Archive of Our Own

When the band was still together, Jay made a promise. A small promise at the moment, but one that would bind him to the person that was Heeseung Lee; Jay promised him that he’d stop drinking, and that he’d start coming to Heeseung when things got bad. But there was always that voice in Jay’s head, telling him, Heeseung doesn’t actually care. Jake and Sunghoon don’t actually care. Neither does your manager; no one cares. And Jay started to believe the voices until they drove him to pursue his life of solitude.

Jay still has a small photograph of Heeseung and him on the mantel below his television in his house. In the photo, Jay has his PRS hanging over his shoulder, Heeseung with a microphone gripped tight in his hand. Heeseung’s face is wearing the bright smile he always adorned; the smile that made Jay less cynical. Oh, how he misses it. 

Where Heeseung is now, Jay isn’t as sure. Heeseung wasn’t like the rest of the band; he needed a life in the limelight, under colorful lights, with a packed schedule, and fans screaming his name every night. Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon knew it would be in their best interest to leave Red Horizon where it was. Meanwhile, Heeseung needed to continue on his own. But at that meeting where none of them decided to resign their contracts and Heeseung looked across the table at Jay with tears in his eyes, Jay knew deep down that he wouldn’t be seeing much of Heeseung anymore.

But that promise, the one that glued him to Heeseung’s being, haunts him each day, as he thinks of Heeseung now every time he wants to drink when things get hard.

And tonight, it’s overbearing, but Jay doesn’t let himself give in. He’s been sober for almost two years, and there’s no way he’s letting himself fall off the wagon because of some little thoughts of Heeseung. 

But either way, there’s something eerie about being so alone, despite having lived by himself nearly his whole adult life. The band called it quits almost three years ago, and each passing day since then has been a blur, every minute lost to Jay’s careless memory.

He looks through his photo album that their manager got each of them from the band’s glory days, just two years before they ended things. The first image that acts as the cover of the album shows the four of them standing onstage at one of their first headlining shows during soundcheck. Heeseung in the middle, Jake and Sunghoon on his left, Jay on his right. Jay has a straight face, and the rest of them are smiling. Their skin is overexposed from the flash of the camera, eyes glowing, skin unblemished.

As he flips through the album slowly, fingers tracing the edges of each photograph, Jay feels like each image is melting under his touch; he tries to recall the memories that come with each photograph, grabbing onto them for dear life in the depths of his mind. He recalls the sounds of everyone’s laughs echoing off the walls of their hotel rooms, the sound of the girls screaming their names as they walked in and out of each venue, the thrill of their early days, drinking cheap beer and sitting in Jake’s parents’ garage where they rehearsed.

Heeseung is everywhere in these photos. His smile, his energy, his warmth. Jay’s chest twists at the sight of one image where he has his guitar in hand, mid-solo, and Heeseung is smiling, singing, looking up at him. Jay can’t help but wonder if Heeseung ever looks at his own photo album, and what it is that he feels when he looks at it. If he feels the same rotting, tight sensation in his gut. If he ever wishes they could do it all again somehow.

Heeseung haunts Jay like the ghosts of the days in the band. The memories, fading away with each passing moment, that Jay tries to hold onto, but can’t. Heeseung shows up on MTV every day as he plays it. He imagines what life could be like had he continued with music. He could have been a notable guitarist, as he was certainly a powerhouse in the industry, but when the band started to decline, and as rock music slowly started to see its way out of popularity, he figured he had a good run, didn’t want to potentially tarnish it with a washed-up career playing small bars again. And the band had made themselves a decent amount of money over the years, after selling millions of copies of their hit album Dilemma. Continuing on wasn’t really in the cards for him, especially when it wasn’t necessary.

The thought gnaws at Jay as he closes the album and exhales sharply. He feels an illness settling deep down in his stomach. Like he’s being drowned; drowned in regrets. Drowned in thoughts of the only person who ever made him feel like he mattered.

