(no subject)
mono/stereo
jonghyun & baekhyun, pg-13, 1150ⓦ
Note: Thank you for the help, Dane. For intoaclub.
There are already students streaming out of the double doors when Baekhyun arrives at the Performance Centre, a few minutes past two. He rubs his palms against his jeans, and watches the ritual glance of sun off the glass doors as they swing from hand to hand. There's a bead of sweat tickling the back of his neck from the walk over, and he’s reaching back to wipe it off when a hand taps his shoulder. He jumps, almost decking the guy with his elbow, and ducks into an half bow on reflex.
“Baekhyun, right?” he says, unruffled. Jonghyun is only a little taller than he is, holding a worn A4 pad and his bag in the same hand. Baekhyun glances at the notepad, making out “tenderly, warmly, quietly, silently” amongst the scribbles before Jonghyun manages to cram it into his bag.
“You got me,” Baekhyun grins, a little sheepish. He’s thrown by the catalogue of differences, abruptly morphed from the distinctly first-year photograph of Jonghyun on the student listings - brown, sideswept hair and polo replaced by a white-blond, multiple piercings, and a swimmer’s physique.
His voice, though, is the same. “Thanks for meeting me here,” Jonghyun says, hitching his bag on his shoulder, phone in hand. He automatically leads the way, walking down the stairs. “So how do you feel?”
“Honestly?” Baekhyun says, falling into step beside Jonghyun. “Nervous.”
They didn’t exactly flyer for the campus radio. Joonmyun, his Music Theory II TA, had only mentioned the radio station in passing. “A friend of mine’s looking for a co-host, if you're interested,” he said.
He’d offered to introduce them, but Baekhyun, sitting back in his chair, shrugged and pushed his gum into his cheek with his tongue. “Nah,” he said, taking out his phone. “Give me his number, I’ll shoot him a text.”
The rest, once it was in motion, was mostly Baekhyun tuning in as Jonghyun sang songs off a list of listener requests and talked about upcoming performances by student groups. On the listings, recordings of Jonghyun’s shows went back almost two full years, the majority of them labelled “Co-hosted by Wheesung and Jonghyun.” In his e-mails, Jonghyun sounded friendly, asking about Baekhyun's music preferences and launching with equal eagerness into a discussion on Park Hyoshin’s vocal techniques and embarrassing stories about Joonmyun, whom he’d roomed with in freshman year.
“Kim Jonghyun?” Chanyeol had said once, leaning over the back of his chair. His breath hit the back of Baekhyun’s neck, and Baekhyun twisted away on reflex. Chanyeol grinned and leaned in a little more, then wheezed a little when Baekhyun landed a punch square to his chest.
In the background, Jonghyun was still talking, reading out an advertisement for Code Name Blue’s latest guerrilla concert, as Chanyeol clutched his heart, massaging it reproachfully, and said, “Baby, don’t hurt me.”
Kyungsoo had chosen that precise moment to walk in. “Are you having a domestic?” he said, hand still on the doorknob. “Should I come back later?”
“No,” Chanyeol said, brightening as he turned around. “You should stay.” Behind him, Baekhyun pointed to Chanyeol with frantic jabs and mouthed: MAKE-UP SEX KINK.
“I think I’ll leave,” Kyungsoo said, eyeing them both, and made a smart reverse-turn, pulling the door shut behind him.
“You were saying,” Baekhyun reminded Chanyeol, who was still looking forlornly at the door.
“What?”
Baekhyun rolled his eyes. “Kim Jonghyun?”
“Oh,” Chanyeol said, and leered. “I heard his nickname’s ‘30cm’-”
Baekhyun’s phone buzzed while he was still sitting on Chanyeol, watching him eat carpet. He leaned back, eased it off the table to read it. Underneath him, Chanyeol made a muffled noise of discomfort. Are you free tmr at three? Jonghyun said. I’m filling in for someone, we could make it your test run.
Sure, Baekhyun texted back, then Chanyeol heaved and Baekhyun capsized.
“There’s not much to it,” Jonghyun says, as they pull up outside KNUA Hall, automatic doors sliding open. “About forty minutes out of the sixty is music. We take song requests, and those play for the last ten minutes, so generally playlists are a half hour. A request for a song that we don’t have in the studio, we sing.” He pauses to punch the button for the elevator. “Oh, and we have to keep it PG-13.”
