to the heavily practiced, stiff music that he plays. It’s elegant, classical, sophisticated. There was a time when he thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world, but years of playing the same song over and over again has begun to take its toll on him. This song seems barely rehearsed, played from the top of their heads, and he doesn’t think there’s anything more amazing than that.
The man on the stage has such an intimidating aura, his shoulders wide and voice low. He moves about with confidence and a definite swagger in his step. He goes on and on about becoming indestructible by never giving up, and with the way he moves, it’s completely believable.
Himchan is transfixed, staring wide-eyed at Bang. Daehyun notices. “Awesome, right?” he asks, nudging him in the side.
He nods, watching as Bang finishes up his song. When it’s over, the man yells out at the crowd. “We’re unbreakable, unstoppable. The Ministry won’t bring us down. Never.” The words of encouragement make the audience cheer and Himchan scoff. All the Ministry has to do to stop this is lift their pinky. It is a nice thought, though.
With that thought, the man exits the stage and Himchan turns his attention back to Daehyun. “He was pretty good. The speech at the end killed it for me, though.”
Daehyun laughs. “He has to keep people’s spirits up somehow. Don’t be such a downer.”
“Thank you Daehyun,” a third voice says from somewhere behind Himchan. He turns around with a start to find out that the owner of the deep voice is the same man who had been on stage earlier. “Kim Himchan,” Bang says, sizing him up. There’s something in the tone of his voice, and he isn’t sure if Bang means his name as an insult, or if he’s amused or curious or what. “Can I talk to you?”
Himchan looks nervously at Daehyun for help, but receives none. “Go ahead,” Daehyun says, shooing him away with his hand and tossing another drink back.
“I don’t bite, promise.” Bang says, a small smile on his lips.
Somewhat reluctantly, Himchan agrees. Daehyun doesn’t seemed concerned by the other man, so Himchan figures he shouldn’t be either.
They push their way through the crowd, people staring as Himchan passes. To say he feels out of his element is an understatement. “Everyone’s staring at me.”
“What do you expect? You’re the poster boy for the Ministry’s Orchestra, a celebrity. You kind of represent everything we hate.” Bang looks back at him, a crooked smile on his face. “No offense.”
Himchan snorts. “None taken. I think...”
They end up in a back room, behind the stage. He figures it’s Bang’s personal office, at least it gives off the feeling of one. “So,” Bang says, shutting the door behind him. “What’s it like being the Ministry’s bitch?”
“Excuse me?”
Bang flops down into a chair that’s wedged between some sort of musical equipment that Himchan’s never seen before. “Can’t imagine you like it too much if you’re here.” He waves his hand, gesturing for Himchan to sit down as well.
Himchan stays standing.
Bang gives him a look, but as soon as Himchan blinks, it’s gone. “Huh. Okay.” He shrugs the moment of hostility away, and the poised side of Himchan feels like a dick for not taking a seat when it’s offered to him. Himchan shoves that wayward thought to the back of his head, because he’s not at the Ministry, so manners be damned.
“I’m just wondering,” Bang continues on, “why exactly the Ministry’s golden boy is here.”
“Because I got an invitation.” There really isn’t much of a reason for Himchan to be an asshole. This guy has a right to be curious. Himchan works for the Ministry, the very same government that Bang’s organization despises. And while Himchan might just be another piece of copper in a wire, he’s still connected to the power source.
But Bang doesn’t get annoyed at that. He just laughs, loud and hearty. “Smartass,” he says. “No wonder you’re friends with Daehyun.” He falls silent, and Himchan is acutely aware that Bang wants him to say something. Himchan stays quiet, unsure of what Bang wants. “Seriously,” he says, after the temporary lapse in conversation. “You gonna give me the real reason you’ve gone against the Ministry by being here?”
Himchan thinks on his response for only a fraction of a second. “My loyalties don’t lie with the Ministry.”
“Oh yeah?” Bang says, quirking an eyebrow. He leans forward, his elbows on his legs and his hands clasped together in front of him. “Where do you your loyalties lie, then?”
The question catches him off guard, and he sputters, desperate to find an answer for Bang. He knows this is meant to be a quick response. He’s supposed to shoot off a reply quickly, with complete certainty.
“Your loyalties, Kim Himchan,” Bang says, standing up. “What do you live for? What do you live by? You’re not loyal to the Ministry. Okay. So you probably hate it there, hate spending every free moment in the confines of that concert hall. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” He paces the room, and Himchan stays fixed in his spot. “So, what’s the one thing that ties you to this miserable world? That keeps you here?”
Himchan doesn’t reply. He tries, he does, honest, but for the life of him he can’t think of a single thing that seems to fit. “No where,” he finally says. “My loyalties don’t lie anywhere. I’m loyal to myself, I guess.”
Bang stops pacing and stands right in front of him. “You know what I think?” he asks, and Himchan doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know. “I think you’re right, about your loyalties not lying anywhere. I think I have you figured out. If you’re loyal to nothing, you stand for nothing. And when you stand for nothing, you’re just a shell. A shell that someone can fill with their own ideals. Just like the Ministry has done with you.”
“Have me figured out?” He’s never tried so hard to keep his voice flat, controlled. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me. You know my name. You know that I play violin for the Ministry’s Orchestra. You know I’m friends with a man named Jung Daehyun. That’s the extent of your knowledge. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”
“But I do,” Bang says, staring him in the eye. “You’re transparent, Kim Himchan. I’m a little disappointed, you know. I thought you’d be a little more fun to figure out.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he says again, shaking.
“What’d the Ministry offer for your soul? Riches? Fame?” The bastard’s in his face now, so close he can feel each exhale of his breath.
“I didn’t choose this life, asshole. No one chooses it.”
Bang crosses his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Yeah? Really?”
Himchan breaks. Something inside him shatters, and the words come pouring out before he can stop them. “My dad was a musician.” He just wants to prove this asshole wrong, tell him he’s not a goddamn shell. He wants to prove to himself that he’s not a puppet. He barely registers the words until Bang takes a step back and stares at him, wide-eyed.
“What happened to him?” he asks, quiet and entirely different from his previous demeanor.
“What do you think?”
"So... the Ministry took you when...?”
Himchan nods stiffly, glances at the floor.
“I... for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He looks Himchan in the eye when he says this, his face soft.
“Yeah, well,” Himchan says, starting for the door. “It’s not worth much. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He doesn’t even spare Bang a glance as he walks out the door.
Himchan wakes up the next morning with a dull headache. It’s from the volume of the music in the club, he supposes. He’s not used to anything so loud and intense. He had left so hastily after his little chat with Bang that he hadn’t even said his goodbyes to Daehyun. The younger man was probably too drunk at that point to notice, though.
Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of the comfort of his bed and gets himself ready for work.
When he arrives at the concert hall, everything is the same as usual. No one even looks up from their instruments or sheet music as he walks in. Part of him had half expected someone to stop him, for Jieun to stare at him knowingly, as if, “I was at the rebellion’s headquarters last night,” was branded on his forehead.