Jay’s gaze falls back to the photograph on the mantel, the one of him and Heeseung lost in the moment, lost in the music. Lost in each other’s eyes, more than anything. Facing one another, sights secured on each other. The tension between them is like a string; a thin line that connects them, and Jay wonders what that string might look like now; if it’s even still in one piece, if it’s worn and weathered. Maybe it’s frayed at the edges, hanging on by a single thread, stretched with time and distance. Or maybe, it’s still there, invisible but intact, waiting for one of them to pull.

——🎶——

Jay wakes up with a dull ache behind his eyes and a bitter taste on his tongue. He looks over to the coffee table, where he sees the clock, hands on the eight and the six. The sunlight filtering through the blinds does little to warm the chilling emptiness of his mansion. The space is so vast, and it hurts him that morning in particular when he wakes up alone. Usually, Jay wouldn’t long for those nights from their glory days—riddled with endless drinking and sex with people he couldn’t name anymore—but now, he longs for the smile that Heeseung would bear every time they were alone, when they’d have their deep conversations. 

Jay stumbles out of his room and down the staircase into the kitchen, where he pours himself a cold cup of water to chug. But his cell phone begins to ring, loud and echoing off the high ceiling of the house. He looks down at the caller ID, and his heart drops. He takes in a few breaths, in and out, before he picks up the phone, voice gritty and quiet when he answers.

“Hello?”

There’s no time for pleasantries with his old manager; the man immediately gets to talking.

“Jay, it’s Jungwon. Glad you answered. We’re in need of a session guitarist. It’s for Heeseung’s next album and tour,” he rambles. “We’d compensate you well, and we need you by the end of the week. I can email over the paperwork if you’re interested and available.”

Jay pauses, frozen in place. His fingers go cold and frigid, but despite that, his palms get clammy with sweat. He feels his heartbeat in his ears, in his throat; it scares him, the feeling he gets from hearing Heeseung’s name coming from something other than the voices in his head, other than the announcer on MTV. And hearing Jungwon’s voice freaks him out even more.

“Jungwon, I…I haven’t played in a while.”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “Jay, we’re a little desperate. It’s nothing crazy, either, you’re way overqualified for the songs on the record. We just need someone. Anyone.”

Jay’s face twists with confusion. “Then why are you calling me? If I’m overqualified, and you would take just about anyone?”

Jungwon remains quiet on the other end. Jay can almost hear the gears spinning in Jungwon’s head. He lets out a deep, shaky breath and bites his bottom lip.

“Heeseung asked for you.”

Jay closes his eyes, rubbing his face. Heeseung asked for you. Why he would, Jay can’t seem to figure out. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest. The prospect of even coming face-to-face with Heeseung again terrifies Jay. He recalls the last thing they said to each other, how things ended.

The scene replays in his head. He squints his eyes, trying to get the image of Heeseung’s wet cheeks, his face so sad, out of his head. Trying to get rid of the unspoken words that linger in his head.

His grip on the phone tightens. His breath is shallow, chest constricting with a feeling he can’t name.

Heeseung asked for you. 

Jay doesn’t know if that fact makes the decision easier or harder. But as Jay stares at the photograph in the living room, at the smoke that once hung between them, binding them, he wonders if it’s time to pull on that invisible thread.

——🎶——

The vinyl record Jay has spinning skips over a few seconds of the song; it’s Out Of Time by R.E.M., the alternative music he always quietly enjoyed, but his bandmates always seemed to put down. Jay would never let them see the fact that their dismay for the genre upset him, their minds too entwined in the metal music that made them popular. The last time Jay met up with Sunghoon, he ranted about how all the new albums coming out were lackluster, how they were nothing special compared to what popularized Red Horizon years before.

Jay turns off the record player as he runs the toothbrush over his teeth. He’s shirtless, still in his underwear, waiting to drive to the studio. Heeseung’s studio.

They’d be recording the album in his home recording studio, the studio Heeseung always promised everyone he came across he would have built once he settled down. Jay thought about what it might look like, what different pieces of decor Heeseung would put up, what colors the walls would be. What little pieces of Heeseung he could see through all of it. 

