Chapter Text
“Ok, but I don’t get why you don’t want to come out with me.” Baekhyun pouts at Jongin, his bottom lip jutting out pitifully.
Jongin rolls his eyes at Baekhyun and continues to wipe down the bar.
“Because it’s Wednesday? I have class tomorrow?”
Baekhyun scoffs. “You don’t have class until like 1:30 and--” he holds up a hand when Jongin opens his mouth to interject, “before you even start with me, I know that you’ve already finished all your readings. So you don’t have any excuse.”
Jongin tucks the dirty cloth into the bin underneath the bartop and swipes Baekhyun’s empty beer glass, refilling it. He slides it down the bar and Baekhyun grabs it, toasting Jongin before he takes a sip.
“I don’t know, Baekhyun, maybe I don’t want to? I still have, like, another two hours of my shift left anyhow.”
Baekhyun goes back to pouting at Jongin, making his ridiculous puppy eyes at Jongin through his bleached blonde fringe.
“They don’t even go on until 11!” he whines. “That gives you plenty of time for you to get off shift. And when was the last time we went out together, Nini? Just help me out this one time, please .”
Jongin winces at the awful nickname and then sighs at Baekhyun’s antics.
“We went out together last week,” Jongin reminds him. “Remember? When you dragged me all the way to fucking Dupont to ‘meet up with Chanyeol’ and we spent two hours in that fratty, overpriced bar only for him to not show?”
Baekhyun cringes. “Ok, fair, but how was I supposed to know that he was going to change his mind? It’s different this time because it’s his band that’s playing so he has to be there!”
“Is he still pining over Chanyeol?” Junmyeon calls over his shoulder as he comes out of the back, carrying a tray of clean glasses.
“Excuse me, I am not pining,” Baekhyun shouts back at him. Junmyeon shrugs and starts stacking the glasses on the shelf.
“Baekhyun, you’re sitting in the same spot that you sit in at least twice a week, drinking what’s probably your third beer, begging Jongin to follow you to some random place in D.C. just so that you can maybe, possibly, catch a glimpse of the same guy that you spend about sixty percent of your time lusting over,” Junmyeon says matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving the shelf in front of him. “That’s definitely pining.”
“It’s not a random place in D.C!” Baekhyun shoots back. “His band is playing at the Black Hat which is, like, two metro stops from here. And it’s the Black Hat! Everyone likes the Black Hat!”
“Isn’t that that weird hipster venue?” Junmyeon asks. He places the last glass on the shelf then comes over to stand next to Jongin. “Of course a band that Chanyeol is in would play there.”
“Is he still whining about Chanyeol?” Irene shouts from the other side of the bar.
“He is,” Jongin says, nodding as Baekhyun sputters something about “not whining!” into his beer.
It had become something of a weekly game, for Baekhyun to come in during Jongin’s shift, sit at the bar, and talk about his most recent infatuation. It had been going on ever since Jongin had started working at the Green Line, and at this point, all of his coworkers had become invested in Baekhyun’s Love Of The Month. This month’s object of affection is Chanyeol, a guy that Baekhyun had met at Xroads while out one Friday about two weeks ago, and then spent the entire night dancing with him in a dark corner of the club. Very inappropriately. Jongin would know. He was there. Apparently, the two of them had been intermittently exchanging texts since and Baekhyun has roped nearly every person he knows into attempting to decode the hidden meaning behind every one of Chanyeol’s misplaced commas and god-awful spelling.
“So what’s new with him?” Irene asks conspiratorially. “Any developments?” She goes over to the other side of the bar and slips on to the stool next to Baekhyun. Baekhyun lights up at the chance to finally have someone interested in his love life and Jongin seizes the opportunity to slip away, leaving his coworkers to entertain Baekhyun. He goes to the other side of the bar and checks in on the other customers, refilling drinks and closing tabs. Jongin pours himself a glass of water when he’s done and leans against the liquor shelf, looking out at the rest of the bar. It’s not all that late just yet, but the bar is mostly empty, with only a few people clustered around the green vinyl topped tables, talking in hushed tones and sipping at their drinks and a handful of others at the pool table, haphazardly shooting the balls around. Someone had queued up the old jukebox in the corner and old White Stripes songs have been playing for the past hour, the sound of Jack White’s guitar weaving in between the conversations milling through the bar.
Jongin prefers nights like these, when the Green Line fills with a quiet hum and the night feels less like a job, and, instead, more like a time for him to get away from the stress of grad school and hang out with his friends. He’d been coming to the Green Line since he’d started at the University of Maryland last year--Baekhyun had been the first person to take him. Baekhyun had been assigned as his upperclassman mentor through the Korean Grad Students Association and had suggested the Green Line as the place for their first meeting. Jongin had been a bit skeptical at first--of Baekhyun’s loud personality and irreverence for any and all things, and of the Green Line and how divey it seemed to his Los Angeles sensibilities-- but he soon found a gentle heart, sharp brain, and best friend behind all of Baekhyun’s shenanigans and a comfortable hang out and escape from school in the Green Line. Soon, he and Baekhyun were coming to the bar at least once a week and Jongin, like Baekhyun, got to know and befriend the manager, Junmyeon, and Irene, the full time bartender. When Jongin decided that he needed a part-time job to help stretch his paltry student stipend, Junmyeon offered him a job on the spot, no questions asked.
Which is how he ended up here. And it suits Jongin just fine.
“Wait. Oh my god!”
Jongin looks over to Irene, who’s now standing up, clutching her phone, texting furiously, a huge smile on her face.
“You didn’t tell me that Chanyeol plays in Manhwa!” she continues, still texting.
“Me?” Baekhyun shouts. Jongin winces at the volume of his voice. “Why would I tell you that? It’s you who’s wrong here! You should have told me that you knew him!”
“I don’t know him well, obviously!” Irene puts her phone down on the bartop and puts her hands on her hips, glaring at Baekhyun. “And how the hell was I supposed to know that your Chanyeol is the same as Yeri’s Chanyeol?”
“How many fucking Chanyeols do you know?” Baekhyun says. Other customers are staring. “It’s not like it’s a common name!”
“He’s got a point, you know,” Junmyeon says, laughing.
“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me!” Baekhyun makes a lunge for Irene’s phone but her reflexes are quicker, and she snatches it back.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Jongin goes over and pulls Baekhyun away from Irene as the two of them squirm as he tries to grab her phone. Junmyeon is still laughing his ass off.
“Irene knows Chanyeol!”