“Shame,” Baekhyun comments, absently, and Jonghyun laughs, bright and a little surprised. He leads the way, still humming the song from the elevator as he swipes his ID card and punches in a key code. He presses a finger to his lips when he opens the door, and bossa nova filters in a moment later. There are two girls in the studio, on air, and Jonghyun waves animatedly through the glass before he motions Baekhyun toward a side room.
When Jonghyun flicks on the light, they’re surrounded by CDs - shelves, boxes, stacks of them. Jonghyun starts rifling through the papers on the table, so Baekhyun flips through the CDs in the nearest box, pulls one labelled “Kim Jonghyun” out. “I bring in a lot of my own CDs,” Jonghyun says, at Baekhyun’s questioning wave. “I started labelling them, but I keep losing them anyway.” He grins, a little ruefully, and taps the side of the box, where someone’s written in neat print: JONGHYUN OPPA’S LOST AND FOUND.
Jonghyun’s phone pings, and he picks it up, looking at it briefly before he says, “Kyuhyun hyung says we’re on in ten minutes; we should head over.”
“Right,” Baekhyun says, drumming his fingers on the table. He takes the script Jonghyun hands him, flips it open just as they’re settled in the studio. The page is nearly blank, just the setlist with a couple of announcements in between. “Wait, is this the right-”
“Just have a conversation with me,” Jonghyun says, cheerfully, and then the signal countdown lights up. “This is Kim Jonghyun, filling in for Yang Seungho on K-ARTS Radio. Guesting with me today is-”
“Byun Baekhyun,” he fills in, smoothly, and they’re off.
“-frontman Kim Jongdae of B⚡LT. Their first performance is this Thursday night, 8 p.m. at the Lounge.” Jonghyun half-turns in his chair. “We’re closing the show tonight with our last song request. Are you ready, Baekhyun-ah?”
“Are you sure you don't want to take this one,” Baekhyun half-laughs, in lieu of a reply. He adjusts his grip on the microphone again, reaching forward for the lyrics sheet Jonghyun hands him.
“All yours,” Jonghyun says, flashing him an invigorating smile. “Number #2036’s request, Kim Dongwook’s ‘Confession.’”
“I think I can retire my voice,” Jonghyun says, once they're off air.
“I thought you were looking for a co-host,” Baekhyun laughs, around the mouth of his water bottle.
“I’ve found one,” Jonghyun grins, and holds up his hand. Baekhyun steps down, leans forward, and high-fives it.
jonghyun & baekhyun, pg-13, 1150ⓦ
Note: Thank you for the help, Dane. For intoaclub.
There are already students streaming out of the double doors when Baekhyun arrives at the Performance Centre, a few minutes past two. He rubs his palms against his jeans, and watches the ritual glance of sun off the glass doors as they swing from hand to hand. There's a bead of sweat tickling the back of his neck from the walk over, and he’s reaching back to wipe it off when a hand taps his shoulder. He jumps, almost decking the guy with his elbow, and ducks into an half bow on reflex.
“Baekhyun, right?” he says, unruffled. Jonghyun is only a little taller than he is, holding a worn A4 pad and his bag in the same hand. Baekhyun glances at the notepad, making out “tenderly, warmly, quietly, silently” amongst the scribbles before Jonghyun manages to cram it into his bag.
“You got me,” Baekhyun grins, a little sheepish. He’s thrown by the catalogue of differences, abruptly morphed from the distinctly first-year photograph of Jonghyun on the student listings - brown, sideswept hair and polo replaced by a white-blond, multiple piercings, and a swimmer’s physique.
His voice, though, is the same. “Thanks for meeting me here,” Jonghyun says, hitching his bag on his shoulder, phone in hand. He automatically leads the way, walking down the stairs. “So how do you feel?”
“Honestly?” Baekhyun says, falling into step beside Jonghyun. “Nervous.”
They didn’t exactly flyer for the campus radio. Joonmyun, his Music Theory II TA, had only mentioned the radio station in passing. “A friend of mine’s looking for a co-host, if you're interested,” he said.
He’d offered to introduce them, but Baekhyun, sitting back in his chair, shrugged and pushed his gum into his cheek with his tongue. “Nah,” he said, taking out his phone. “Give me his number, I’ll shoot him a text.”
The rest, once it was in motion, was mostly Baekhyun tuning in as Jonghyun sang songs off a list of listener requests and talked about upcoming performances by student groups. On the listings, recordings of Jonghyun’s shows went back almost two full years, the majority of them labelled “Co-hosted by Wheesung and Jonghyun.” In his e-mails, Jonghyun sounded friendly, asking about Baekhyun's music preferences and launching with equal eagerness into a discussion on Park Hyoshin’s vocal techniques and embarrassing stories about Joonmyun, whom he’d roomed with in freshman year.