The decision to do the album didn’t come easy. Jay laid awake that night Jungwon called, restless, unsure of what to do. Unsure of the can of worms he knows he’s opening no matter what decision he makes. If he rejected Heeseung, that would be it, the nail in the coffin. That would be the end of everything for good. But if he accepted it, they’d have to rehash it all, talk about their feelings. All the words that were left unspoken. 

Jungwon dropped off the tape with the demos the next day. Jay listened to the songs, Heeseung’s voice shrill and raw, unsettling him. He hadn’t heard his voice like this in so long. Since things ended, he only knew the well-produced Heeseung songs that played on the radio, the songs that came on MTV. Heeseung’s biggest hit, “Love You ‘Til Dawn,” was like a ghost, haunting Jay’s every waking moment. But he felt at ease, in the back of his mind, because he knew that it also haunted everyone else on the planet. The song went platinum and was everywhere. Restaurants, hair salons, record stores, dentist offices—Heeseung was like a dream Jay couldn’t wake up from—and the constant reminder of him only reminded Jay of what they lost, of what could have been.

When Jay finishes brushing his teeth, he puts on his outfit for the day; a worn-down graphic tee and his leather jacket, paired with some tattered jeans. He hops down the stairs to the basement where he keeps his guitars tucked away. The temperature drops significantly as he reaches the bottom step, and the dark, concrete floor meets his feet, sending a shiver down his spine. He walks to the rack where the guitars are hanging, picking up his PRS, the distant familiarity of holding it by the neck making him uncomfortable deep inside. The strings are loose under his grip, and he quickly treks to the stairs, sitting down on them, trying to tune the strings. He’s always had perfect-pitch, never needed a tuner to get set up; and that skill never really went away. He turns the pegs, clockwise, then counter-clockwise, getting each string in tune. He reaches the high E, then as he plucks and turns the string, it snaps clean at the base, hitting Jay’s forearm.

“Fuck,” he spits, rubbing the spot where he was struck. He stands up, grabbing his guitar case, shoving the PRS inside quickly. He figures they’ll have extra strings at the studio where he can fix it.

He trudges back up the stairs, turning off the light behind him, and sets the guitar against the wall as he grabs the keys to his bright-red Trans Am. He picks up his pack of cigarettes and then the guitar, looking back on the living area, specifically at the photo above the fireplace. He can’t believe that he’s going to see Heeseung again, that they’re going to even be in the same room. He starts to think about what Heeseung will do or say when they lock eyes again.

Jay unlocks the car, sliding his guitar in the back before sitting down in the driver’s seat. For old time’s sake, he puts on Dilemma, Red Horizon’s sophomore album, the record that put their names on the map; the steady guitar of the first song streams through the speakers, and Jay can’t help the subtle smile that grows upon his lips as Heeseung’s voice becomes audible. He quickly checks himself; blinks hard, bites his lips to subdue that smile, and starts driving down the road.

The drive to Heeseung’s place is a nostalgic trip through streets Jay has traveled a thousand times, but rarely with this much pressure on his shoulders. He rolls down the window and lights up a cigarette, taking a long drag off it and turning towards the window as he exhales. The early morning chill bites at his face, waking him up a bit more. The sound of Dilemma echoes out onto the streets, a private show of the memories he buried, but never really let go of.

The track changes, going into a song Jay composed—called “Shadow”—a song Jay really liked, a song he was forever proud of. The sound of it playing through the speaker makes Jay smile again. Suddenly, he’s transported back to their early days—the song was one they had written before they ever played a single show—and he recalls them practicing the song over and over in Jake’s parents’ basement. The rest of them lived in apartments, small and destined for noise complaints if they’d ever practice in them, and so they resorted to the kindness of Jake’s family to let them practice in their home. Jay recalls drilling the guitar solo endless amounts of times, trying to get it to sound perfect.