“Ok, I do not know Chanyeol,” Irene says with a flip of her long hair. “He just plays in the same band as one of my friends. I’ve maybe met him once or twice when I’ve gone to see them play. Yeri? Do you remember her?”
Jongin furrows his brow as he tries to connect a face to a name and he settles on the small, cute girl who wears a lot of black and has short bobbed blonde hair who comes into Green Line sometimes and spends the entire time gossiping with Irene.
“I think so?” he says, finally. “And this is important because?”
“Because Irene could have set me up with Chanyeol ages ago ,” Baekhyun whines.
“I could not have! Like I said, I barely know Chanyeol and Yeri just started playing with Manhwa, like two months ago. This is all new!” Irene’s phone lights up in her hand and she reads the latest text.
“Yeri says that, yes, she does play with the same Chanyeol that you’re obsessed with” Irene rattles off, “And she says that we should all come and see them play tonight. So now I’m totally going with you guys.”
“There is no ‘you guys’,” Jongin says. “I’m not going. I have class tomorrow.”
“Oh my god, shut up, Jongin,” Irene says, punching him in the arm. “Be less of a giant fucking nerd for once in your life. You’re coming.”
“You don’t get to decide this!”
“You’re right,” Baekhyun says, “Irene doesn’t. But I do, and you’re fucking coming .” He pouts again. “Please, Nini? Please?”
Jongin sighs.
“Oh my god, fine.”
Junmyeon is still cackling.
----
Jongin crosses his arms tighter, trying to pull his denim jacket more securely over his chest. The temperature dropped more than he’d anticipated when he left for his shift earlier that evening and he regrets not bringing a thicker coat. He’d left the Green Line once his shift had ended, Irene and Baekhyun shoving him out the door. They’d taken the two metro stops to the U street station and now the three of them are making their way down the sparsely populated late night sidewalk towards the Black Hat. Irene and Baekhyun are a few steps ahead of Jongin, their heads close together, the two of them giggling over something or another.
Jongin trails after them for the last few blocks to the Black Hat’s unassuming, plain black and beige brick exterior. His eye catches an elaborately drawn poster by the door, the art done in the style of the Priest series that Jongin remembers being passed around Korean school when he was a kid. Jongin just makes out five characters drawn in the middle of combat with their musical instruments and the words “MANHWA TONIGHT” written in all caps along the bottom of the poster. They pay the $10 cover and hand their ids to the bouncer, who barely glances at them before ushering trio inside.
“Why are they called ‘Manhwa’?” Jongin asks Irene as they maneuver their way towards a spot close to the front of stage. The space is surprisingly full for a weeknight, the floor teeming with people, everyone humming with the kinetic excitement and energy of a night out. Jongin can feel the damp heat from the bodies around him close in on his skin and chase away the chill from the outside air. The crowd is more diverse than Jongin would have expected, with a mix of teenagers, college kids, and people who look well into their thirties standing around them.
“No idea,” Irene responds, turning to face Jongin. She looks over his shoulder and then makes a noise of disgust. She pulls a face and then flips the bird to someone standing behind Jongin.
“What was that for?”
“A guy standing to your left just did the nastiest thing with his tongue in my direction. Ugh. Fuck men.”
“Here, stand in front me.” Jongin moves over a bit and shields Irene from behind.
“Thanks,” she says, tilting her head back to make eye contact. “Every fucking time, you know?”
“Not exactly,” Jongin says. “But let me know if you want me to punch someone.”
Irene grins at him “Why are you single again? You’re like every girl’s dream guy--you’re tall, grossly sweet, ridiculously attractive, you can dance, and you’re getting a fucking PhD. You’re every mother-in-law’s wet dream. If you weren’t like my little brother, I’d totally date you.”
“Oh wow, thanks for the clarification,” Jongin deadpans. “And, for the record, I’m getting a PhD in postcolonial East Asian studies. Not exactly what most moms have in mind when they tell their daughters to go get a guy with two degrees.”
“I don’t know, it’s kind of sexy,” Irene says. “You kind of have the hot history professor thing going on.” She reaches up and brushes his hair out of eyes. Jongin blinks at the flutter of her fingertips. He’s way overdue for a haircut.
“Especially with your hair all long like this? It looks good on you.” Irene hums to herself and her lips turn downwards, those two little lines between her eyes crinkling into place.
“What’s up with you and Sehun?”
Jongin looks at her incredulously.
“Oh my god, not this again. We are just friends, Irene. Actually, you know what, no we’re not just friends. He’s my fucking roommate . So that’s doubly as platonic.”
Irene puts her hands up defensively. “Ok, ok, I’m just asking. Since you’re not dating anyone, I figured that maybe you and Sehun were a thing.”
Jongin exhales sharply and resists the urge to shudder at the thought of him and Sehun doing anything remotely sexual together. “No. Not a thing. Just friends. I’m busy, Irene. Way too busy to date or anything.”
And it’s true, he is busy. Jongin spends most of his time in class or studying or working. And when he’s not doing one of those three things, he’s either sleeping or trying to find another way to squeeze in more time for studying or working. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously since Krystal during his junior and senior years of undergrad, and save that one drunken makeout session during orientation week with Baekhyun’s friend, Kyungsoo, Jongin hasn’t touched another human being.
“Are you ragging on Jongin for being as hot as he is and yet as woefully single as he is?” Baekhyun chimes in, not looking up from his phone.
“Yep,” Irene says, slinging an arm around Jongin’s shoulders. “It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries.”
“I keep trying to get him to go out with someone!” Baekhyun is still texting. “And he rejects all the people I introduce him to. I’ve given up.”
“It’s a waste,” Irene says solemnly.
“I’m going to unfriend both of you.”
“You can’t do that,” Baekhyun sing-songs. “I know where you live and Irene works with you.”
“Is Manhwa the first act on tonight?” Jongin asks, trying to change the subject.
Baekhyun finally looks up.
“Huh? No,” he says. “They’re like the last. That’s why we’re here so late. Chanyeol says that they’re about to go on, which, good, cause I honestly have no interest in seeing any other band tonight.”
“Don’t worry, Baekhyun,” Jongin responds, rolling his eyes. “We never doubted that.”
“I know what I want, what can I say?” Baekhyun takes one more look at his phone and then pockets it. “What genre is Manhwa, anyway?”
“You don’t even know what genre they are?” Irene says, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re so obsessed with Chanyeol and you don’t even know what type of music his band plays?”
