once again, this time with feeling
once again, this time with feeling
7,742 words
junseung
The first time Hyunseung grabs a guitar, he’s only six-two months shy from seven.
His stumpy fingers grope the neck, as his whole palm swipes the metallic strings. The contact startles him, but only for a second, as he continues banging his hand against the set. And then his pinkie slips, plucking the small beginning of only one fine tune. It sounds pleasant to his ears, mouth peeling through the rest of his skin in a smile. Each of his fingers plucks one individual string in a pattern his sporadic, infant mind has no problem remembering.
His parents stare at him in awe, hidden beneath the huge and unfit bureau in their living room. His mother grins, his father shakes his head in amusement, and his sister sachets into the room twirling her little body until she falls, curling against her brother’s thigh. Hyunseung’s eyes glimmer when he notices his small audience, mouth completely stretched.
It takes a whole seven hours, a promise, and two candy bars before dinner to make Hyunseung release the guitar. His father props it against the fireplace, visible from any section in the room-where Hyunseung stares at it, mouth full of peas, and head full of dreams.
----
The first time someone hears him play, save his family members, Hyunseung almost has a conniption. His window is wide open, curtain fluttering like the layers of a dress, in a lovely pattern that leaves him with a melancholic disposition. He feels nice and careless, propped against the wall above his bed. His fingers fumble with the strings a few times, attempting to follow the rhythmic arrangement of the wisps. He’s just fooling around, keeping things as simple as possible and pleasing to the ears.
That is until a head appears from the window, shaking the sticky curtains off its top. Hyunseung flies from his bed, dragging the comforter and mountain of pillows with him. The abundance of cushions still doesn’t soften his fall, thump echoing through the naked walls of his room.
Hyunseung emerges from the streamers of blankets, meeting the stare of two enormous orbs. “W-w-ho the hell are you?” He manages to stutter, his hair a disheveled bird’s nest, mopping his head.
“I’m your neighbor, Kikwang.” The boy points somewhere behind him, elbows nestling on the windowsill. “I hope you don’t mind, I heard you playing and decided to come over here. I play the drums y’know? Wouldn’t it be cool if we could start band or something?”
Hyunseung finally lifts himself up from the floor, thinking that it would be cool.
-----
When they first make their band official-it’s obvious to them they aren’t going far. With no bass, or any knowledge of other instruments (including vocals)-they are condemned to play in the garage of Kikwang’s house, supervised by the noise-controlling police known as Kikwang’s parents. They look like squatting fools, and Hyunseung is well aware of that, but he can’t help but hope, especially when Mr. Tall, dark, and brooding makes his way into their garage one day.
“Can I help you?” Hyunseung one-overs the lanky boy, hopefully not too obvious, setting down his new guitar on the amplifier to his left.
“Kikwang told me to come.”
Hyunseung instinctively twirls on his heels, meeting the gaze of two lustful orbs.
“He plays a mean bass and his name is Dongwoon.” His friend responds, swallowing the stupidity making his mouth gape.
Hyunseung sighs, swaying his hand as an invitation.
----
The first time Hyunseung begs-he’s 18, almost out of chances, and sure as hell not getting a desk job like the millions of other helpless souls graduating this year. It’s probably the seventeen-hundredth time he’s made an ass out of himself in his whole life, but those worries are nestled neatly in the last place of his priority list. Instead, it’s the leaking backpack he’s lugging behind him, like a turtle shell-that is consuming most of his time and energy as he chases after the most frustrating entity he’s come to ever know. He finds shelter beneath the roof of the school’s shack, attempting to wring the water from his sleeves.
His legs are shivering under the soggy thread of his jeans, and his arms are convulsing beneath the thin sorry-excuse-for a cotton shirt. The boy next to him, just stares amongst the flock of fleeing birds, flicking ashes quietly in a circle, around his boots. Their gazes interlock a few times, each met with a lopsided smirk from the silent figure.
“C’mon, how many times do I have to beg?”
“Enough to convince me that your garage band is worth my time.”
“It is- we are worth your time, alright?” Hyunseung kicks the mud gurgling under his feet.
“Just because you say that, it doesn’t mean you are.”
“Junhyung, seriously, man.” Hyunseung retorts.
“I am being serious.” He disembogues a puff so enormous, it smothers both their faces before sneaking under the rain to be washed away.
“Alright fine! You’re the best guitar we can find, besides myself.”
“That was pathetic.” He flicks the butt, smirk still intact. “Again, but this time with feeling.”
Hyunseung stares ahead of him, incredulously. He kicks the wall, turning on his side, and facing the source of his anger. With a sigh, he opens his mouth, closing it a few seconds later.
“Look, we need you and we can’t offer much. But I’d say we are pretty fucking good and we can go far, I can feel it.”
“You need me.” He declares, much more like a sentence, and less like a question. Still, Hyunseung nods eagerly, embracing the multiple feet of space Junhyung begins conquering with his large leaps. “Say it again.”
“We need you?”