Hana is perched on his desk, her trumpet in her lap. “Hey Himchan!” she says as he approaches. “You’re a little late. You’re lucky Jieun hasn’t come in yet. She’d be on your ass.”
Himchan snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He had noticed the lack of the conductor's overbearing presence, and he’s quite glad. None of last night’s events can be seen on his face, and he knows that. Still, he’s not so sure how he’d be able to act in front of her. “So, what are we playing today?”
Giggling, Hana rolls her eyes. “Six years of playing in the orchestra later, and that joke still isn’t any funnier.”
“You just don’t get it,” he says, shaking his head. He sets his violin case down onto the desk next to her, unclasping it to pull the instrument out. “It’s funny because it’s just as redundant as the orchestra.” Bracing his violin against his neck, he swipes the bow across the strings and winces when it sounds out of tune. “I hate new violins,” he mumbles, more to himself. “They get out of tune so easily.”
“You’re doubly lucky Jieun isn’t here today,” she says, hopping off the desk. “She’d mount your head above her fireplace for that one.”
“She loves you though,” he says, shrugging. “You could just sweet talk her for me.” Around them musicians are making their way towards the stage entrance. With his violin-free hand, he tugs on Hana’s arm, following the others.
“Please.” She rolls her eyes again, and if she weren’t so great at music, Himchan would say that was her greatest talent. That, and looks to kill. “The day Kim Himchan is no longer a suave, smooth talking gentleman is the day the world ends.”
He can’t argue the point. Faking formality and charm is essential for this job. It gets grueling though, kissing ass day in and day out just so he can save his. In another place and time, he’d probably make a fantastic actor.
His phone vibrates against his thigh, and he slips it out of his pocket to check his texts.
meet me at wired’s for coffee tonight?
“Who’s that from?” Hana asks, sneaking a glance at Himchan’s phone.
He taps out a quick agreement. “Daehyun.”
Hana’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape. “How... how is he?”
“He’s doing pretty well,” he replies quietly. Looking up at Hana, he continues, “You know, you’re going to have to make up with him some day.”
“It’s been six years. It’s not that simple,” she says, looking away from him, her brows knit together.
“It should be,” Himchan says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re family.”
Hana stops walking and turns around. “Fucking hell, Himchan,” she spits out, “what do you even know about family?”
His mouth drops open, and the bow to his violin drops onto the floor with a clatter. It’s a touchy subject, he knows that, but he’s also known both of them long enough to be able to talk about it. And even if he weren’t allowed to bring up their feud, that was still incredibly uncalled for.
He picks his bow up, and, without a second thought, he shoves past her, his shoulder knocking into hers rather forcefully. He can hear Hana calling out his apologies to him, but he pays no attention. He has better things to occupy his mind. Out on that stage there's a chair with his name on it and songs to be rehearsed.
During practice, he saws into the strings of his violin a bit too hard, and one of them breaks. He blames his annoyance entirely on the heat of the concert hall.
The best part about Himchan’s day is when he gets to leave the concert hall, and today is definitely no exception. Fortunately, he doesn’t see Hana anywhere, but Sunhwa, another one of the musicians, waves at him as he heads for the door. She looks like she wants to strike up a conversation, but he stops her before she can. He sends her a tight lipped smile and a stiff wave, and then he’s out the door. He doesn’t stop to chat or say goodbye to anyone because he’s just not feeling up to playing Kim Himchan: Ministry Golden Boy at the moment. Maybe he wouldn’t make such a great actor after all.
As soon as he gets outside, the cold air laps at his face, and it feels refreshing. Stepping outside is always a relief; the concert hall isn’t the most welcoming place. There’s an aura inside that feels like someone is always watching you, like an incessant tingle at the base of your neck when you feel like someone’s behind you. When he’s with Hana or the measly handful of other musicians worth talking to, it’s easy to ignore, but when he’s onstage or by himself, it’s palpable. It’s like the Ministry has its own special brand of air designed to suffocate those who breathe it in.
On top of that, the concert hall has absolutely no temperature control. Either it’s too cold, or it’s stifling. Today the hall had been hotter than the tenth circle of hell, so Himchan skips the cab ride and decides to walk home instead. He walks through the streets of the residential part of Skyline town, the center part of city and the most affluent area. It’s where the wealthy live - ministry officials, orchestra members, lawyers, and doctors - and the adjoining commercial area houses the concert hall, Ministry, and all sorts of luxury stores.
And while the allure of Skyline town had appealed to him when he first moved here, it’s lost its luster. Now, the only thing it’s good for is making him sick to his stomach. The center of the city is the definition of greed. In the outskirts of the city lie Slums where people live in deplorable conditions, in shacks and falling apart homes, and here Skyline town is, wasting so much in excess that should be going to helping out the poor.
He’s broken out of his reverie by a woman tapping at his shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she smiles apologetically. “My son is such a big fan of yours! Can I ask for a picture?”
“Of course!” He smiles, and he’s back into golden boy mode. It’s like he never even left the confines of the concert hall. Leaning down next to the boy - who can’t be more than six or seven - he poses, his grin large and eyes bright.
“I wish I could play violin like you, Mr. Kim!” he says, smiling. “And the piano, and the cello.” He counts on a stubby finger for each instrument. “You’re amazing!”
He reaches a hand out to ruffle the boy’s hair, a grin spread across his face. It’s sad, Himchan thinks, to be admired for something you’ve been groomed to be since you were young. Because really, if you’re made into something, deep down, is it even you at all?
He meets Daehyun at Wired’s, a cozy little coffee shop in Midtown. It’s quite the stereotypical coffee house, complete with low lighting and plush chairs. To the average passerby, it attracts no attention, no cause for alarm. In the anti-ministry social circles, however, it’s a well known fact that Wired’s is owned by the Yoos, a prominent family whose resent for the Ministry goes back decades, to when the Ministry’s regime first took over.
Daehyun is already there, sitting in their normal booth. Himchan makes his way to the back corner of the store, and slides into the seat across from Daehyun. “Can I make a suggestion?”
Daehyun looks up from his mug of coffee. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”
“Fix shit with your sister, please,” he says, picking up his coffee mug.
Across from him, Daehyun chokes on his tea.
“And thanks for buying my coffee for me,” he grins, taking a sip. It burns the back of his throat.
It takes a moment, but Daehyun finally composes himself, though his face is still red. “Why’re you bringing up Hana?”
“She asked about you today,” he says, a bit more seriously, “wanted to know if you were alright. And then when I said you guys should just make up - because you two clearly still care about each other - she ripped my head off.”
Biting his lip, Daehyun considers this. “I know where you’re coming from, Himchan, I really do, but you know I can’t do that. She picked the Ministry over her family, and she has to deal with that now.”