“Like I said, I want what I want. I want Chanyeol. The music is secondary.”
Irene scoffs. “You’re the most ridiculous human being, you know that, right? And if you must know, they’re kind of hard to categorize? It’s kinda like mix of trillwave and trip hop and RnB inspired electronic. Yeri usually says its like if ‘Prince and Frank Ocean had a funky lo-fi internet baby’.”
“I only understood every third word you said.” Baekhyun gapes at Irene with wide eyes. “What does any of that even mean?”
“Manhwa is super experimental,” chimes in a girl standing in front of them. She has close cropped purple hair and is wearing an oversized leather jacket and black combat boots. She can’t be any older than sixteen. “They really like to play with genres and make stuff like nothing else that’s out there. Yixing and Chanyeol do all the sound mixing and Yeri writes a ton of lyrics. But it’s the lead singer, Taemin, who really brings it all together, you know?”
“Um. No? We don’t?” Baekhyun says.
“Well you should,” the girl continues. “Taemin is incredible, by the way. Like, he has this insane stage presence. You can never take your eyes off of him. He kind of has a fan club.”
“A fan club?” Baekhyun repeats.
“Oh come on, Baekhyun,” Irene says. “Don’t act like you’re not a card carrying member of Chanyeol’s fanclub.”
The teenager looks at Baekhyun hopefully.
“You like Chanyeol?” she asks, “He’s great! My friend is totally obsessed with him. He’s got that whole tall, mysterious, and handsome aura--”
The lights go down then, and the girl breaks off mid-sentence and stars screaming, her shrieks raising up with the roar of the crowd.
Jongin focuses his attention on the stage just as the backlights ease on, the white backdrop curtain becoming awash in blue and white lights.
Chanyeol is the first one on stage, wearing denim cutoff shorts that have probably seen better days and a black tank top, his arms held triumphantly over his head, a drumstick clutched in each fist.
“What’s his shirt say?” Irene has to shout to be heard over the applause. “‘Sexual fantasies?’ You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Baekhyun leers at her. “This is exactly why I’m here.”
Jongin watches as two more people file on to the stage. The first is a girl with heavy bangs wearing a black crop top and baggy jeans and bright red lipstick. She has an electric guitar slung over her shoulder and she swings her long black hair out of the way to settle the guitar at her front. The other an impossibly handsome guy with floppy hair and dangly earrings who settles in front of the keyboard. Jongin recognizes Yeri as the one who comes out after them, eyes lined in thick eyeliner, her blonde hair framing her face, carrying an electric blue bass guitar nearly as big as she is. Chanyeol hits the snares just as Red Lipstick and Yeri start to adjust their microphones, and then there’s a flurry of flashing lights. The crowd reaches a crescendo as the last person walks out on stage.
“That’s him! That’s Taemin!” the girl in front of them screams.
Taemin walks up to the last empty microphone stand with his head down, eyes on the stage floor. His black hair hangs into his eyes, and Jongin can barely make out the specifics of his features, forced instead to focus on the three silver studs glinting at him from Taemin’s left ear. He’s wearing the strangest outfit--a sleeveless turtleneck top and high waisted wide leg pants that make Jongin think of the outfits that the campus kendo club wear when they practice on the quad. Taemin goes up to the stand, and wraps one hand around the microphone, eyes still trained on his white converse. Yeri hits a bass chord, the lights still, and Taemin finally looks up.
“We’re Manhwa,” he says, his eyes scanning the crowd. His voice is softer and deeper than Jongin would have thought.
Chanyeol taps his drumsticks together-- one , two , three , four -- and Yeri nods at Keyboard Guy and the music starts to swell around them.
In this light, Jongin can finally start to make out the particulars of Taemin’s face. From where Jongin is standing, Taemin’s face runs soft--his lips are full, his face is round--but there’s a sharp edge to him, with his high cheekbones, eyes outlined in black eyeliner, and the quick set of his mouth, mischievous and sure as he sings the words to his songs. He’s beautiful. And Jongin can’t take his eyes off him. Taemin’s singing voice is deeper than his Jongin would have thought--its breathiness turning the song heavy and sultry, the driving bass matching with the timbre of his voice and making the melody swerve. The beat seems to hit the crowd all at once, and Jongin feels the reverberations in his chest, the the bass drilling into his body. The synth kicks in and Taemin starts to dance, moving across the stage in way that’s so graceful that it edges into erotic, his limbs obeying every plea that the song begs of him. And it’s infectious, the rest of Manhwa seems to feed off his energy, playing their instruments with more enthusiasm, pouring more and more of themselves into the music.
Everyone around Jongin is grooving, the energy bouncing from the stage down below, where the crowd is jumping and singing along. Irene has both arms over her head as she dances and Baekhyun grabs Jongin’s hand, pulling him towards him.
“Dance with me!” he yells into Jongin’s ear. And Jongin can’t help it, so he does, trying to keep up with to match Baekhyun’s frantic dancing as best as he can. Irene joins them and they make a triangle with their bodies, moving with the tempo of the crowd. Manhwa is good . Really good, and Jongin finds himself dancing and laughing more than he has in weeks, losing himself in the moment and in the music. But Jongin’s eyes keep pulling him back towards Taemin and the fluid way that he commands the stage, like he’s melting into the song itself.
"He’s really hot, isn’t he?” Irene shouts at him, pointing at Taemin. “He’s so good on stage, I’m not sure if I want to dance or just watch him the entire time.”
Jongin wipes at the sweat beading on his forehead and nods. “He’s amazing.”
Jongin lets the music wash over him in a blur, Manhwa transitioning from one song to another. Taemin never stops to address the crowd directly, opting instead to throw his voice and energy into his performance, dancing and singing with so much energy and grace that it looks like he’s wringing his body dry.
And almost as suddenly as they started, Manhwa’s set ends with a sharp gasp, the music nearly reaching a climax and then breaking off right before the crescendo. The lights on stage cut out all at once in one last bright flash, shrouding the stage in darkness and the audience explodes into an outraged, euphoric applause. Jongin finds himself screaming along with the rest, his fists thrust above his head in indignation. He’s drenched in sweat, his shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his back. He feels dizzy with energy and excitement, his skin buzzing with the racing electricity of the show.
The audience is cheering, stomping, screaming “one more song, one more song ” as Manhwa files off stage. Jongin screams along with them. He knows, and the crowd knows, that this is the end of the set, that the night is over, but he wants more. He wants to feel the music again. He wants to watch Taemin again.