“No.” His gaze is intense, almost warming up the freezing portions of Hyunseung’s body.
“I need you.”
Junhyung’s hands cup either side of Hyunseung’s face, urging him closer, but leaving a vast distance between their lips. “Now if you would have said that from the beginning.” He pats Hyunseung’s cheeks a few times, retreating into the shack.
---
The first time there is real hope for Hyunseung, Kikwang, Dongwoon, and Junhyung-they are discovered in their town’s pizza parlor by a man only two years older than them. His name is Doojoon; he spares any real formal introduction, and begins enthusiastically planning their future-four years ahead-in only a matter of seven seconds.
Dongwoon stares at him with amusement, arm lazing on Kikwang’s shoulder. Kikwang follows the man’s ridiculous gestures, his eyes glimmering with absolute faith. Hyunseung follows along, remotely intrigued, and perhaps a bit hopeful, while Junhyung feigns interest-too invoked in the sassy orange-haired customer eye-fucking him from 2 two tables down.
“What do you guys say?” He looks restlessly around the table, mouth twitching and ready to spew.
“I don’t know, man.” Hyunseung shakes his head back and forth.
“I mean, we can just give it a shot. We can do a 2-month trial and go from there.”
Hyunseung clicks his tongue, lowering his head in a questioning manner to the rest of his band. Kikwang nods, Dongwoon follows, and Junhyung shrugs.
“Sure, we’ll give you a shot.”
“Great! Now we just have to talk about your lead vocals.”
“I know they’re not strong.” Hyunseung starts.
“No worries, I have someone in mind.” Doojoon waves his hand towards the table. Almost, instantly, the orange-haired customer appears at his side, smile glowing through the faulty lighting in the restaurant. “This is Yoseob, my boyfriend.”
-----
The first time Hyunseung has sex-he already felt like he was floating on a cloud around the atmosphere of a different planet. His band had played a gig only four cities away from his home town, but it felt like success was already succumbing to his dreams.
He’s got that post-concert-buzz inflating his ego, and the roar of the crowd still caressing his eardrums. His fingertips are still surging with adrenaline of the melodic beauty he had procreated on stage only moments ago. The groupies (ha!) rattle amongst them like swarming flies, tearing them down with their fine bodies, and oh-so-sweet smelling perfume.
One tenacious beauty grabs Hyunseung by the collar, slamming him against the wall with such force, that they tumble down, lips still smashed together. Her lips are plumb, and so tasty, Hyunseung gets lost in the daze. She places her hands on his chest, legs folding around his waist. His fingertips, now numb, travele around her delicate body, exploring every crevice like an eager school boy.
It isn’t until someone yells, “get a room!” -that they bustle their way out into the band’s van, conquering the cold floor with their sweating bodies. Once they are done, the girl smiles sweetly, pressing her lips to Hyunseung’s cheeks. He promises to call her, number burning a hole in his wrinkled back pocket. He waves her goodbye, tussling with the impossible belt loop-that happens to be the only burden of the day. Her gracious moans still hum in the smog of the night, tingeing off the silent crickets and vague thumping of a bass echoing from the corpulent building.
When he turns around, he notices the puff of smoke emerging from the side of the van. Following it to its source, he is met with Junhyung’s knowing and approving smirk. Hyunseung nodds back, grin impossible to contain; he leans next to his companion, mind contemplating if he should give smoking a shot since he was already breaking down the first-time-barriers.
“That was one-fair-haired beauty.” Junhyung laughs.
“She was.”
“Do you any good?” He turns, facing Hyunseung with the tip of his cigarette smoldering against the night air.
“The good a first time does you.”
“How about giving me a shot, man?” Junhyung drops his cig, stomping on it nonchalantly. His look is serious, molded by the infinite amount of amusement that was almost taunting.
“Why the hell not?” Spoke the non-serious, post-orgasm side of Hyunseung-who eventually lacks any carelessness as Junhyung whispers obscene things into his ear, while arousing filthy moans their band mates would traumatically remember for a life time and Dongwoon jokingly promises to sneak into their next EP.
-----
The first time he blacks out, Hyunseung wakes up nursing a bottle of champagne and with a different hair color. The bottle flops next to him, spilling its foaming contents all over the motel carpet. His face sways with an impressionable clue-eyes boring into the fabric as it soaks every red drop. It finally sweeps upward, eluding the puddle streaming towards his ear.
His head is pounding amidst the static noise echoing through the motel room. His body is lank, and barely useable, arms dangling at his sides like noodles when he sits up. Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbles to the corner, flicking the needle off the cracked record. When his hands travel up his body to attempt a stretch, a crackle of pain surges through him that leaves him silent and unstirring.
Kikwang’s body is hanging off one of the beds, feet hovering over the exposed and newly tattooed stomach of Dongwoon. Yoseob is hurling oh-so elegantly into a bucket, while Doojoon’s fingers fly over the keyboard of his blackberry, occasionally darting towards his boyfriend’s arched back to rub reassuring circles into the prickly skin.