“She didn’t pick the Ministry, you idiot. She picked her passion. It’s not like she’s loyal to them.” He takes a cautious sip of his coffee, and this time it’s the perfect temperature. “Her and I really aren’t that different.”
“You didn’t choose. She did, and that’s what matters.” He glances around them, and, dropping his voice, he says, “You know my family is anti-ministry. It’s more complicated than just forgiving her.”
“One day, Daehyun,” Himchan replies, shaking his head, “you’ll realize that it really is that simple. I just hope for your guys’ sake that it isn’t too late, y’know?”
Daehyun gives him a hard look. “Okay,” he says. “Time for a change of topic!” Himchan tries incredibly hard not to roll his eyes, or laugh. Do either of the siblings realize just how similar they are? “You peaced out pretty quickly last night,” Daehyun continues. “What happened with Bang?”
Himchan snorts. “We...didn’t get along too well, alright? ‘Dunno why you like the guy so much.”
“What’d he say to you?” His brows furrow, concern evident in his face.
“Nothing, honest.” Himchan shakes his head, as if to accentuate the point. “I just think he’s a bit of dick. Don’t worry about it too much, yeah?”
“Well,” Daehyun says, “are you going to come back? For the music, at least?”
Himchan hasn’t even considered going back. After the disaster that talking to Bang was, he thought that’d be it for him. Too wrapped up in how much of an asshole Bang was, and how stupid he had been to allow himself to get so worked up, he never even thought about the whole reason why the club existed. It was there for the music. Nothing more.
Honestly speaking, Himchan had loved how gritty and the sounds were, how uncontrolled everything seemed. Surely there was nothing wrong with going back just to enjoy the music?
“For the music,” Himchan agrees, “and the alcohol.”
Daehyun laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Great! It’s open a few nights a week, but they’re not the same days every time, just to be on the safe side. They put a new schedule up inside every month.” He takes another swig of his tea before continuing. “The next night this week is tomorrow.”
“My day off,” Himchan grins. “Perfect.”
When Himchan wakes up, he has six unread text messages. They’re all from Hana.
i’m sorry
i know what i said was low and i feel like shit for saying it and i really didn’t mean it
They all continue on in the same vein, and Himchan wonders why she thought that many text messages were necessary. He’s known her for ten years; he might be pissed, but he’s not about to sever a friendship just because a few regretful words were said. He deletes them one by one, until he gets to the last one.
and i think you might be right btw
He’s not sure what to make of that, to be honest. For six years, he’s been caught in the crossfire of Hana and Daehyun’s fight, dropping his small words of wisdom every so often. Each time, he had been ignored. While he continues to preach for peace between his two best friends, he never expected either of them to change their opinions. The feud has been a constant in his life, and a change in that dynamic is unexpected. Unexpected, but pleasant.
He knows that Hana agreeing with him doesn’t solve anything, but he still counts it as a small victory and the indicator of a good day.
Himchan is far more sure of himself when he arrives at the resistance's headquarters this time. The dirty looks he gets are still unsettling, but he feels less awkward making his way through the crowd and to the bar, where Daehyun is sitting once again. “Hey man,” he says, nodding at his friend.
Daehyun spins around on the stool, grinning. “Now that you’re here,” he says, sliding off the stool, “I want to introduce you to a few people.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He’s not too keen on meeting anyone else here, and if the looks he’s been getting are any indication, they aren’t too excited to meet him, either.
“They’re cool, I promise.” Before he can protest further, Daehyun grabs his hand and tugs him into the mass of bodies. He stops and let’s go of Himchan’s hand when they reach a blonde boy with half of his head shaved. “You already know Youngjae,” he says, as the other boy rests his chin on his shoulder.
Himchan raises an eyebrow. “You and Youngjae are...?” He supposes he ought to have figured it out by now. Daehyun has always had a weird affinity for Wired’s. His like for the cafe seemed to go a bit farther than appreciating the safe haven it provided for those with their political views, and now Himchan knows why. Where Daehyun was discreet, Youngjae was obvious. Himchan had caught him making eyes at Daehyun quite a few times before, but he had always assumed it was a one sided thing. Apparently he was wrong. “There’s clearly a story behind this that you need to tell me.”
Rolling his eyes, Daehyun ignores his comments and points to a boy standing next to Youngjae. “That’s Jongup, and the goliath behind him is Junhong.”
“You’re Kim Himchan,” the taller of the three says, staring at him curiously. “Golden boy of the Ministry.”
“And you look sixteen,” Himchan snaps. “Don’t you have school in the morning to worry about?”
Junhong rolls his eyes, stepping out from behind Jongup. “I don’t go to school.”
Himchan stares back at him, confused. “But the Ministry only grants pardons to-”
“Citizens who are deemed unfit for work, and therefore have no use for schooling. Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks for the reminder though. Listen, I’m not really interested in telling my life story to strangers, especially the Ministry affiliated kind.” He turns back towards his friends, waving his hand slightly as a goodbye. “I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”
When he’s a safe distance away, Youngjae - who’s still comfortably wrapped around Daehyun, and wow, that’s going to take some getting used to - speaks up. “I’m sorry about him. He kind of... takes after Bang. Have you met him yet?”
“He sure has,” a new voice says from behind him. Except it’s not really new, because Himchan, unfortunately, recognizes it. It seems Bang’s preferred method of entering conversations is appearing out of nowhere and butting his way into them. Asshole. Bang’s hand clamps down onto his shoulder, and immediately, Himchan stiffens. “Can't say I expected to see you back so soon, Himchan.”
Gritting his teeth, he replies, “Yeah, well, I didn’t come back for the fine company.”
“Ouch,” Bang says, his hand falling from Himchan’s shoulder. “That’s too bad, because I came over here to ask if we could talk.”
He looks at Daehyun for help, but he, and the other two boys, are watching their exchange, looks somewhere between amusement and confusion on their faces.
“Well if you asked,” Himchan starts to say, “I’d have to decline.”
“If you declined,” Bang says, stepping in front of him, “I’d have to revoke your invitation to the club.”
“And if you did that,” he replies back easily, his shoulders squared, “there’d be absolutely nothing to stop me from running to the Ministry.”
Bang sports a look that he can’t quite read. His jaw is tense like he’s pissed off, but in his eyes there’s a slight tint of amusement. From the corner of his eyes, Himchan can see Daehyun detangling himself from Youngjae and walking over to intervene.
“Himchan, I swear to God, that isn’t-”
“It’s cool, Daehyun.” It’s Bang who says this, and Himchan’s eyes widen. “I know he’d never do that.”
“Oh yeah? Because you’ve got me so figured out, right?” It occurs to him that maybe he’s being hostile for no reason, but it’s not really his fault. His first meeting with Bang wasn’t outstanding, and Himchan’s a first-impressions-count kind of guy.
“You guys really should go backstage,” Jongup says, speaking the first words he’s heard him say all night. “People are starting to stare.”