As the track gets into that very guitar solo, Jay can feel the tingle in his fingertips as he thinks about how to play the solo. He hasn’t done it in a long, long time, but the feeling, the memory, of how to play it, lingers beneath his fingers. He drums lightly against the steering wheel, keeping time with each hit of the snare drum in the song. 

The main road quickly turns into the big, gated neighborhood that Heeseung lives in. The houses stand tall, grandiose, a lot like Jay’s own neighborhood, but there’s an underlying feeling that’s different. He pulls up to the gate, gives the guard his name, and he’s then let inside. He drives up to the driveway, where a guy with a petite build stands outside. As soon as he notices Jay pulling up, he waves. Jay puts the car in park and opens the door before going to the backseat and grabbing his gear.

The guy walks up to him, immediately grabbing his guitar and other equipment from his hands. 

“I can help with that,” he greets. “I’m Sunoo, by the way. I’m Heeseung’s assistant.”

Assistant? Heseung never needed one with Red Horizon, and so Jay starts to ponder, wondering what got into him, what got into everyone. Why was Jay even here? Why did Heeseung want him for all this? The underlying motivations puzzle Jay to no end, and as Sunoo leads them inside, he tries to bury every question that arises in his head. 

The interior of the home is splashy and extravagant; a lot like Jay’s place. There’s a chandelier hanging over the entryway, a spiraling staircase jutting into the space. The design is similar to Jay’s home, but is probably ten times bigger. Heeseung always was the one to make more money than the rest of them; he was the frontman, the guy everyone thought of when they heard Red Horizon. Always getting extra jobs and making extra cash.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Sunoo asks politely as he pauses for a quick moment. Jay lifts his brows before shaking his head. 

“No, thank you. Maybe in a bit.”

Sunoo mutters okay before leading Jay through several large rooms, like a maze; until they end up towards the back of the house, downstairs, a secluded area. The studio is simple; deep purple walls, soundproofing panels all around, desk chairs floating in the middle of the room, mixing boards lining the walls. There’s also a small leather couch on one wall. As Jay steps inside, a smell hits him; one that’s all-too familiar. Heeseung’s cologne fills Jay’s nostrils and seems to send an adrenaline rush through his veins. He spots the back of his head in one of the chairs, facing the booth, and as Sunoo sets down Jay’s guitar and gear before sitting down on the couch, Heeseung spins around in the chair then stands.

Jay’s heart stops. The world shrivels down to this very room and moment; Heeseung standing there, framed by the dim lighting of his studio. Time stops, then resumes suddenly, all the years between them flooding right onto the wooden floors of that studio, melting in between the cracks. A tight knot forms in Jay’s chest and he swallows hard, looking into Heeseung’s eyes. 

He looks the same, yet different. Older, aged well with time, but still unmistakably Heeseung. The same soft eyes that used to look up at Jay; the same lips that brushed against Jay’s when they were too drunk, too ambitious, to care about the consequences; the same jawline Jay had memorized in the confines of their hotel rooms after shows. It all comes rushing back in an overwhelming wave. Those nights of tangled limbs haunt him all at once, reminding him of their passion, so fiery and warm. It all comes back to him.

Then there’s the smile, the smirk—the look Jay has missed so, so badly—and Heeseung walks up to him, and they hug. It’s a safe hug; safe in the way that neither of them know what boundary the other is holding up; safe in that, when Jay’s arms snake around the back of Heeseung’s shoulders, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to start rubbing back and forth like he normally would. Heeseung pulls on the middle of Jay’s back when they embrace, bodies pressed up together, an electric feeling. 

It’s just the three of them. Heeseung pulls away from the hug, and then looks to Sunoo, nodding, and the boy scrambles towards the door in a hurry. Heeseung watches him leave, then once the door clicks shut, Heeseung’s eyes dart back over to Jay’s. 

“Long time no see,” he mutters with a small grin. Jay lets out a breathy chuckle and looks towards his guitar. 

“Yeah,” Jay replies. 