Hyunseung remembers nothing, and frankly, doesn’t want to remember until he sees the fiery red spectacle that is his mop of hair. He takes it in stride at first; internally boasting about the balls it must have taken to do this completely wasted. But as he faces the bathroom mirror-things go downhill, and the crisis begins.
“I like it.” Junhyung emerges, the side of his lips quirking. He ruffles his own hair, closing the door behind him, and lifting the toilet seat. He stares over his shoulder at a wide-eyed Hyunseung, whose pupil’s dilate at the sight. “Yeah, I know it’s purple.”
And that’s when Hyunseung and Junhyung stare at their drunken selves from the screen of their phone. The video is a tad blurry, but they are able to make out their own and their friend’s faces. They look ridiculous, eyes bulging with a haze of red, noses so far up their asses they look like clowns. They’re scampering through the parking lot, Dongwoon narrating every move Junhyung, Yoseob, and Hyunseung make with a heavy tongue; following through from when Hyunseung declares he had a metal plate in his back and Doojoon feels the need to slam a fold-up chair against his back to prove it-all the way to when Kikwang attempts to climb the walls like Spiderman, but falls flat on his ass and wakes a neighboring room full of carnies. Then it is just the two of them, sprinting into the motel’s bathroom like conspiring teenagers. Junhyung does an imitation of Dongwoon with the bass before collapsing on the bathroom rug in a fit of hollow giggles. Hyunseung follows shortly after, the camera slipping with him. They remain still, Junhyung dragging himself towards Hyunseung, and tracing the skin of the not-yet-red-head’s ear with the tip of his tongue. They make out for a while, until Hyunseung’s hand happens upon a tube of dye, and the video immediately ends.
Hyunseung sighs and Junhyung buries his head into his hands, both promising to never speak of the video again.
---
When the sun rises before his very eyes for the first time, Hyunseung is being reined in kisses, in the passenger seat of a 1960’s Camaro. He slides easily above the leather interior, letting, Junhyung travel the whole expanse across the compartment to reach him.
“You know that I like you.” Junhyung says between kisses, settling on the sensitive skin of Hyunseung’s neck to tend to. Hyunseung lets out a struggled breath, fingers curling around the leather jacket draped over Junhyung’s back. “My heart went boom when I crossed that room, and I held your hand in mine.”
“Did you just quote the Beatles?” Hyunseung laughs, smothered by a pair of lips that refuse to let him breath air that’s not theirs. He slips an eager hand under his companion’s shirt, smile creeping up both of them. “I’d love to turn you on.” His hands dance over Junhyung’s lower back, grazing circles tentatively until they meet the skin under the jeans.
"Turn me on, dead man." Junhyung pants.
"I ain't got nothing but love, babe, eight days a week." He begins to stroke.
“Enough”, Junhyung growls, lips covering the territory of Hyunseung’s bare chest. “With the Beatles references.” His fingers tip toe into the inside of Hyunseung’s boxers, garnering nothing but a moan. “I’ve got some lube in the-“
He turns for a quick second, shoulder hitting the radio’s knob. A burst of familiar noise raids every crevice of the car, almost bursting both their eardrums. Hyunseung is ready to scramble out of the passenger door, until the wave of screeching crackles becomes coherent, and dives into the pattern of their new album’s single.
Both their cellphones ring in an instant and Junhyung immediately answers his.
“Our song is on the radio.” Yoseob’s voice singsongs through the speaker. “How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?”
“Jesus, freaking, Christ.”
----
He’s 26, on top of the world, and completely rocking the biggest venue in the whole world. His guitar slices through the crackling static like a chant from God, and the crowd goes wild. Yoseob belts into the microphone, voice coated with a special incoherence only the bobbing heads of the fans can understand.
Kikwang clicks his two drumsticks together, beginning with a steady beat that turns absolutely filthy seconds later, as Junhyung jumps into the cords like a maniac. Together, they break the sound barrier, arousing the crowd’s absolute attention and excitement. Dongwoon mellows the tune during the chorus with his bellowing bass, receiving a soothing cheer from the now-swaying crowd. But Hyunseung wavers into the roughness, lyrics later, owning the shit out of his electric guitar and amplifier.
The millions of people are on their feet, rocking the portable fence, and threatening to break it down. Bodies are thrashing against each other-the screaming and beating getting louder as Yoseob ducks his hands into the front row.
The calls and cheers of the troupe carry them backstage, where Kikwang leaps on top of Dongwoon with excitement, both of them sliding down with laughter. Yoseob scampers into the arms of Doojoon, whose so overwhelmingly impressed-he’s taken aback by the contact at first. Hyunseung just slides to the floor, kicking his guitar to the side. He is still panting, relishing every moment of this beautiful event.