Himchan looks around, and sure enough, the stares have intensified. There’s a DJ up on stage, but hardly anyone watches him. He even sees Jay, the bartender, staring at them from behind the counter, and Junhong watching them from the other end of the room. He can’t blame them though - Kim Himchan of the Ministry’s Orchestra, and Bang, leader of the resistance, publicly arguing does make quite the spectacle. Himchan’s face heats up. He’s used to attention being on him, but not like this.
“Okay,” Himchan agrees, because he is capable of being rational, honest.
Bang looks surprised, like he didn’t expect Himchan to comply. Himchan follows him back to the same room they were in last time, a smug look on his face. Looks like Bang really doesn’t have him all figured out.
“So we got off on the wrong foot,” Bang says, leaning against a table of what looks like recording equipment.
“You think?” Himchan scoffs.
“Hey, don’t be an asshole when I’m trying to fix things,” the other man, says, crossing his arms.
“Does you wanting to fix things have anything to do with my Ministry affiliation?” Himchan asks. “Because I see no other reason for us to be speaking.”
Bang sighs. “You’re not stupid, I know. So I’ll tell you that yeah, knowing you is valuable.” He nods, uncrossing his arms to place them on the edge of the table behind him. “But Daehyun is also a good friend, and I trust his judgement. If you were a shit person, he wouldn’t hang around you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Himchan folds his arms, annoyed. “I still don’t trust you, though.”
“How about this,” Bang says, pushing himself off of the table. “A secret for a secret? Last time you offered up some pretty private information, so it’s only fair that I do the same, yeah?”
Himchan considers this for a moment. Growing up in the spotlight means people you don’t even know knowing about you life. Not a whole lot of people offer up information in return. “Go on.” He nods.
“My name is Yongguk,” he replies easily, sliding into the same chair he sat in last time. “Bang Yongguk. I’m twenty-two.” While knowing who he’s actually talking to is nice, none of these are the sort of secrets Himchan had expected. He’s about to point this out when Yongguk says, “My grandfather was imprisoned for smuggling records into Mato from Exo.”
Himchan freezes. For some reason, this detail puts things into perspective for him. It makes sense. Yongguk’s carrying out his family duty by sharing music with the people. It also makes Yongguk seem more human, and that must have been his intention from the beginning. He glances to his left, at the chair across from Yongguk. He sits in it.
“That’s... awful. I’m sorry.”
Yongguk waves his hand in the air, dismissing him. “What was it that you said last time? That apologies aren’t worth much?” He glances down at the floor, looking oddly vulnerable for a moment. “I do appreciate it, though. Thank you.”
Himchan tries to picture Yongguk, leader of the resistance against the Ministry, as a grandson, a son. While he doesn’t know the man, he’s starting to understand how Daehyun might find him worth knowing. He also feels like a bit of a dick for how standoffish he’s been, but he doesn’t think Yongguk is the kind of guy who’ll take that to heart. He has to know that in this world, you can never be too cautious around strangers, especially when you’ve been through the things Himchan has.
“How do you and Daehyun know each other?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“He moved into the apartment next to mine down in Midtown,” he says, “and we bonded over our similar... political ideas.”
Himchan snorts. “Your hate of the Ministry, you mean.”
“Obviously.” Yongguk grins, all teeth and gums. His smile is kind of infectious, and the side of Himchan’s mouth quirks up. “So,” Yongguk says, extending his hand out to Himchan. “Friends?”
“I wouldn’t say friends quite yet,” he replies, eyeing the other’s hand. “How about a truce?” He grasps Yongguk’s hand.
“Deal,” Yongguk grins.
They shake on it.
ღ Part Two ღ
Pairing: Yongguk/Himchan
Rating: R
W/C: 6.2k
Warnings: Violence and mentions of blood (nothing extreme), eventual character death (not BAP)
Summary: Dystopian AU | All music has been outlawed, except for approved performances by the Ministry's Orchestra. A small clandestine movement aims to share music with the world. Invited to join by a friend, apathetic Kim Himchan, one of the Ministry's Orchestra's favorite violinists, meets the resistance's leader and is swept into a reality that flips his world upside down.
A/N: birthday present for taehyuks. ❤ look emily, the banghim exists! it's not just a mythical being anymore! i originally wanted to finish the whole thing for your birthday, but it morphed into this huge multi-chaptered beast of a story, so, have the first part instead!
Himchan squints at the building in front of him, unimpressed. He’s not sure what he was expecting. Surely he wasn’t expecting anything grandiose, but the building’s presence is so underwhelming. It’s nothing more than a rundown warehouse.
It’s ugly, the brick crumpling and the metal rusted. A handful of gnarled crabgrass grows in splotches around the building. It looks like one of the apartment buildings in the city’s downtown slums, the sort of building Himchan tries not to look at as he passes by. He doesn’t like to look at these buildings because they make him feel guilty. Why do others have to live in homes like that, when his own house is the penthouse at the top of a clean and polished silver tower?
Why is he so different from the rest?
Because he’s one of the Ministry’s lapdogs? Hardly seems fair.
Fair has nothing to do with the Ministry, though.
Himchan shifts nervously on his feet. He told Daehyun that he’d meet him here, but now he’s not so sure. It’s not too late; he could turn around right now. But the resistance's - is that even the right word to use? they weren’t actively revolting against the Ministry - headquarters is an hour away from the city. It’d be a waste to chance travelling this far away from the center of the city just to turn back.
Besides, he promised Daehyun. Himchan might be a nervous mess, but he still honors all of his promises. He throws an anxious glance over his shoulder, worried that someone might have followed him. It’s completely unlikely for anyone to see him here - this place is so far away from the city, and rightfully so - but this underground music movement is so far past the realm of illegal that he has to worry.
He doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if someone saw him here.
Himchan hurries up to the door, anxious to get out of the open. He knocks once before an intercom next to the door comes alive. “Password?”
Uncrumpling the piece of paper in his shaking hands, he squints at Daehyun’s handwriting. “Unbreakable?” he answers a little unsurely, his voice wavering.
He hears the audible sound of a lock clicking before the door cracks open a fraction. Pushing it open, he steps into a narrow hallway that tapers off into a staircase. Himchan shoves his hands into his jean pockets as he descends, nervous to see what’s awaiting him at the bottom.
There’s a second door at the bottom and when Himchan opens it, he’s immediately assaulted with bright, multicolored lights and loud, thumping music. The beat is unfamiliar to him, and he can’t even place what instrument is making the sound. It’s none of the instruments in the Ministry’s Orchestra, and it doesn’t sound like a guitar or drums or any of the banned instruments.
Then it dawns on him. Is the music electronic? The concept is a weird one, but he knows it existed in the old days. He’d studied it back in grade school. In the Ministry grade history textbooks, electronic music had been lumped into the section on banned music.
He gets quite a few odd glances as he moves through the crowd of people, desperately trying to find Daehyun. On one end of the room, there’s what looks like a bar, and he decides to make that his destination. Himchan has never felt quite so out of his element as he does now, and he’s starting to think that coming was a bad idea.