The floor lights ease back on and Jongin looks around. Irene has tied her hair up, a messy bun pulling her long hair away from her sweaty neck. Baekhyun has an arm around her shoulder, grinning.
“That was amazing ,” Baekhyun exclaims. “That was probably the most fun I’ve ever had at a show.” He smirks at Jongin. “Even you have to agree with me, Jongin. You were actually dancing, not that little two step that you like to do when you don’t want anyone to pay attention to you.”
Jongin feels himself blush and he ducks his head. “It was fun,” he says. “Manhwa is really good.”
“And they’re also inviting us backstage,” Irene says, looking at her phone. “I just got a text from Yeri. She says that we should come back and say hi.”
“Oh yep, yes, we’re going.” Baekhyun grabs Jongin and Irene by the wrist and starts pulling them through the dispersing crowd. It’s surprisingly easy to get backstage--there’s no security and the pockmarked metal door is unlocked.
“Yeri!” Irene shouts once they cross the threshold. Yeri looks up from where she’s packing away her bass and runs over to them, throwing her arms around Irene.
“You made it!”
Jongin tunes out the girls as they dissolve into giggling conversation and looks around the cramped space, fatigue finally settling in as all of his earlier adrenaline seeps out of his body.
The entire space isn’t much bigger than Jongin’s bedroom--there’s a beat up couch pushed against a wall and a rickety looking card table covered in empty water bottles squished next to it. And it’s loud ; the sounds of clacking and zipping and yelling as Manhwa scurries around, packing up their instruments; Chanyeol’s laughing shout when Baekhyun goes over to him, wrapping his arms around his middle; the harried ushering of the Black Hat staff, fruitlessly trying to hurry the group along.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Jongin turns around and sees Keyboard Guy standing behind him, hefting a backpack over his shoulder. He has a kind face, soft and open, and he’s smiling at Jongin.
“It is,” Jongin replies. “It’s so hectic.”
Keyboard Guy nods, his earrings swinging with the dip and rise of his head. “Yeah, the post-show adrenaline always makes us kind of manic.” He holds out one hand. “I’m Yixing, by the way.”
“Jongin.” Yixing’s handshake is firm and warm.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” Yixing asks. “Or are you just here by association?”
“Here by association.” Jongin gestures in the direction of Baekhyun and Chanyeol. “I’m friends with Baekhyun and Irene.”
Yixing tips his head back and laughs. “Oh shit, Baekhyun? I haven’t even met the guy yet but I feel like I know so much about him. Chanyeol won’t shut up about him.”
“Thank god,” Jongin replies, rolling his eyes, “‘Cause Baekhyun talks about Chanyeol more than he talks about himself and that’s saying something.”
Yixing’s smile widens. “They must be made for one another.” He laughs again.
“Yixing, have you seen--” Red Lipstick comes up behind Yixing looking flustered, her face in her phone. She stops when she sees Jongin. “Oh! Hi. But Yixing, have you seen Taemin?”
“He’s out back smoking or something.” Yixing takes a step back and pulls Red Lipstick forward. “Jongin, this is Seulgi, our guitarist. Seulgi, this is Jongin. He’s a friend of a friend of Yeri’s and--” Yixing quirks an eyebrow and lowers his voice conspiratorially, “--Baekhyun’s.”
Up close, Seulgi is earth-stoppingly pretty. The red of her lipstick plays up the thick blackness of her hair, and her bangs highlight the sharp slope of her eyes and the cut of her cheekbones.
“Nice to meet you,” she says. She looks back down at her phone. “Yixing, are you gonna come by ours once we wrap up? I think we’re all going to chill there for a bit.” She looks at Jongin. “You’re invited too. I think Yeri and Irene are going to go too.”
Yixing shakes his head. “No, I’m gonna go home. I have a shift in the morning.”
Seulgi sticks her tongue out. “Gross.”
Chanyeol comes over then, Baekhyun right next to him.
“Is Yixing telling you that he can’t come out cause he has to work again?” Chanyeol asks, his deep voice light with a teasing tone. He nods at Jongin in recognition.
Seulgi rolls her eyes. “Of course he is.”
“I have to work,” Yixing says, his eyes remorseful. “I can’t help it.”
“You can help it,” Chanyeol shoots back in a tone that reminds Jongin entirely too much of Baekhyun when he’s being difficult. “You can get a different fucking job.”
Baekhyun snickers.
Yixing crosses his arms. “I can’t! I actually like this job, so I’m not quitting.”
“Whatever, be lame.” Seulgi turns to Chanyeol and Baekhyun. “You two are coming over, right?”
Baekhyun nods immediately. “Hell yeah. So is Jongin.”
Jongin is about to protest when he sees Taemin come in through the door, all of his words withering on his tongue.
“You were looking for me?” Taemin walks up to Seulgi, wearing a huge sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head. He doesn’t even glance in Jongin’s direction.
Seulgi scowls at him. “Yes, you asshole.
Jongin opens his mouth again to turn them down but Taemin turns and looks at him, making direct eye contact. Jongin feels his entire face heat up.
“Um,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll come over too.”
Baekhyun flashes a knowing smile at Jongin. “Awesome,” he says.
----
As it turns out, Seulgi and Taemin live together in a group house in Columbia Heights. The group leaves the Black Hat in two cars; Jongin catching a ride in an Uber with Irene and Yeri and Seulgi while Taemin, Chanyeol, and Baekhyun pile into Taemin’s car that doubles as the band’s equipment van.
It’s well past one am when they all make it inside the house. Taemin immediately goes upstairs, saying something about taking a shower and Seulgi ushers the rest of them into the basement.
The basement is bigger and neater than Jongin would have expected. The first thing that he notices is the electric piano with sheet music strewn around on the bench. There are two matching green plaid print couches facing a mounted big screen television and there’s a black wooden coffee table in the middle of the floor. A guy in a red hoodie and black track pants is sitting on one of the couches with his laptop open and his socked feet propped up on the table’s edge.
He looks up when he sees them come down.
“Hey, Seulgi,” he says, nodding at her. “And hey Chanyeol, Yeri.”
“Why are you still up, Minho?” Seulgi sits down on the couch opposite Minho and Chanyeol and Baekhyun squish in next to her. Irene and Yeri sit next to Minho and, left with nowhere to go, Jongin perches on the armrest directly next to Minho.
“Trying to finish up a paper,” Minho replies, not looking up from his computer.