They both stand for a moment, unwavering. Heeseung licks his lips before dropping his head, facing the ground, laughing. Jay’s confused by his behavior, his demeanor; he feels so overwhelmed, so moved, by Heeseung’s presence. His mouth is watering, and his heart is racing. As Heeseung lifts his head, running a hand through his hair and sighing, Jay can’t help but look at his lips. Those perfect, soft lips that he knows too well, but it’s been too long since they shared a kiss. Jay thinks about the first time; how hesitant they both were, but deep down, how strong both their desires were. 

“It’s okay.”

Heeseung seems to notice the discomfort lingering in Jay’s gut. Jay lets out another breath before Heeseung nods towards the mixing board, gesturing for them to sit in the desk chairs sitting before the booth. Jay has a million questions running throughout his mind, but he spits out the one that seems to be coming back to him more and more.

“Where’s the producer?” Jay asks casually. “And Jungwon?”

Shrugging, Heeseung sighs, leaning back in the chair. “I thought we could catch up first,” he suggests. “Just talk.”

Jay bites his lips and tries to relax. Heeseung watches him, spinning in the chair to face Jay. His eyes are gleaming at Jay, sending messages the younger can’t decipher. Jay’s heart races, thudding hard between his ribs, making him lightheaded. Heeseung must notice; he leans forward and puts a hand on Jay’s knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth.

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Heeseung comments. Jay chuckles and looks down at the ground, then over at his guitar. “Water?”

Heeseung hands over his glass, and Jay takes a sip from it. He feels Heeseung’s eyes drilling into him, looking with intent. The tension in the air, the tension between them that’s tugging on that small thread holding them together, is so tight, Jay feels it pulling at his chest, his fingertips, his shoulders. Jay sets the glass down, and Heeseung takes it back before he leans forward again. Jay swallows hard before looking up into his eyes.

There's silence then. One that grows physically in Jay’s chest and hurts.

“I missed you,” Heeseung nearly whispers. Jay’s breath catches in his throat. “Jungwon says you haven’t played in a while.”

Jay sighs. “Yeah,” he exhales. He looks back over at the guitar in its case, then stands up and grabs it, unzipping it and pulling out his instrument. Heeseung smiles at the sight of it. Something so ancient to them now, back in their sights, back in Jay’s own hands. “I broke a string trying to tune it today.”

Heeseung chuckles. Jay sits back down with the guitar in his grasp, until Heeseung reaches out for it and slides over to a couple drawers where he pulls out the appropriate string. He takes it out of the packaging, then works to string it through the bridge with the guitar sitting in his lap. 

“I can do it, you know—”

“Let me,” Heeeseung interrupts, glancing up for a fleeting moment. He then starts threading the string through the tuner and winds it up. As soon as the string is secure, Heeseung hands back the guitar, and Jay tunes it. Heeseung smiles as Jay doesn’t even ask for a tuner; he just goes ahead and does it by ear, like he always has.

“Still have your perfect pitch, huh?” he asks lightly. Jay looks up from the guitar and nods. 

“I guess so,” Jay replies quickly. Heeseung hums, watching Jay with something unreadable in his face. It looks like admiration, maybe, or something deeper; something laced with nostalgia and unresolved feelings.

Plucking the strings, Jay tests, adjusts, and gets a feel for the guitar in his hands again. He doesn’t realize until then how much he’s missed it; he feels regret, thinking about how good he could be today had he never stopped playing. How he could have made a name for himself if he continued with music. Maybe things would look different for all of them. 

Heeseung leans back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Play something.”

Jay looks up with eyebrows raised, shaking his head and stammering, until he pauses before plugging in his amp and guitar. Then, his fingers are moving instinctively, landing on a familiar progression. Something old, something they wrote together back when they were younger. It’s from their first album, a song Jay and Heeseung wrote, just the two of them. It was called “Gold.”

“Ah, of course,” Heeseung mutters.

Jay continues playing, letting the music take over, letting himself slip into the past for a small moment. Heeseung watches, foot tapping lightly against the floor, gaze never straying away from Jay’s hands.