When he reaches the bar, a hand claps down on his shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
“You made it!” Daehyun yells over the music, drink in hand.
Himchan glances around, at the curious faces looking at him. He shuffles closer to Daehyun. “Yeah,” he says, nodding stiffly. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have.”
“Relax,” Daehyun says, turning towards the bar to order Himchan a drink. “You seem super worried. Why?”
Watching as the bartender pours amber liquid into a glass, he answers, “What if someone sees me and the Ministry finds out? I’ll be fucked.”
The bartender slides the drink across the counter, mumbling something about it being for the “Ministry’s princess.” Daehyun just laughs and pays for it. Himchan narrows his eyes at the bartender - Jay, Daehyun had addressed him as - and accepts the drink with a scowl.
“Relax,” Daehyun says again, the word rolling off his tongue easily like it’s nothing, and Himchan figures it’s probably supposed to be nothing, but he’s always tense, always on edge. “No one here is connected to the Ministry. Well, except you, of course.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asks, giving the drink an experimental taste. It’s strong and stings a hell of a lot more than the champagne and fine wines he’s used to. He likes it.
“Because,” Daehyun says, leaning against the bar. “Everyone who’s here,” he motions around them with his hand, “is here because they got a referral. Invitation only. Before you can invite anyone, Bang has to approve them.”
Himchan raises his eyebrows. “Bang?”
“The leader of all this,” Daehyun answers, sipping his drink casually. “He likes to know exactly who he lets in. You can never be too careful, y’know?”
That explanation is probably supposed to clear a lot of things up. To one extent, it does, but to another, it confuses him more. “If he doesn’t want anyone with Ministry connections inside, then why am I here?”
“I told him how much you hate it, and that it wasn’t really your own choice.” Daehyun smiles fondly, probably thinking of the encounter, proud of the way he spun his words. Daehyun can be damn good with words when he wants to be. “He said, and I quote, ‘he sounds like the least loyal Ministry bitch ever,’ and seemed kind of curious to meet you.”
Himchan frowns. “You didn’t tell him why it wasn’t my choice, right?” Himchan doesn’t even like thinking about that moment, and he doesn’t want anyone else to know. Daehyun is his best friend and one of the few other people in the world who know. He wants to keep it that way.
Daehyun shakes his head, and Himchan is instantly relieved. “Not my family, not my place to tell.”
Himchan moves to speak again, but the lights dim and the electronic music fades away into silence. The crowd stills, and it’s sort of eerie how everyone quiets down in anticipation. Someone steps onto the stage then, and the crowd erupts into cheers. The person on the stage is just an outline, the lights too dark to make anything out, so Himchan is confused as to how the entire crowd knows who this is.
“That’s Bang,” Daehyun whispers, nudging him with an elbow. “He only performs every once and awhile. Guess you being here is a cause for celebration, hm? Or maybe he’s just trying to show off. I bet he is, the stupid asshole.”
He hears the sound of drum sticks clicking together once, twice, three times, cuing the song in. The rock instrumental continues on alone for a few moments before this Bang guy dives into a heated rap verse, and Himchan does nothing but stare as he watches the man move across the stage.
This song is so illegal, so banned, but he loves it, loves the harshness of how it sounds, the roughness of the man's voice. There’s something alluring about the contraband, he discovers. It’s dark. Gritty. Loud.
It’s beautiful.
He’s so used to the heavily practiced, stiff music that he plays. It’s elegant, classical, sophisticated. There was a time when he thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world, but years of playing the same song over and over again has begun to take its toll on him. This song seems barely rehearsed, played from the top of their heads, and he doesn’t think there’s anything more amazing than that.
The man on the stage has such an intimidating aura, his shoulders wide and voice low. He moves about with confidence and a definite swagger in his step. He goes on and on about becoming indestructible by never giving up, and with the way he moves, it’s completely believable.
Himchan is transfixed, staring wide-eyed at Bang. Daehyun notices. “Awesome, right?” he asks, nudging him in the side.
He nods, watching as Bang finishes up his song. When it’s over, the man yells out at the crowd. “We’re unbreakable, unstoppable. The Ministry won’t bring us down. Never.” The words of encouragement make the audience cheer and Himchan scoff. All the Ministry has to do to stop this is lift their pinky. It is a nice thought, though.
With that thought, the man exits the stage and Himchan turns his attention back to Daehyun. “He was pretty good. The speech at the end killed it for me, though.”
Daehyun laughs. “He has to keep people’s spirits up somehow. Don’t be such a downer.”
“Thank you Daehyun,” a third voice says from somewhere behind Himchan. He turns around with a start to find out that the owner of the deep voice is the same man who had been on stage earlier. “Kim Himchan,” Bang says, sizing him up. There’s something in the tone of his voice, and he isn’t sure if Bang means his name as an insult, or if he’s amused or curious or what. “Can I talk to you?”
Himchan looks nervously at Daehyun for help, but receives none. “Go ahead,” Daehyun says, shooing him away with his hand and tossing another drink back.
“I don’t bite, promise.” Bang says, a small smile on his lips.
Somewhat reluctantly, Himchan agrees. Daehyun doesn’t seemed concerned by the other man, so Himchan figures he shouldn’t be either.
They push their way through the crowd, people staring as Himchan passes. To say he feels out of his element is an understatement. “Everyone’s staring at me.”
“What do you expect? You’re the poster boy for the Ministry’s Orchestra, a celebrity. You kind of represent everything we hate.” Bang looks back at him, a crooked smile on his face. “No offense.”
Himchan snorts. “None taken. I think...”
They end up in a back room, behind the stage. He figures it’s Bang’s personal office, at least it gives off the feeling of one. “So,” Bang says, shutting the door behind him. “What’s it like being the Ministry’s bitch?”
“Excuse me?”
Bang flops down into a chair that’s wedged between some sort of musical equipment that Himchan’s never seen before. “Can’t imagine you like it too much if you’re here.” He waves his hand, gesturing for Himchan to sit down as well.
Himchan stays standing.
Bang gives him a look, but as soon as Himchan blinks, it’s gone. “Huh. Okay.” He shrugs the moment of hostility away, and the poised side of Himchan feels like a dick for not taking a seat when it’s offered to him. Himchan shoves that wayward thought to the back of his head, because he’s not at the Ministry, so manners be damned.
“I’m just wondering,” Bang continues on, “why exactly the Ministry’s golden boy is here.”
“Because I got an invitation.” There really isn’t much of a reason for Himchan to be an asshole. This guy has a right to be curious. Himchan works for the Ministry, the very same government that Bang’s organization despises. And while Himchan might just be another piece of copper in a wire, he’s still connected to the power source.
But Bang doesn’t get annoyed at that. He just laughs, loud and hearty. “Smartass,” he says. “No wonder you’re friends with Daehyun.” He falls silent, and Himchan is acutely aware that Bang wants him to say something. Himchan stays quiet, unsure of what Bang wants. “Seriously,” he says, after the temporary lapse in conversation. “You gonna give me the real reason you’ve gone against the Ministry by being here?”