“Do you want drinks?” Seulgi says. She gets up and goes over to a mini fridge that Jongin hadn’t noticed earlier, and takes out two six-packs of Miller Light, handing them out. Jongin shakes his head no when Seulgi tries to pass one his way. She shrugs and takes it for herself, popping it open.
“You’re not drinking?” Minho asks him.
“Nah,” Jongin shakes his head again. “It’s too late for me.”
He smiles at him and toasts him anyways with his own beer. “Makes sense, but between you and me, I’m kind of into late night beers.”
Jongin laughs in reply. Seulgi has started pumping music through a bluetooth speaker, something mellow and RnB sounding and she, Yeri, and Irene are looking at something on Yeri’s phone and laughing and Baekhyun is cuddled close to Chanyeol, his legs stretched across the other man’s lap.
“I’m Minho,” he starts up again.
“Jongin.”
“Nice to meet you.” Minho closes his laptop and then shifts, placing it on the coffee table.
“Do you live here, too?” Jongin asks.
Minho nods. “Yeah. I’ve lived here for about two years now.”
“Do you play music too?”
Minho makes a face and shakes his head. “Not at all. Taemin and Seulgi are the only ones who do. I can’t really play anything or sing.”
“So what do you do instead?” Jongin asks.
“I’m finishing up my masters in conflict resolution,” he replies. “At American University. The rest of the time, I work as an intern on for a senator on the Hill.”
“Minho is our house adult,” Seulgi says, over hearing them. “He’s the only one with a real job. He takes care of us kids.”
Jongin lights up a bit. “What’s your paper on?” he says, trying to draw Minho into conversation.
Minho smiles at him and then launches into a long overview of Forum for Peace and Reconciliation during the Northern Ireland peace process and post-apartheid South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission that Jongin struggles to follow. He finds himself nodding in what he thinks are all the right places until Minho finishes his synopsis. The two of them fall quiet after that and the music and the sounds of conversation fill the space between them. Someone had taken out a joint at some point and it’s being passed from Chanyeol to Yeri, the earthy scent of the smoke hanging heavy in the air and making Jongin’s head swirl. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself but instead, he just succeeds at drawing more smoke into his lungs. Tired and wanting quiet, he excuses himself and steps over Chanyeol’s long, long legs. He makes his way back up the stairs and finds himself in the dimly lit kitchen where the only sounds are the quiet hum of the refrigerator and muffled laughter wafting up from the basement.
Jongin takes a glass off of the drying rack and opens the fridge, taking out the water pitcher and filling it all the way before nudging the door shut with his foot. He leans his back against the fridge, letting the back of his head knock against the hard aluminum of the freezer door. His eyes ache from fatigue and he closes his eyes and presses the cool glass against his left cheek, trying to soothe away his exhaustion. He’s so ready to go home. It’s been longest day and, as much fun as he’s had tonight, Jongin is more than ready to go back to his apartment, strip out of his jeans, and fall face down into his pillows.
“You alright?”
Jongin opens his eyes. Taemin is standing at the kitchen sink, observing him, one hand on his hip, the other one holding an empty glass. He’d changed out of his stage outfit and now is wearing a plain black t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants. His hair is brushed back from his forehead and its dripping wet from his shower, leaving tiny dark spots on his shoulders that are just visible in the dim kitchen light. He’s studying Jongin with an easy gaze, one eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.
Suddenly self conscious of how ridiculous he must look, Jongin moves the glass from his cheek to his mouth.
“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his water, trying to drown the awkwardness he feels rising up his throat. “I’m fine. Just needed to get away from all the noise downstairs, you know?”
Taemin keeps looking at him, his face dispassionate.
“I get that,” he says after a minute. “It can be kind of overwhelming when you’re around everyone like that. And my housemates are loud as all hell, especially when you bring alcohol into the equation.” Taemin backs up a bit so that he’s leaning against the counter’s edge, facing Jongin. He crosses his arms, the empty glass still clutched in his left hand.
“You were backstage earlier, right?” Taemin asks. “You’re friends with Yeri’s friend? Irene?”
Jongin nods. He hadn’t thought that Taemin had noticed him earlier. “Yeah. Irene and I work at the same bar.”
Taemin smiles at that. “The Green Line? Hell yeah, I’ve been there a few times, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”
“I don’t remember seeing you either.” And Jongin is certain that he would remember.
“I’ve only been once or twice, to be honest. And both times were on a Monday night.”
Jongin smiles back at him. “That’s why. I only work Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.”
“That’s too bad.” Taemin turns away and busies himself with opening a cabinet, taking down a bottle of bourbon, one that Jongin recognizes as the good kind, the same kind that they keep on the top shelf at the Green Line. “I missed out on meeting you.” He fills his glass halfway and leans back against the countertop. “I’m Taemin.”
“I know,” Jongin replies before he can think better of it. He feels himself blush. “I mean--I know from earlier.” He downs the rest of his water. “I’m Jongin.”
“Jongin.” Taemin says his name slowly, drawing out the vowels like he’s turning the syllables over in his mouth. “I like it.”
“You like my name?”
“Yeah.” Taemin sips at his bourbon, his eyes steady on Jongin’s face. “It’s nice. It fits you.”
“I’ve never really thought about whether or not my name fits me.”
“Really? I’ve always thought that some names are given to the wrong people. Like they don’t fit their personalities at all.”
“How can you tell whether or not my name fits my personality?” Jongin asks. “You just met me.”
Taemin studies him for a moment and then says: “I can just tell. Some people are easy to read.”
Jongin’s not sure how he feels about being called easy to read.
Taemin holds his hand out and pries Jongin’s glass from his grip.
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“Water.”
Taemin throws him a half smile and shakes his head.
“That’s no fun.” He holds up the bottle of bourbon. “Do you like bourbon?”
“Sometimes.”
Jongin doesn’t like bourbon. At all. He almost never drinks hard alcohol and on the rare occasions that he does, he sticks to something mild, like vodka, that he can mix with juice or soda.
“Then bourbon it is.”
Taemin grins at him and then fills his glass halfway before handing it back. He leans back against the countertop and then raises his glass in a toast.
“Cheers.” Taemin takes another sip. Jongin raises his own glass in response, and takes a sip of his own, the harsh taste of the alcohol immediately burning his tongue. He tries not to wince as he swallows.
“Did you like the show?”
Jongin nods. “It was amazing. You guys are really good--I don’t think I’ve ever heard music like yours before. And you all have amazing presence, everything about the way that you hold space on stage draws you in.” It’s easy to talk about the performance, even with Taemin. Manhwa is exciting and Jongin can’t help but let his enthusiasm bleed out.