Junhyung settles next to him, a complete smile adorning his face. “You were great”, he mouths, as he pulls Hyunseung in, kissing him slow and soft like the tempo of their last, acoustic song. Their tongues are vibrating, traveling through every expanse with a soulful pattern that is outstanding. The pause in between every brush, leaves them numb with excitement, the heating breath singing with every subtle sound their sluggish lips make. And instantly, Hyunseung feels like he’s reliving the concert from seconds ago, but can’t seem to shake a pair of vigilant eyes from his back.
---
The first time he was punched in the face, Hyunseung was already buzzed.
He is spooning on the couch, slim legs hanging over like a Sasquatch. The world is moving in circles, and every small noise sounds like the alcohol sloshing in his stomach. Giggles slip from his mouth, through every murmur he can manage-uncertainty as to where the hell his band mates are, ringing through his mind.
Just as he’s about to sit up, a fist makes delight acquaintance with his face, sending him spiraling back onto the sofa. His hand reaches for his cheekbone, feeling the skin pounding against the softened bone.
“What the fuck?” He slurs, meeting the angry eyes of the perpetrator. Doojoon scowls back at him, his expression bordering psychotic. His nostrils are flaring, body crouching and ganging around the Green room’s couch. His warrior stance is, frankly, frightening, and Hyunseung tilts his head with bemusement.
“What? Do you think I can’t fucking kick your ass, just because you’re the lead guitarist. Well, fucking news flash!” He yells.
Hyunseung manages to stand up, thumping chests with Doojoon. His brows furrow, “Can you fucking tell me why the hell you just punched me in the fucking face?”
“Because you think you can stomp all over me just because I’m the manager! Well you’re wrong, and in no planet is it okay to fuck your friend’s mother fucking boyfriend.”
“Man w-“ Hyunseung’s eyes shift along the room, staring at a fidgeting Yoseob then at a stricken Junhyung who is shielding the orange-haired man. The pair of knowing, feline eyes stoically gaze right through him with a glimmer of helplessness. “Fucking pathetic”, Hyunseung snorts, but it comes out like a whisper.
“What the hell did you say?” Doojoon leans in closer, fist twitching.
“Hey, why don’t we calm down?” Kikwang merges in, quickly retracted by a silent Dongwoon.
“I said.” Hyunseung begins laughing, falling carelessly back on the couch. “It’s pathetic how I’m fucking, the guy, who is fucking your boyfriend.”
A gasp of bewilderment spreads through the room, silencing each and every groupie along with band members. Doojoon’s flaring eyes, meet the pair behind him.
----
The last time their band plays together- Hyunseung is 27, out of ideas, and ready to travel the winding road back home. The venue is small, but still partially large compared to the gigs they had played only 4 years ago. They’re in sync, and play the tunes like a well-oiled machine.
They don’t receive a standing ovation, and the cheers and whistles quickly fade off as they saunter backstage. Hyunseung packs his guitar, making his way to his car. It’s rusty, and hasn’t been used since the day they weaved through the city like maniacs, attempting to make it to the first gig after the release of their new EP.
The trunk of his car closes reluctantly, Hyunseung having to call Kikwang and Dongwoon to shimmy their asses up to the trunk and sit on in until it clicks shut. The three laugh as Kikwang rolls to the ground, after unsuccessfully imitating the graceful deft Dongwoon used to hop off. They pat Hyunseung on the back, ignoring the nostalgic waves searing off of them while they retreat into the bar next door.
Doojoon appears minutes later, popping the hood, and claiming something about practicing safe driving. After the whole ordeal gets a tad absurd (considering he knows nothing about cars), he slams the hood shut, leaning on it with a sigh. He confesses to a heartfelt apology for the event that happened 1 year ago, remorse stitching the ends of the sloppy statement. Hyunseung accepts the apology, along with the heartfelt bear hug, and the Indonesian cigarettes Doojoon claims he traded his left nut for, in a foreign airport.
Yoseob tentatively meets him as he is about to start the engine, crouching above the window of his car. He apologizes as well, tears threatening to sting his eyes. And Hyunseung accepts the apology, eager to leave, and muttering something about forgiving and forgetting.
Just as he is about to mount the dusty road, Junhyung saunters up to the side of his car, a lopsided smirk cradling his pained face. He mouths “I’m sorry and I love you”, Hyunseung starting the roaring engine.
He can see the sun setting in the distance, the chorus of their first hit muffled in the background, as he attempts to pellet the last part of Junhyung’s words into the mounting dust ball malingering feverishly behind his bellowing tires.
-----
The last time he mentions his prior career is when he hands in his resume to the bank’s manager. His wrinkle-free tie feels awkward and suffocating over his neck, collar propped to hide the swirling of his miniscule tattoo. The manager eyes him dubiously, waving a hand towards the seats full of other applicants.
Hyunseung opts to stand, shifting from foot to foot.
Seconds later, the manager stalks back in announcing three names that bear no resemblance to Hyunseung’s. He immediately discards any hope, sauntering through the bank doors with the miniscule shred of dignity he has left.
----
The last time he doesn’t feel the need to mention his prior career-is when a few weeks later, a man visits the door of his flat, begging for him to compose the soundtrack for his film. Hyunseung skeptical at first, shyly accepts, later learning that this job didn’t provide the rush, but it provided the satisfaction and contentedness he direly needed.