Himchan thinks on his response for only a fraction of a second. “My loyalties don’t lie with the Ministry.”
“Oh yeah?” Bang says, quirking an eyebrow. He leans forward, his elbows on his legs and his hands clasped together in front of him. “Where do you your loyalties lie, then?”
The question catches him off guard, and he sputters, desperate to find an answer for Bang. He knows this is meant to be a quick response. He’s supposed to shoot off a reply quickly, with complete certainty.
“Your loyalties, Kim Himchan,” Bang says, standing up. “What do you live for? What do you live by? You’re not loyal to the Ministry. Okay. So you probably hate it there, hate spending every free moment in the confines of that concert hall. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” He paces the room, and Himchan stays fixed in his spot. “So, what’s the one thing that ties you to this miserable world? That keeps you here?”
Himchan doesn’t reply. He tries, he does, honest, but for the life of him he can’t think of a single thing that seems to fit. “No where,” he finally says. “My loyalties don’t lie anywhere. I’m loyal to myself, I guess.”
Bang stops pacing and stands right in front of him. “You know what I think?” he asks, and Himchan doesn’t know, doesn’t want to know. “I think you’re right, about your loyalties not lying anywhere. I think I have you figured out. If you’re loyal to nothing, you stand for nothing. And when you stand for nothing, you’re just a shell. A shell that someone can fill with their own ideals. Just like the Ministry has done with you.”
“Have me figured out?” He’s never tried so hard to keep his voice flat, controlled. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me. You know my name. You know that I play violin for the Ministry’s Orchestra. You know I’m friends with a man named Jung Daehyun. That’s the extent of your knowledge. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”
“But I do,” Bang says, staring him in the eye. “You’re transparent, Kim Himchan. I’m a little disappointed, you know. I thought you’d be a little more fun to figure out.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he says again, shaking.
“What’d the Ministry offer for your soul? Riches? Fame?” The bastard’s in his face now, so close he can feel each exhale of his breath.
“I didn’t choose this life, asshole. No one chooses it.”
Bang crosses his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Yeah? Really?”
Himchan breaks. Something inside him shatters, and the words come pouring out before he can stop them. “My dad was a musician.” He just wants to prove this asshole wrong, tell him he’s not a goddamn shell. He wants to prove to himself that he’s not a puppet. He barely registers the words until Bang takes a step back and stares at him, wide-eyed.
“What happened to him?” he asks, quiet and entirely different from his previous demeanor.
“What do you think?”
"So... the Ministry took you when...?”
Himchan nods stiffly, glances at the floor.
“I... for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He looks Himchan in the eye when he says this, his face soft.
“Yeah, well,” Himchan says, starting for the door. “It’s not worth much. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He doesn’t even spare Bang a glance as he walks out the door.
Himchan wakes up the next morning with a dull headache. It’s from the volume of the music in the club, he supposes. He’s not used to anything so loud and intense. He had left so hastily after his little chat with Bang that he hadn’t even said his goodbyes to Daehyun. The younger man was probably too drunk at that point to notice, though.
Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of the comfort of his bed and gets himself ready for work.
When he arrives at the concert hall, everything is the same as usual. No one even looks up from their instruments or sheet music as he walks in. Part of him had half expected someone to stop him, for Jieun to stare at him knowingly, as if, “I was at the rebellion’s headquarters last night,” was branded on his forehead.
Hana is perched on his desk, her trumpet in her lap. “Hey Himchan!” she says as he approaches. “You’re a little late. You’re lucky Jieun hasn’t come in yet. She’d be on your ass.”
Himchan snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He had noticed the lack of the conductor's overbearing presence, and he’s quite glad. None of last night’s events can be seen on his face, and he knows that. Still, he’s not so sure how he’d be able to act in front of her. “So, what are we playing today?”
Giggling, Hana rolls her eyes. “Six years of playing in the orchestra later, and that joke still isn’t any funnier.”
“You just don’t get it,” he says, shaking his head. He sets his violin case down onto the desk next to her, unclasping it to pull the instrument out. “It’s funny because it’s just as redundant as the orchestra.” Bracing his violin against his neck, he swipes the bow across the strings and winces when it sounds out of tune. “I hate new violins,” he mumbles, more to himself. “They get out of tune so easily.”
“You’re doubly lucky Jieun isn’t here today,” she says, hopping off the desk. “She’d mount your head above her fireplace for that one.”
“She loves you though,” he says, shrugging. “You could just sweet talk her for me.” Around them musicians are making their way towards the stage entrance. With his violin-free hand, he tugs on Hana’s arm, following the others.
“Please.” She rolls her eyes again, and if she weren’t so great at music, Himchan would say that was her greatest talent. That, and looks to kill. “The day Kim Himchan is no longer a suave, smooth talking gentleman is the day the world ends.”
He can’t argue the point. Faking formality and charm is essential for this job. It gets grueling though, kissing ass day in and day out just so he can save his. In another place and time, he’d probably make a fantastic actor.
His phone vibrates against his thigh, and he slips it out of his pocket to check his texts.
meet me at wired’s for coffee tonight?
“Who’s that from?” Hana asks, sneaking a glance at Himchan’s phone.
He taps out a quick agreement. “Daehyun.”
Hana’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape. “How... how is he?”
“He’s doing pretty well,” he replies quietly. Looking up at Hana, he continues, “You know, you’re going to have to make up with him some day.”
“It’s been six years. It’s not that simple,” she says, looking away from him, her brows knit together.
“It should be,” Himchan says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re family.”
Hana stops walking and turns around. “Fucking hell, Himchan,” she spits out, “what do you even know about family?”
His mouth drops open, and the bow to his violin drops onto the floor with a clatter. It’s a touchy subject, he knows that, but he’s also known both of them long enough to be able to talk about it. And even if he weren’t allowed to bring up their feud, that was still incredibly uncalled for.
He picks his bow up, and, without a second thought, he shoves past her, his shoulder knocking into hers rather forcefully. He can hear Hana calling out his apologies to him, but he pays no attention. He has better things to occupy his mind. Out on that stage there's a chair with his name on it and songs to be rehearsed.
During practice, he saws into the strings of his violin a bit too hard, and one of them breaks. He blames his annoyance entirely on the heat of the concert hall.
The best part about Himchan’s day is when he gets to leave the concert hall, and today is definitely no exception. Fortunately, he doesn’t see Hana anywhere, but Sunhwa, another one of the musicians, waves at him as he heads for the door. She looks like she wants to strike up a conversation, but he stops her before she can. He sends her a tight lipped smile and a stiff wave, and then he’s out the door. He doesn’t stop to chat or say goodbye to anyone because he’s just not feeling up to playing Kim Himchan: Ministry Golden Boy at the moment. Maybe he wouldn’t make such a great actor after all.