Taemin raises his eyebrows. “That’s probably the most technical compliment we’ve ever gotten.” He narrows his eyes at Jongin. “You a reviewer for a newspaper or something?”
Jongin blushes and shakes his head. “No,” he replies, rubbing at the back of his neck self consciously. “I just spend a lot of time thinking about performance. I used to be a dancer.”
“Used to? Not anymore?”
Jongin shakes his head again. “Not anymore. Bad ankle injury.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.” Taemin’s face collapses with genuine concern. “I used to be a dancer too.”
Jongin recalls the graceful way that Taemin moved across the stage. “I can tell,” he says. “Why’d you stop?”
Taemin shrugs. “I got bored with it.”
Jongin raises his eyebrows at him. “I can’t even imagine getting bored of dancing. I’d still be doing it if I could.” He sighs. “Now I’m just stuck on the sidelines.”
“So what do you do on the sidelines?” Taemin slides down to the tiled kitchen floor, his back against the cabinets, his legs splayed out in front of him. After a moment’s hesitation, Jongin slides down across from him, folding his legs underneath him.
Taemin has an intense stare, like he’s concentrating all of his attention and energy into his conversation with Jongin. And it’s. . . different. It’s a bit unsettling, the undivided attention, and Jongin finds himself snapping back into full sharp, alertness.
“I think about the stage instead,” Jongin responds. “I like about how performance can be a tool.”
Taemin leans forward a bit, his body coming closer. “That’s different.”
Jongin can’t help but smile a bit. “I’m in grad school,” he clarifies. “I study post war Korea, particularly the music from that time. And how the performance of music from that period reflected a change in Korea as society worked through the end of Japanese colonialism and the new American presence.”
Taemin stares at Jongin blankly for a moment and then shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to dumb that all the way down for me.”
Jongin feels himself flush and he hastily takes another drink of his bourbon, draining the glass. Baekhyun is always getting on him for speaking in “PhD student” whenever he talks about his work. He tries to keep it reigned in, but Jongin is aware that he’s too wrapped up in his research to really break it down for normal people.
“I’m interested in the new types of music that came around after the end of the Korean War,” Jongin says, starting over. “And how the way that that music sounds and the ways that that music was performed revealed things about the way that South Korea was coping with the changes and pain that came along with having gone through Japanese colonialism, two major wars, and then an increased American presence in a pretty short amount of time.” He winces a bit, hoping that he hasn’t completely lost Taemin.
But Taemin quirks his mouth and nods, studying Jongin with a furrowed brow.
“So that’d be like trot, right?” He asks. “That’s from the fifties, isn’t it?”
Jongin immediately feels lighter. Taemin gets it. “Right. Lots of trot, like Patti Kim. I’m also currently working on a project on the Kim Sisters since they were pretty popular in the U.S. around that time.”
Taemin sits back and drinks from his glass. “Interesting,” he says. “That’s super cool. I would have never thought that you could even study music like that.” He makes a face. “Especially trot music. Whenever I think of trot, I just think of my grandmother.”
Jongin laughs. “It is grandma music, isn’t it?” He feels himself starting to relax. Talking about his research always puts him at ease. “But it tells an entire story--all of it. From the way the music sounds to the way that the performers were on stage. Especially the way the performers were on stage. Performances transform songs from just being music into something with a personality. Into something with importance, with a history, or with a purpose. I’m into trying to understand what the performer is trying to say when the audience walks away from the stage, kind of what the audience takes away when the lights go down. What the entire story is, you know?”
Taemin’s face splits into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corner with the same type of mischievous joy that had pulled Jongin in when he first saw the other man up on stage.
“So what story is Manhwa telling when we’re on stage?” Taemin asks him. He gets up and snags the bourbon bottle from the cabinet. He sits back down and refills his glass before taking Jongin’s own from where he’d left it sitting next to him on the floor, filling it as well.
Jongin thinks about the fluid way that Taemin moved across the stage, the thick sensuality that radiated from the band and clung to the audience, the coy looks that Taemin tossed on to the floor and Jongin feels his heart speed up. Jongin takes a long sip of his drink, downing half of it.
“I don’t think I know just yet,” he says, avoiding eye contact with Taemin. “I’ve only seen you guys once. And I’ve only heard your stuff live. I think I have to listen to your music just by itself first.”
“Hmmm,” Taemin says. “Well it sounds like you’re going to have to come see us play again.” Jongin chances a look at Taemin and sees that he’s smiling at him again. “I think I’d like to find out what you think.” Taemin drains his glass and then pours himself another. He reaches over and tops up Jongin’s drink.
Jongin can feel the bourbon start to hit him, the alcohol sinking into his blood and blurring the edges of his consciousness. He feels warm and he finally starts to fully relax into his conversation with Taemin, feeling a slow type of comfort wash over him. Emboldened, Jongin looks directly at Taemin, taking in, really taking in, the details of his face. He’d washed off all his stage makeup in the shower and he looks younger, softer. He’s almost pretty up close, Jongin realizes. Not just in his face, which is an alluring blend of delicate and hard, masculine and feminine, but also in the neat way that he’s arranged his body on the floor--his legs long in the way that they’re stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, the almost prim way that he holds his glass between his thumb and forefinger, so loosely that it looks like it’ll drop from his hand at any moment and shatter on the floor. Taemin watches Jongin study him, his eyes tracking Jongin’s own. Taemin remains silent, but his full, pretty mouth twists upwards in a subtle smirk.
The words are out of Jongin’s mouth before he can stop himself: “You’re really pretty.” Fuck . He bites his tongue, hard.
Taemin doesn’t seem to mind and instead tips his head back and laughs. Even his laugh is nice.
“You’re not the first person to tell me I’m pretty,” Taemin replies. “And you’re quite pretty yourself, Jongin.” Taemin’s eyes stay steady on Jongin as Taemin brings his glass up to his lips, swallowing the last of his bourbon.
Jongin feels himself blush and he’s grateful for the kitchen’s darkness.
“What?” Taemin says, his voice low. “Have you never had someone tell you that you’re pretty?” He pauses for a moment and then he says, his voice dropping even lower: “Or is this the first time that you’ve ever told another man that you think they’re pretty?”
Jongin’s face gets even hotter. Maybe he is easy to read.
“Yes,” Jongin replies, his voice wobbling as it drops low to match Taemin’s tenor. “Well, no.”