“Kim Jonghyun?” Chanyeol had said once, leaning over the back of his chair. His breath hit the back of Baekhyun’s neck, and Baekhyun twisted away on reflex. Chanyeol grinned and leaned in a little more, then wheezed a little when Baekhyun landed a punch square to his chest.
In the background, Jonghyun was still talking, reading out an advertisement for Code Name Blue’s latest guerrilla concert, as Chanyeol clutched his heart, massaging it reproachfully, and said, “Baby, don’t hurt me.”
Kyungsoo had chosen that precise moment to walk in. “Are you having a domestic?” he said, hand still on the doorknob. “Should I come back later?”
“No,” Chanyeol said, brightening as he turned around. “You should stay.” Behind him, Baekhyun pointed to Chanyeol with frantic jabs and mouthed: MAKE-UP SEX KINK.
“I think I’ll leave,” Kyungsoo said, eyeing them both, and made a smart reverse-turn, pulling the door shut behind him.
“You were saying,” Baekhyun reminded Chanyeol, who was still looking forlornly at the door.
“What?”
Baekhyun rolled his eyes. “Kim Jonghyun?”
“Oh,” Chanyeol said, and leered. “I heard his nickname’s ‘30cm’-”
Baekhyun’s phone buzzed while he was still sitting on Chanyeol, watching him eat carpet. He leaned back, eased it off the table to read it. Underneath him, Chanyeol made a muffled noise of discomfort. Are you free tmr at three? Jonghyun said. I’m filling in for someone, we could make it your test run.
Sure, Baekhyun texted back, then Chanyeol heaved and Baekhyun capsized.
“There’s not much to it,” Jonghyun says, as they pull up outside KNUA Hall, automatic doors sliding open. “About forty minutes out of the sixty is music. We take song requests, and those play for the last ten minutes, so generally playlists are a half hour. A request for a song that we don’t have in the studio, we sing.” He pauses to punch the button for the elevator. “Oh, and we have to keep it PG-13.”
“Shame,” Baekhyun comments, absently, and Jonghyun laughs, bright and a little surprised. He leads the way, still humming the song from the elevator as he swipes his ID card and punches in a key code. He presses a finger to his lips when he opens the door, and bossa nova filters in a moment later. There are two girls in the studio, on air, and Jonghyun waves animatedly through the glass before he motions Baekhyun toward a side room.
When Jonghyun flicks on the light, they’re surrounded by CDs - shelves, boxes, stacks of them. Jonghyun starts rifling through the papers on the table, so Baekhyun flips through the CDs in the nearest box, pulls one labelled “Kim Jonghyun” out. “I bring in a lot of my own CDs,” Jonghyun says, at Baekhyun’s questioning wave. “I started labelling them, but I keep losing them anyway.” He grins, a little ruefully, and taps the side of the box, where someone’s written in neat print: JONGHYUN OPPA’S LOST AND FOUND.
Jonghyun’s phone pings, and he picks it up, looking at it briefly before he says, “Kyuhyun hyung says we’re on in ten minutes; we should head over.”
“Right,” Baekhyun says, drumming his fingers on the table. He takes the script Jonghyun hands him, flips it open just as they’re settled in the studio. The page is nearly blank, just the setlist with a couple of announcements in between. “Wait, is this the right-”
“Just have a conversation with me,” Jonghyun says, cheerfully, and then the signal countdown lights up. “This is Kim Jonghyun, filling in for Yang Seungho on K-ARTS Radio. Guesting with me today is-”
“Byun Baekhyun,” he fills in, smoothly, and they’re off.
“-frontman Kim Jongdae of B⚡LT. Their first performance is this Thursday night, 8 p.m. at the Lounge.” Jonghyun half-turns in his chair. “We’re closing the show tonight with our last song request. Are you ready, Baekhyun-ah?”
“Are you sure you don't want to take this one,” Baekhyun half-laughs, in lieu of a reply. He adjusts his grip on the microphone again, reaching forward for the lyrics sheet Jonghyun hands him.
“All yours,” Jonghyun says, flashing him an invigorating smile. “Number #2036’s request, Kim Dongwook’s ‘Confession.’”
“I think I can retire my voice,” Jonghyun says, once they're off air.
“I thought you were looking for a co-host,” Baekhyun laughs, around the mouth of his water bottle.
“I’ve found one,” Jonghyun grins, and holds up his hand. Baekhyun steps down, leans forward, and high-fives it.