As soon as he gets outside, the cold air laps at his face, and it feels refreshing. Stepping outside is always a relief; the concert hall isn’t the most welcoming place. There’s an aura inside that feels like someone is always watching you, like an incessant tingle at the base of your neck when you feel like someone’s behind you. When he’s with Hana or the measly handful of other musicians worth talking to, it’s easy to ignore, but when he’s onstage or by himself, it’s palpable. It’s like the Ministry has its own special brand of air designed to suffocate those who breathe it in.
On top of that, the concert hall has absolutely no temperature control. Either it’s too cold, or it’s stifling. Today the hall had been hotter than the tenth circle of hell, so Himchan skips the cab ride and decides to walk home instead. He walks through the streets of the residential part of Skyline town, the center part of city and the most affluent area. It’s where the wealthy live - ministry officials, orchestra members, lawyers, and doctors - and the adjoining commercial area houses the concert hall, Ministry, and all sorts of luxury stores.
And while the allure of Skyline town had appealed to him when he first moved here, it’s lost its luster. Now, the only thing it’s good for is making him sick to his stomach. The center of the city is the definition of greed. In the outskirts of the city lie Slums where people live in deplorable conditions, in shacks and falling apart homes, and here Skyline town is, wasting so much in excess that should be going to helping out the poor.
He’s broken out of his reverie by a woman tapping at his shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she smiles apologetically. “My son is such a big fan of yours! Can I ask for a picture?”
“Of course!” He smiles, and he’s back into golden boy mode. It’s like he never even left the confines of the concert hall. Leaning down next to the boy - who can’t be more than six or seven - he poses, his grin large and eyes bright.
“I wish I could play violin like you, Mr. Kim!” he says, smiling. “And the piano, and the cello.” He counts on a stubby finger for each instrument. “You’re amazing!”
He reaches a hand out to ruffle the boy’s hair, a grin spread across his face. It’s sad, Himchan thinks, to be admired for something you’ve been groomed to be since you were young. Because really, if you’re made into something, deep down, is it even you at all?
He meets Daehyun at Wired’s, a cozy little coffee shop in Midtown. It’s quite the stereotypical coffee house, complete with low lighting and plush chairs. To the average passerby, it attracts no attention, no cause for alarm. In the anti-ministry social circles, however, it’s a well known fact that Wired’s is owned by the Yoos, a prominent family whose resent for the Ministry goes back decades, to when the Ministry’s regime first took over.
Daehyun is already there, sitting in their normal booth. Himchan makes his way to the back corner of the store, and slides into the seat across from Daehyun. “Can I make a suggestion?”
Daehyun looks up from his mug of coffee. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”
“Fix shit with your sister, please,” he says, picking up his coffee mug.
Across from him, Daehyun chokes on his tea.
“And thanks for buying my coffee for me,” he grins, taking a sip. It burns the back of his throat.
It takes a moment, but Daehyun finally composes himself, though his face is still red. “Why’re you bringing up Hana?”
“She asked about you today,” he says, a bit more seriously, “wanted to know if you were alright. And then when I said you guys should just make up - because you two clearly still care about each other - she ripped my head off.”
Biting his lip, Daehyun considers this. “I know where you’re coming from, Himchan, I really do, but you know I can’t do that. She picked the Ministry over her family, and she has to deal with that now.”
“She didn’t pick the Ministry, you idiot. She picked her passion. It’s not like she’s loyal to them.” He takes a cautious sip of his coffee, and this time it’s the perfect temperature. “Her and I really aren’t that different.”
“You didn’t choose. She did, and that’s what matters.” He glances around them, and, dropping his voice, he says, “You know my family is anti-ministry. It’s more complicated than just forgiving her.”
“One day, Daehyun,” Himchan replies, shaking his head, “you’ll realize that it really is that simple. I just hope for your guys’ sake that it isn’t too late, y’know?”
Daehyun gives him a hard look. “Okay,” he says. “Time for a change of topic!” Himchan tries incredibly hard not to roll his eyes, or laugh. Do either of the siblings realize just how similar they are? “You peaced out pretty quickly last night,” Daehyun continues. “What happened with Bang?”
Himchan snorts. “We...didn’t get along too well, alright? ‘Dunno why you like the guy so much.”
“What’d he say to you?” His brows furrow, concern evident in his face.
“Nothing, honest.” Himchan shakes his head, as if to accentuate the point. “I just think he’s a bit of dick. Don’t worry about it too much, yeah?”
“Well,” Daehyun says, “are you going to come back? For the music, at least?”
Himchan hasn’t even considered going back. After the disaster that talking to Bang was, he thought that’d be it for him. Too wrapped up in how much of an asshole Bang was, and how stupid he had been to allow himself to get so worked up, he never even thought about the whole reason why the club existed. It was there for the music. Nothing more.
Honestly speaking, Himchan had loved how gritty and the sounds were, how uncontrolled everything seemed. Surely there was nothing wrong with going back just to enjoy the music?
“For the music,” Himchan agrees, “and the alcohol.”
Daehyun laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Great! It’s open a few nights a week, but they’re not the same days every time, just to be on the safe side. They put a new schedule up inside every month.” He takes another swig of his tea before continuing. “The next night this week is tomorrow.”
“My day off,” Himchan grins. “Perfect.”
When Himchan wakes up, he has six unread text messages. They’re all from Hana.
i’m sorry
i know what i said was low and i feel like shit for saying it and i really didn’t mean it
They all continue on in the same vein, and Himchan wonders why she thought that many text messages were necessary. He’s known her for ten years; he might be pissed, but he’s not about to sever a friendship just because a few regretful words were said. He deletes them one by one, until he gets to the last one.
and i think you might be right btw
He’s not sure what to make of that, to be honest. For six years, he’s been caught in the crossfire of Hana and Daehyun’s fight, dropping his small words of wisdom every so often. Each time, he had been ignored. While he continues to preach for peace between his two best friends, he never expected either of them to change their opinions. The feud has been a constant in his life, and a change in that dynamic is unexpected. Unexpected, but pleasant.
He knows that Hana agreeing with him doesn’t solve anything, but he still counts it as a small victory and the indicator of a good day.
Himchan is far more sure of himself when he arrives at the resistance's headquarters this time. The dirty looks he gets are still unsettling, but he feels less awkward making his way through the crowd and to the bar, where Daehyun is sitting once again. “Hey man,” he says, nodding at his friend.
Daehyun spins around on the stool, grinning. “Now that you’re here,” he says, sliding off the stool, “I want to introduce you to a few people.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He’s not too keen on meeting anyone else here, and if the looks he’s been getting are any indication, they aren’t too excited to meet him, either.
“They’re cool, I promise.” Before he can protest further, Daehyun grabs his hand and tugs him into the mass of bodies. He stops and let’s go of Himchan’s hand when they reach a blonde boy with half of his head shaved. “You already know Youngjae,” he says, as the other boy rests his chin on his shoulder.