“And?” Taemin says. He’s still looking directly at Jongin. “Which one is it? Yes? No?”
And Jongin’s not sure. He’s had people tell him that he’s hot, that he’s good looking. But not pretty. And there have been plenty of men that he’s found attractive. But he’s never complimented them, never told them. And aside from a drunken make out here and there, he’s never really acted on any of his attractions.
But something about Taemin makes Jongin think that all of that could change in a major way.
“I’m not really sure,” Jongin says finally.
Taemin puts his glass down and then leans forward, placing one hand on Jongin’s knee. His hand is so warm and Jongin’s mouth opens slightly as he feels its heat seep through his jeans and into his skin.
“Well then let me be the first to tell you, officially,” Taemin whispers, he makes eye contact with Jongin, that same mischief dancing in his eyes. “You’re very pretty.” Taemin’s rove over Jongin’s torso and Jongin feels his breath catch. “More than just pretty. But I’ll stop there for now.”
Taemin leans back until his back is up against the wall again. He picks up the nearly empty bottle of bourbon and empties the last of the alcohol into his glass. He takes a sip.
Jongin exhales and drains his glass.
----
“Well. This is different.”
Jongin groans and cracks open one eye and the details of his living room blur into focus; coffee table littered with textbooks and empty mugs, the battered old rug lining the floor, the bright afternoon light coming in from the window, Sehun posted up against the wall, sipping from a large iced coffee, eyeing him bemusedly.
Jongin sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. He can feel the grooves of the imprint from where the thick weave of the sofa pressed into his cheek.
“What time is it?” he croaks at Sehun. His throat feels cottony with that specific dryness that always seems to follow a long night of drinking.
“It’s three p.m.” Sehun says, taking his phone out of his pocket. “You’ve been passed out of the couch since I left for class this morning.” His lips quirk up in a half smile. “It’s kinda cute.”
“ Shit .” Jongin springs up from the couch, and his knees buckle at the sudden movement, his lingering hangover making him unsteady. “Fuck, I slept through class!” He sits back down and gropes around the cushions for his phone.
“You definitely did.” Sehun slurps obnoxiously on his coffee. “I tried to wake you up before I left this morning, but you wouldn’t budge. So I figured I’d just leave you here to sleep it off.”
“Goddammit, Sehun. What fucking good are you as a roommate if you don’t wake me up for class?” He locates his phone. 16 texts and a missed call from his thesis advisor. Fuck .
Sehun makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. “Excuse me, I’m a great fucking roommate because I let you sleep off your hangover instead of dragging your half-drunk ass into the shower. You need to appreciate me.”
“I’ll appreciate you when you actually help me out ,” Jongin mutters under his breath as he scrolls through his texts. Most of them are from Baekhyun, updating him on the various parts of his day and asking Jongin if he wants to get lunch and then asking him if he’s alright after he gets no response. Two are from Irene, asking if he made it home alright after the night at Taemin’s. And two are from a new number.
(11:23) taemin: glad i got to meet u last nite.
(11:35) taemin: i still want to know what story u think we’re telling.
“Oh my god,” Jongin says, staring at his phone. “Oh my god.”
Sehun comes over and looks over his shoulder reading his texts.
“‘Story we’re telling?’” he reads. “What weird nerdy shit were you up to last night? And who’s Taemin?”
Jongin gapes at his phone, trying to piece together the last few parts of his night. His memory is spotty through the haze of his hangover but he clings to a glimpse of himself sitting across of Taemin on the kitchen floor, still blushing from Taemin’s brazen flirting. The conversation had eventually floated towards tamer territory and Taemin drew him into a conversation about the types of books that Jongin read for his studies. Taemin had listened to every word Jongin said with unwavering attention, asking questions in all of the right places and putting Jongin at ease as he drunkenly stumbled through an explanation of the ethnomusicology text that he was currently working his way through. Irene and Baekhyun found him about an hour later, saying that they had called an Uber to take them home. Jongin remembers nodding and staggering to his feet and having Taemin reach his hand out, asking for Jongin’s phone. Jongin handed it over to him and watched as Taemin entered his number before handing it back to him.
“I texted myself,” he said. “So I have yours too. I’ll let you know when we play another show.”
Jongin’s fingers hover over the keyboard as he struggles to find a way to reply.
“Taemin is. . .” Jongin starts. “He’s just this guy I met last night.”
Sehun scoffs. “Well obviously.” He sits down next to Jongin, his knee banging into Jongin’s own. “But based on the way you’re gawking at your phone, I’m guessing that there’s more to it than that.”
Jongin puts his phone down to glare at Sehun. “Do you always have to be so nosy?”
Sehun grins at him and shrugs. “I’m a psychology major. It’s my job to notice these things.”
Jongin rolls his eyes and gets up from the sofa. The rooms spins a bit and he takes a deep breath, trying to will himself to calm down.
“I’m not engaging in this conversation,” he replies, woodenly. “I’m gonna go shower, I have to at least try to do some homework before my shift tonight.”
“Drink water!” Sehun calls after him and Jongin shuffles down the hall.
Jongin emerges fully dressed from the bathroom about an hour later, feeling way more human. He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, downing the entire thing in one long drink. He leans against the countertop and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He finally replies to Baekhyun and Irene, reassuring them that he’s fine and telling Irene that he’ll see her at the Green Line later. He thumbs down his list of alerts and then hovers over the two texts from Taemin. It shouldn’t be this hard to respond. He and Taemin hadn’t done anything other than just talk last night and it had been a normal conversation, comfortable and barely crossing the line into flirting. But for some reason, Jongin finds himself hesitating. He re-reads the first text. glad i got to meet u last nite . It’s innocuous enough, sweet enough. But Jongin can’t help but shake the feeling that nothing about Taemin is quite what it seems. That everything he says or does has a specific purpose, that each action has a particular role to play. glad i got to Is Taemin glad? Or is he trying to get at something else? meet u Did their alcohol soaked conversation even really count as a real meeting? Jongin bites his lip and already hears Baekhyun’s voice in the back of his head, telling him that he’s overthinking something simple and easy. A guy calls you pretty once and you lose your shit? Who cares if Taemin is asking for something more? What if he is flirting? Who cares if you flirt back?