Plus, seeing his name in the rolling credits of works of art-was just a small bonus.
---
The last time he gets kicked out of a bar, it’s his 29th birthday and he’s downing a bottle of gin in his unbiased honor.
A man in the corner is sending him shifty looks as he raises his hand, swallowing the last of his shot. He flicks the glass, watching it as it glides, coming to a halt right before the edge of the bar. The bartender smiles, a sweet and tender grin, bending over to grab another bottle. Her shirt rides up, revealing a teasing peek of the tattoo on her hip that prances up her porcelain skin, eventually ending-in what Hyunseung guesses and hopes to eventually confirm-is the beginning of her breasts. He licks his lips while she leans in, tentatively murmuring, “just take the whole bottle Mr. Greedy.” Her blonde strands stroke his hand when she turns her attention back to the business men feverishly downing tequila shots while slurring numbers over the static of the antique jukebox.
And Hyunseung gladly receives the bottle, offering her his best inoffensive smile for a brief moment. She seems to accept it, returning shortly after with one hell of a forward streak despite the number of rowdy, demanding men filing in to watch the night’s football game.
“Who are you going for?” Her voice jingles cool and natural, as Hyunseung smothers her lurid, red lipstick. He doesn’t bother with a response and she doesn’t seem to mind, as he kicks down the barstool to nestle his impatient hands on the hem of her t-shirt. They’re clawing now, desperate under the cheers of the football fans.
She pulls away, muttering something along the lines of her affinity towards dancing in private places. And Hyunseung is so perplexed by the haze; he just nods, heading towards the door with his tail between his legs. It seems like hours before she reappears, jostling through the troupe, coat in hand, and bruise fresh on her neck.
Hyunseung gladly, shifts his attention to the lovely pattern of her smooth skin all the way to her apartment, daring several glances as he has her up against the wall, clutching his shoulders like an animal. He even licks it, performing the horrid art of public affection-making their way back to the bar-like hormonal teenagers.
Just as he is going to paw at it for the last time with a promising oath to visit the next day, a man shoves him into the jukebox with a crackle. The gin threatens to travel up his throat as the scuffle ensues, and Hyunseung is left with a black eye and the knowledge that the busty blonde had a boyfriend who was vigilantly watching over her since Hyunseung sauntered his skinny ass through the door, but had lost sight of her when the crowd roared at the first touchdown. He stands there pathetically pressing a hand over his smoldering eye, ignoring the taunting chants from the men circling them.
He doesn’t apologize-just deftly taking the bartenders advice to flee. He swears he can hear several men yelling “run, forest, run” jovially, as he makes a mad dash away from the muscular giant-who is articulately listing the many things he was to do to Hyunseung and his head, if he caught him. But he doesn’t leave before kissing the lovely blonde on the side of her shifty lips, painfully confessing that he has, honestly, nothing to lose, and promising to visit her apartment soon.
He sees her at least 20 times, before her boyfriend finds him hiding under the bed one fine, winter day.
---
The last time he concedes that the guitar is the only instrument for his opinionated charm-he is in bed, attempting to muffle the sounds coming from the flat downstairs with his pillow. His head is pounding from the events of the week; from unexpectedly seeing Kikwang and Dongwoon in a bar in the outskirts of the city, to grasping Kikwang’s ankle tightly, as he threatens to throw himself down the countries’ only, and gracefully unstable dam. The infinite weeks of binge drinking have begun to take their toll, completely consuming his ability to sleep, along with the lascivious newlyweds next door.
When the noise becomes too rowdy, he collapses to the floor wrapped in his thick sheets, thumping his hardwood as hard as he can. Almost instantly, silence caters to his every will, and he’s ready to clamber his way back into bed. Until it continues, and Hyunseung makes extra sure to make his groan as audible as possible when his head strikes the ground. He grouchily makes his way down the stairs (evading his spastic and ancient landlord around the corner, that bores right through him with her lizard eyes when asking for his back rent) , knocking on his neighbor’s door.
When a young man answers, hair too knotted and practically shading his eyes along with his slick smile-it’s like he’s seeing himself at age 17. The paternal instincts he has nestled in between his loathing for children and hatred of whining, kick in. Hours later, he is dragging himself and an enormous keyboard upstairs to his flat. It practically squashes him, as the young man eagerly flies two stairs at a time, and leaves Hyunseung lugging his end with beads of sweat straining his every joint.
“The keyboard is easy to learn,” says Jong, hair now tied back in a ponytail that makes him look twenty years older.
“Not for old guitarists like me.” Hyunseung admits dubiously, slouching when squatting down on the stool.
“It’s all about the feeling you get.” The boy sits down, hands hovering over the keys. “The notes are irrelevant when your fingers and ears are in sync with a tune that feels just right.”
“Right.” Hyunseung sighs.