Himchan raises an eyebrow. “You and Youngjae are...?” He supposes he ought to have figured it out by now. Daehyun has always had a weird affinity for Wired’s. His like for the cafe seemed to go a bit farther than appreciating the safe haven it provided for those with their political views, and now Himchan knows why. Where Daehyun was discreet, Youngjae was obvious. Himchan had caught him making eyes at Daehyun quite a few times before, but he had always assumed it was a one sided thing. Apparently he was wrong. “There’s clearly a story behind this that you need to tell me.”
Rolling his eyes, Daehyun ignores his comments and points to a boy standing next to Youngjae. “That’s Jongup, and the goliath behind him is Junhong.”
“You’re Kim Himchan,” the taller of the three says, staring at him curiously. “Golden boy of the Ministry.”
“And you look sixteen,” Himchan snaps. “Don’t you have school in the morning to worry about?”
Junhong rolls his eyes, stepping out from behind Jongup. “I don’t go to school.”
Himchan stares back at him, confused. “But the Ministry only grants pardons to-”
“Citizens who are deemed unfit for work, and therefore have no use for schooling. Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks for the reminder though. Listen, I’m not really interested in telling my life story to strangers, especially the Ministry affiliated kind.” He turns back towards his friends, waving his hand slightly as a goodbye. “I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”
When he’s a safe distance away, Youngjae - who’s still comfortably wrapped around Daehyun, and wow, that’s going to take some getting used to - speaks up. “I’m sorry about him. He kind of... takes after Bang. Have you met him yet?”
“He sure has,” a new voice says from behind him. Except it’s not really new, because Himchan, unfortunately, recognizes it. It seems Bang’s preferred method of entering conversations is appearing out of nowhere and butting his way into them. Asshole. Bang’s hand clamps down onto his shoulder, and immediately, Himchan stiffens. “Can't say I expected to see you back so soon, Himchan.”
Gritting his teeth, he replies, “Yeah, well, I didn’t come back for the fine company.”
“Ouch,” Bang says, his hand falling from Himchan’s shoulder. “That’s too bad, because I came over here to ask if we could talk.”
He looks at Daehyun for help, but he, and the other two boys, are watching their exchange, looks somewhere between amusement and confusion on their faces.
“Well if you asked,” Himchan starts to say, “I’d have to decline.”
“If you declined,” Bang says, stepping in front of him, “I’d have to revoke your invitation to the club.”
“And if you did that,” he replies back easily, his shoulders squared, “there’d be absolutely nothing to stop me from running to the Ministry.”
Bang sports a look that he can’t quite read. His jaw is tense like he’s pissed off, but in his eyes there’s a slight tint of amusement. From the corner of his eyes, Himchan can see Daehyun detangling himself from Youngjae and walking over to intervene.
“Himchan, I swear to God, that isn’t-”
“It’s cool, Daehyun.” It’s Bang who says this, and Himchan’s eyes widen. “I know he’d never do that.”
“Oh yeah? Because you’ve got me so figured out, right?” It occurs to him that maybe he’s being hostile for no reason, but it’s not really his fault. His first meeting with Bang wasn’t outstanding, and Himchan’s a first-impressions-count kind of guy.
“You guys really should go backstage,” Jongup says, speaking the first words he’s heard him say all night. “People are starting to stare.”
Himchan looks around, and sure enough, the stares have intensified. There’s a DJ up on stage, but hardly anyone watches him. He even sees Jay, the bartender, staring at them from behind the counter, and Junhong watching them from the other end of the room. He can’t blame them though - Kim Himchan of the Ministry’s Orchestra, and Bang, leader of the resistance, publicly arguing does make quite the spectacle. Himchan’s face heats up. He’s used to attention being on him, but not like this.
“Okay,” Himchan agrees, because he is capable of being rational, honest.
Bang looks surprised, like he didn’t expect Himchan to comply. Himchan follows him back to the same room they were in last time, a smug look on his face. Looks like Bang really doesn’t have him all figured out.
“So we got off on the wrong foot,” Bang says, leaning against a table of what looks like recording equipment.
“You think?” Himchan scoffs.
“Hey, don’t be an asshole when I’m trying to fix things,” the other man, says, crossing his arms.
“Does you wanting to fix things have anything to do with my Ministry affiliation?” Himchan asks. “Because I see no other reason for us to be speaking.”
Bang sighs. “You’re not stupid, I know. So I’ll tell you that yeah, knowing you is valuable.” He nods, uncrossing his arms to place them on the edge of the table behind him. “But Daehyun is also a good friend, and I trust his judgement. If you were a shit person, he wouldn’t hang around you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Himchan folds his arms, annoyed. “I still don’t trust you, though.”
“How about this,” Bang says, pushing himself off of the table. “A secret for a secret? Last time you offered up some pretty private information, so it’s only fair that I do the same, yeah?”
Himchan considers this for a moment. Growing up in the spotlight means people you don’t even know knowing about you life. Not a whole lot of people offer up information in return. “Go on.” He nods.
“My name is Yongguk,” he replies easily, sliding into the same chair he sat in last time. “Bang Yongguk. I’m twenty-two.” While knowing who he’s actually talking to is nice, none of these are the sort of secrets Himchan had expected. He’s about to point this out when Yongguk says, “My grandfather was imprisoned for smuggling records into Mato from Exo.”
Himchan freezes. For some reason, this detail puts things into perspective for him. It makes sense. Yongguk’s carrying out his family duty by sharing music with the people. It also makes Yongguk seem more human, and that must have been his intention from the beginning. He glances to his left, at the chair across from Yongguk. He sits in it.
“That’s... awful. I’m sorry.”
Yongguk waves his hand in the air, dismissing him. “What was it that you said last time? That apologies aren’t worth much?” He glances down at the floor, looking oddly vulnerable for a moment. “I do appreciate it, though. Thank you.”
Himchan tries to picture Yongguk, leader of the resistance against the Ministry, as a grandson, a son. While he doesn’t know the man, he’s starting to understand how Daehyun might find him worth knowing. He also feels like a bit of a dick for how standoffish he’s been, but he doesn’t think Yongguk is the kind of guy who’ll take that to heart. He has to know that in this world, you can never be too cautious around strangers, especially when you’ve been through the things Himchan has.
“How do you and Daehyun know each other?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“He moved into the apartment next to mine down in Midtown,” he says, “and we bonded over our similar... political ideas.”
Himchan snorts. “Your hate of the Ministry, you mean.”
“Obviously.” Yongguk grins, all teeth and gums. His smile is kind of infectious, and the side of Himchan’s mouth quirks up. “So,” Yongguk says, extending his hand out to Himchan. “Friends?”
“I wouldn’t say friends quite yet,” he replies, eyeing the other’s hand. “How about a truce?” He grasps Yongguk’s hand.
“Deal,” Yongguk grins.
They shake on it.
ღ Part Two ღ