I care , Jongin thinks to himself. It’s not like him to want someone like this, not like him to act on his own attractions. It’s hard, it’s always been hard for him--women and men. Especially with men. Men are. . . new for him. A new territory in a forbidden land that he’d only just given himself permission to explore. He’d always liked men, that had always been an undeniable truth that ran parallel to his desire for women. But it had been a truth that he’d chosen to ignore, one that he had been afraid to acknowledge, one that he’d thrust behind hours spent dancing as a kid and as a teenager, and later, behind books and tests and papers. It’s not like he’d been afraid of rejection--his parents and sisters are as open minded as he could have ever hoped for, his friends back home are chill, and L.A. is as liberal as any city could ever be. Instead, Jongin had always been afraid of acknowledging the full complications of his own duality--the things about himself that made him more than everyone else around him. More complicated, more different; thrusting him outside of an easy normalcy that he had always craved. He had been a weird kid, bookish and shy, more interested in dancing than playing basketball or video games like the other boys his age. And in return, his classmates had teased him, always pestering him for being different, biting into him for being odd. The ridicule had died down as he had gotten older, but the wounds still stung and there was nothing else that Jongin wanted than to be normal, point blank. And for a long time, bisexuality didn’t quite fit into that definition. He’d only just come out last year, when he’d moved all the way across the country and met Baekhyun with his loud personality, brash and unapologetic in his queerness. And Jongin had finally decided-- ok, I can do this too. I can be my whole self . Which, so far had gone over fine with everyone he had told, and he’d felt a new type of liberation in every boy that he had kissed. But that’s all he’s ever done. No dates, no boyfriends. Few girlfriends. Just a kiss. The only problem is that this time, with Taemin, Jongin feels like Taemin might want more than just one kiss.
And judging by the way that Taemin had set his blood on fire after just one night, Jongin feels like he might just want to give Taemin as much as he wants.
Jongin exhales hard and shakes his head at his own rambling mind. He opens the text dialogue box and texts Taemin back.
(16:20) jongin: glad i got to meet u too!
And then:
(16:21) jongin: i think i might need more source material if u want me to figure out ur story.
There. Maybe a bit awkward, but at least he responded. Jongin slips his phone into his sweater pocket and then heads to his bedroom to grab his books.
He gets a response just as he’s boarding the metro three hours later.
(19:38) taemin: here’s part 1 of ur source material.
Jongin sits down in an empty seat and clicks on the soundcloud link. He pulls his headphones over his ears just as the first song starts. He closes his eyes, hugs his backpack to his chest, and leans against the window glass and lets the music fill him.
“You’re late,” Junmyeon says, shooting Jongin a disgruntled look when he comes through the door.
Jongin glances at the time on his phone. “By like 10 minutes, Junmyeon. That’s hardly late.”
“It’s late enough,” Joy says from where she’s slicing limes. Jongin had forgotten that she was working tonight. “I’m stuck on lime duty cause someone decided to show up after his shift started.”
Jongin pulls a face at her and goes to the back to stash his backpack in his locker. Irene accosts him the minute he comes back out.
“So,” she says, her hands on her hips.
“So what?” Jongin grabs a clean glass from the shelf and busies himself with the customers. It’s packed tonight and the bar is full of people wearing Capitals jerseys, all here to grab a quick drink before the hockey game starts. It’s playoff season and the D.C. fans are as hopeful as ever.
“What’s up with you and Taemin?” Irene presses as she starts measuring out tequila and simple syrup for a margarita.
“Absolutely nothing?” Jongin says. “I barely talked to him last night. Nothing can be ‘up’ after a short conversation.”
“Things can definitely be ‘up’ after a short conversation,” Joy chimes in. Leave it to her to be eavesdropping. Jongin pins her with an exasperated stare.
“You were talking all night,” Irene counters. “And he gave you his number. So that’s up.”
Jongin sighs. Irene can be worse than Baekhyun.
“That’s all. We swapped numbers. I swap numbers with lots of people that I meet. You swap numbers with lots of people that you meet. It’s just part of our modern day social code.”
Realizing that she won’t be getting any more information out of Jongin, Irene rolls her eyes.
“I expect updates,” Irene huffs as she places two margaritas on the bar and moves to the other end of the bar.
“I won’t have any!” Jongin calls after her. And then he falls into the rhythm of his shift.
The rest of his shift passes in a blur, Jongin bouncing from customer to customer, snagging empty glasses, refilling beers, opening and closing tabs. By the time eleven p.m. rolls around, he’s exhausted, and his feet are aching from standing for the better part of four hours.
“You headed out?” Junmyeon asks when he sees Jongin walk around to the front of the bar, backpack slung over his right shoulder.
“Yeah. I’m all done for the night.”
Junmyeon nods. “See you next week.”
Jongin waves goodbye to Irene and Joy and then pushes through the door and into the cool, late night air. The street near Green Line is mostly empty and Jongin makes his way up the side street and turns on to 7th street. There are a few people wandering around, mostly disgruntled Caps fans leaving the Capital One Center, sulking after another devastating loss. It’s a nice night, the chill that had threaded through the air last night gone, replaced with a soft and warm humidity. He likes nights like this, when the city has dimmed to a quiet murmur. He feels more at ease. Jongin starts humming to himself, letting his voice mingle with the sounds of a city falling asleep. It starts off as a tuneless, wandering melody but then he finds himself humming the bassline of the Manhwa song. Snippets of the song--the chorus, the first verse, the bass line--had worked their way into Jongin’s head, playing back beat to his shift all night. Jongin stops at a crosswalk and pulls his headphones out of his backpack and takes his phone out of his pocket. He still has the song open and he presses play again. The song starts, with the same juddering atmospheric hook that had pulled Jongin in when he first listened to the song on the way to work. It has a completely different feel from the songs that he’d watched Manhwa perform last night--it’s softer and Taemin’s voice is hazier, and the melody pulls at something in Jongin, triggering a deep longing.
The song ends just as Jongin taps through the metro turnstiles and he restarts it again and then again while he stands on the platform waiting for the next train. He has the words almost memorized when he finally boards a train car. The metro is just about empty at this hour and Jongin sits down in a window seat and plops his backpack in the aisle seat. He takes out his phone and sends Taemin a text.
(23:33) jongin: i think u might be telling a story about desire.
He gets a response almost immediately.
(23:34) taemin: u get that from that one song?
(23:35) jongin: that’s what i have so far. but manhwa has a lot of songs.
(23:35) taemin: we do have a lot of source material.
(23:36) taemin: here’s another.
Jongin clicks on the link and turns it up, letting the blend of Taemin’s voice and Manhwa’s complex melodies tell him its story.