Jong teaches him the fundamentals, having to resort to water in a spray bottle when Hyunseung groggily threatens to flip the damn keyboard over because it doesn’t know the difference between G and G sharp.
For months the younger boy makes his way into Hyunseung’s flat with a key of his own. He shows such irresistible passion, Hyunseung can’t help but smile endearingly and sit as close as possible in hopes of having some of that priceless faith rub off on him.
He practices until his fingers ache, and his ears ring whenever he tries to sleep. When he grabs his guitar for the first time in several years-it feels like heaven crashes down to earth along with its magnificent force. His fingers hum with glee as they brush the strings, holding them down with such enthusiasm, that the unbearable roughness of plucking feels as if it was once part of him. He spends days sequestered in his flat, succumbing to the majestic nostalgias playing his band’s songs and old favorites bring him.
He even takes a daring attempt to transfer a song he originally composed on the piano to his guitar, as he gracefully takes his turn in showing Jong the fundamentals of a ball park that had long awaited his visit. They eventually agree that it sounds better on piano, over the beer Hyunseung promises to Jong’s mother that they never shared.
“I knew that style sounded familiar.” Jong takes a sip from his can, sporting a grimace as the foam dissolves in his mouth.
“It’s all about the after taste buzz,” Hyunseung laughs, gesturing towards the can. “What style, kid?”
“Your music style. You were the guitarists of the album Midnight Train, right?”
Hyunseung considers this for a moment, before downing a sip. “Not just the album, the band.”
“That’s my mom’s favorite album.” He scrambles up, eyes bulging. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“It’s not something that I really talk about,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Plus it never really came up.”
Jong’s eyes wander along the flat, glimmering with a new coat of uncertainty. He nestles back down on the sofa, nursing his beer. “Fair game. Y’know that you guys were the reason why my parents broke up?”
Hyunseung’s eyebrows quirk as he trudges solemnly to the fridge in search of another beer.
“Well not technically-actually, not really at all. After you guys broke up, the record label lost all of its money.”
“Right,” Hyunseung nods knowingly, ears pressing as the millionth retelling of this somber tale.
“My dad was signed to the record label, because they were trying to find new talent. But they took my father’s investments after your band broke up and took all the money, and my mom was furious. She said, if you guys couldn’t make it, what made him think he could? Next thing I know I’m heading towards a new city with nothing but a backpack.” His fingers curl around the beer, tone so despondent, it’s almost unbearable.
They settle in with a few minutes of silence, daunted by the wisps of winds chiming through the hollow spaces of his flat. The curtains are fluttering behind him, and the moment seems so warily familiar, it tickles the back of his throat before he begins filling the room with warmth.
“You know that’s not true, right?”
“What?”
“The whole thing about not making it; just because we didn’t make it, it doesn’t mean other people can’t-it doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“I don’t know, man.” Jong fiddles with his fingers, grumbling in that voice that makes him seem too old for his true age.
Hyunseung speaks again, this time more for himself, than anyone else, “I didn’t make it in the long run, because I didn’t try again.”
The curtains begin furiously dragging themselves along the floor, frolicking over every piece of furniture they find. A car passes below them, a muffled bass of a song, cradling the untimely quiescence.
“Trying again, is key.” Jong concedes with a mocking edge. This time, he swishes the beer in one hit, abrasively wiping off the extra foam from the corner of his lips. “Why did your band break up anyways?”
“Irreconcilable differences.”
A few months later, Jong moves away with his mom-nesting thoughts of a classical career and a secret tattoo on his wrist as a memento of the time Hyunseung snuck through his bathroom window to take him to the parlor, but accidently taking most of Jong’s furniture in the clumsy ride.
He sees them off at the train station, observing the passenger’s faces drilled to the window. He waves like a maniac, as the train bellows through the station, taking extra initiative to jog behind the window of Jong’s seat, and tap on it several times. He mouths, “make me proud,” to which Jong responds with a hardy smile before setting his face towards the front of the seat.
Hyunseung calls the directors of a few films days after, offering his services, and cherishing the compliments he receives for his new and profound perception of both the piano and guitar. He even invites his haughty landlord to one of his movie’s screenings, as she doesn’t ghost the halls anymore in search of his loose change.
---
The last time he sees his father-he is playing the guitar.
The raindrops bombard the fibers of his suit, dampening his hair in ways unheard of. His fingers pluck the strings rhythmically, tuning out the muffled sounds of the people surrounding him. The neck feels so skinny and bare beneath his fingers, so delicate like the first time he came upon it in the living room of his home. He remembers his father’s face, nothing but amusement. His family stands in a circle amongst him, heads bowed down.
This time, his mother is not grinning, instead weeping next to the casket of her dead husband. His sister is not sacheting, then tumbling down-but she is already on the floor, grasping the hand of her sobbing mother while sniffling down her own cries. Fresh from both their eulogies, they lay there amongst the family, giving Hyunseung his turn to express in music, what he could never express in words.
He lets all the emotions through every string, making sure to pound the extra low notes, and soften the very high ones. The song feels sloppy, and Hyunseung can’t bring himself to finish it, as he crouches next to his mother and brings her into a hug. Then there is a hand cradling his shoulder; a hand whose warmth is so familiar it haunts him. He turns around to find the pair of feline, eyes sporting a stare that is so irresistibly understanding-that it is unacceptable. Hyunseung has no other choice but to pat the hand reassuringly, going in for a brief hug of remembrance.
Then, they lower the casket and Hyunseung leaves immediately after.
---
The last time he has coffee, it’s mixed with tonic rum that Kikwang brings back from his trip to the Bahamas. He throws up in the center of Kikwang and Dongwoon’s living room, all over the painting which he gladly replaces thereafter. They have fun, reminisce about old times, and even jam with a couple rubber bands wrapped around a tissue box, and some pots and pans for drums
But things get really messy, when in a drunken stupor; they invite the rest of the band. Doojoon strolls through the door for the-Hyunseung suspects-millionth time. Yoseob arrives shortly after, pouting when he realizes that they were already highly buzzed, and his whisky bottle was the most unnecessary article he brought to the get together. They both hug Hyunseung, sharing their condolences, and wondering (out loud) why he never answered any of their messages around his father’s death.
Hyunseung weaves through the painful memories, dancing towards the only fond ones he has of being on the road. Yoseob does some ridiculous imitation of Dongwoon-when he had long hair, arousing a fit of laughter that makes the neighbors bang against the wall angrily. Doojoon recalls the times in which they totally trashed their vans during sound checks, having to call separate groupies to give them lifts to venues with unfulfilled promises of quickies before sets. Kikwang revives the time in which they spent a 40 mile car chase down a two-lane highway, taunting the dad of the groupie Hyunseung never called back-with their bare ass cheeks sporting haha! Into the air of the dry day. And Dongwoon brings it all home, with the epic retelling of when Hyunseung and Kikwang got arrested for stealing the cart from an angry, alcoholic woman’s grocery store, and eventually got bailed out by the whacky town sheriff-who believed Doojoon was also the reincarnation of Gandhi.
“God, and then Junhyung was flipping a shit when the sheriff told him he was not to smoke in the presence of the such a great philosopher.” Kikwang added in between giggles.
“Speak of the devil.” Doojoon smiles towards the entrance, Junhyung leaning against the door hinge.
---
The last time he insists that the world owes him something-he’s shielding his ears from the bullshit being spewed inches away from him. It all sounds too ridiculous, well-argued, but hazing no reason to which it caters convincingly.
He’s sitting (legs crossed) on the bench of his newly purchased piano, back slouching. The radio is delightfully humming, Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing thundering out within seconds of the DJ’s smooth voice, calling the day to an end. The scene is so familiar, and so uncannily painful-it brings a jovial spite to the contorted image of the two bodies.
“Why don’t you just stop talking for a quick second?” Hyunseung ruffles his hair with both hands, legs padding on the floor. The wind is bursting through his window panes, shingling the cricket handle of his studio lights. They flicker on and off, ridiculously ominous for a September night.
“Because it’s been years, man.” Junhyung rolls his eyes, propelling himself to a couch he was certainly not invited to.
“It’s been years for a reason.”
“I just need you to listen.”
“I am listening, it’s just not computing.” He sighs, burying his head into his hands.
Steve Perry’s vocals boom throughout the flat, voice so sharp it muffles the constant thump of the vibrating radiator. They let the lyrics sway between them before words begin their exchanging.
He took the midnight train going anywhere
“I get it. You’re still mad.”
“I have a reason to be mad, dipshit. You fucked one of my best friends.”
For a smile they can share the night, it goes, on and on, and on, and on.
An awkward tension displays itself through the room, dancing upon every corner with the sniffles and sighs as its audience. Junhyung shuffles his way to the bench, hands in his pockets. His hair looks thinner, and the signature bags under his eyes-even more pronounced. His lopsided smirk carries no power, just the gloom of an aging rock star. He cossets on top of the wood, shimmying towards the right until their thighs touch.
Hyunseung sighs for the umpteenth time, turning his head. He glares at those soulful orbs-despite the years they dazzle with such resilience he is almost jealous. They stare back at him, tired pupils aching for something besides a quick resolve. Hyunseung’s brows furrow, exhaling with such a bellowing speed as his shoulders arch once more. His head thumps against the hard shoulder of his companion, nuzzling even closer to the faded smell of cheap perfume and cigarettes he had acquainted himself with so long ago.
Some are born to sing the blues
Junhyung shifts, mouth suddenly pursing to the vocals of the song. He hums along, enough so that Hyunseung begins to copy the strange noise from the thick stiches of Junhyung’s sweater. Their bodies begin to sway a bit, mouths curling. Hyunseung rises up from his position to turn the knobs on the radio.
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion.
The piercing guitar hollers throughout the room, carrying both their reluctant bodies to air guitar their way home. It covers every crevice of the flat, making the silence dissipate completely for the first time. It continues building, notes edged with such a promising expectation of greater things to come. It twinkles to a halt, soothing down as the vocalist belts.
And then suddenly, it feels as though those years as faithful companions had never fluttered away with the wind; the fluxing of their stomachs, twinkling of their lips, urgency of their hands, the wontedness in their humming breaths-all still there, settling into this ridiculous, domestic scrapbook full of such sappy shit that it pierces the insides of his very being. The sentiments crash like waves, sending sparks of warm patters against the tightness of his chest. His eyes begin stinging at the familiarity of it all, and the wishes for time to reverse within itself, collapsing at the moments which his throttled happiness threatened to end, along with the rest of his condemned life. It was pathetic how he let it take hold of him, shaking him the by the shoulders like it had when he allowed his life to center upon one measly aspect that had no hope of blooming.
He knew it, and he still knows it.
Don’t stop believing, hold on to that feeling
Hyunseung finds himself whispering the lyrics, making his way back to the couch. It’s all so very familiar.
“I never stopped believing, you know?” Junhyung fidgets on the bench, eyes boring towards the front. His half-hearted smirk is back.
Hyunseung erupts in a fit of laughter, starting from the top of the tipsy cushion, and ending flat on the floor, head tasting the accumulated dust between the ancient place-rug. “God, that was so corny,” he manages in between bursts, as he clutches his stomach.
The song wavers off (along with his laughter), jingling the tune to the next insignificant song.
“This was the first song we covered.” He adds, unnecessarily.
“It got the crowding going,” Junhyung agrees.
“I loved you so much.”
It ends the steadiness of their choppy exchange, even faltering the coolness of Junhyung’s demeanor as his eyes go wild.
“I loved you too.”
“Jesus. I think I gave it all to you.” Hynseung laughs. “And as stupid as that sounds-it’s so true that it makes me feel pathetic to even say it loud. I gave you everything I fucking had, and you just used it as if it was a fucking joke, Jun.”
“I didn’t think it was a joke.” Junhyung growls. “I was stupid and I was fucking horny. It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry every day of my life, and I just don’t want to be so sorry anymore.”
“I can’t give-“
“I’m not asking you to give anything to me. Fucking God, Seung. It’s just that-I’ve missed you so much. And I know we’re entering chick-flick central right now-but it hurt. And I keep thinking of what could have happened, and how much better things could have been if I hadn’t been such a dick.” He’s dragging himself closer, eyes so renounced, they looked like a kicked puppy.
And Hyunseung kisses him, evading the jumble of words Junhyung manages to slip out before he’s ontop of him. The kiss is slow, tentative, but yet so impatient. Their lips suck on each other, marking every crevice with the sloppy noise that caters to their every will. Hyunseung’s tongue is languid, and Junhyung takes it that way as his hands curl around his hips.
They have their full make-out session, until one of them complains about their numb lips, and the party is taken to the living room-re runs of Happy Days playing in the background, as Junhyung fiddles with disgruntled strands of Hyunseung’s messy hair, falling into place in the younger’s lap.
--------
The last time he wakes up in the middle of the night-Hyunseung’s got one foot in the pit of his self-made despair.
He shoots up in bed, blanket soggy above the beads of sweat running down his chest. The body next to him shifts, toes brushing the quivering ones. “What’s wrong?” The voice is gruff, and Hyunseung relaxes.
He throws himself back, head hitting the pillow, with such softness that its barely audible through the honking of the horns intruding from his window. “Nothing”, he replies in a raspy tone, tapping his fingers against his sides, just to see if they aren’t as numb as they really feel.
“Listen.” The voice speaks again, finally sounding closer to the sultry and dark cord of Junhyung’s personality. “I want you to give us another shot.” It’s pensive, as if had spent the whole night, pondering the phrase before having the courage for utterance.
“Why should I?” The reply is almost instant.
“Because you’re already in bed with me.”
Hyunseung quirks an eyebrow into the dark, turning onto his side.
“Fine, because this me is worth your time.”
“I don’t think you are worth anyone’s time, frankly.”
“That’s fair.”
Hyunseung shakes his head, smirk subconsciously peeling through his skin as if he were that child discovering its first calling. “Again. But this time with feeling.”
Junhyung snorts, creeping one hand into the sheets, and pulling Hyunseung closer. He nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck, breath ghosting it’s way until it reaches Hyunseung’s lips. First, he mouths it, letting every brush of their lips cater to the intensity of his gaze. He raises one hand, thumb stroking the older man’s cheek.
“Because I need you.”
---
References (edited for my use):
"Well, my heart went boom when I crossed that room, and I held her hand in mine." - I Saw Her Standing There
"I'd love to turn you on." - A Day in the Life
"Turn me on, dead man." - (backward lyrics hoax) - Revolution 9
"I ain't got nothing but love, babe, eight days a week." - Eight Days a Week
"How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people." - Baby You're a Rich Man
“Don’t Stop Believin’’” - Journey