And then, Heeseung starts humming; softly at first, almost hesitant. Until he finds his voice, letting the melody roll off his tongue like it’s second nature. Jay’s fingers pause for a split second. Heeseung notices; he always does.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, and Jay listens.

The song builds between them, raw, triggering all the old emotions to resurface. It’s just them in the studio, as if no time has passed at all. For a moment, Jay forgets about the years lost between them. The fights, the silence, the confusion.

He stops playing, the high-gain sound of the guitar screeching through the amplifier. He looks down at his hand, fingers shielding the strings, and Heeseung remains quiet for a moment. 

“You haven’t lost it.”

Jay scoffs lightly before looking up at him. “Lost what?”

Heeseung adjusts in his chair. “Your talent, your skill,” he starts. “Your passion.”

Jay wants to melt in the chair. The way Heeseung is staring at him makes him come undone; makes him unfurl from the inside out. His cheeks flush and Heeseung notices, because the elder chuckles and hands him the water again. Jay doesn’t take it, though. Instead, he turns the volume knob down on his guitar and sets it against the edge of the mixer.

“You listened to the demos, right?” Heeseung asks after a long moment of silence. “You learned them?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Heeseung smiles. “Which one do you like most right now?”

Jay doesn’t have to think about it. “‘I’ll Remember.’”

Licking his lips, Heeseung motions to the guitar, and Jay sighs as he picks it back up. He starts playing “I’ll Remember,” the easy up-and-down riff that backs up the song, then goes into the power chords of the chorus.

“We can do this one first,” Heeseung suggests as Jay’s playing fades out. “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”

Jay nods. “As long as your producer is here,” he jokes.

“Riki will be here. Jungwon too, probably,” Heeseung informs. Jay gets intimidated by these familiar, but distant, names—he hasn’t held a full, proper conversation with Jungwon in years—and Riki, the guy who produced almost every hit song in rock and roll from 1988 to that very day, hadn’t seen Jay, or Sunghoon, or Jake, since the release party of their final album as Red Horizon. Something about seeing these people again unsettled Jay deep down. 

“Might as well call up Jake and Sunghoon,” Jay says sarcastically. “I didn’t know you and Riki still worked together.”

Heeseung spins back and forth in the chair, eyes glued on Jay. “Yeah. He made so many hits in 1990, 1991. I couldn’t let him go after…”

Jay knows he’s talking about the meeting. That final discussion they had when they all decided not to continue as Red Horizon. Jay sometimes wonders if Heeseung knew that whole time what would be coming after; Heeseung’s years of success, power, money, fame. Of what Red Horizon has so closely reached at their peak, before things ended.

“What else did you want to discuss today? If Riki isn’t here to do the mixing and—”

“Just relax, Jay.”

The younger is caught off-guard by the statement. It must show on his face, because Heeseung moves a little closer with a mischievous look on his face. 

“Okay,” Jay breathes. He sets down the guitar once more, shifting in his seat. Heeseung’s eyes are still on him, steady but unreadable. Jay isn’t sure what to do, how to react. He wants to talk about all the unspoken things that are on his mind, and likely on Heeseung’s, too, but he doesn’t even know where he would start. He doesn’t know how to bring it up. How to start dissecting it.

Before Jay can start any sort of conversation, Heeseung turns with the back of the chair facing Jay, and he starts thumbing through a stack of cassette tapes. He finds one in particular, then puts it in the player in the corner of the room, and suddenly the demo tape is streaming through the speakers. They sit there, then, for a while, listening to each song, Jay making comments in between. He notes in one song how they could fit in a guitar solo in the bridge, and Heeseung is receptive to all his ideas.

When they finish listening, the tension in the room shifts a little, becoming something lighter. Almost comfortable. Jay exhales, drumming his fingers lightly against his knee. “It’s all really good.”

Heeseung grins, but there’s something mysterious beneath it. “You sound surprised.”

Caught off guard, Jay tries to backtrack. “No, no, I just…I forgot what this all felt like,” he explains. “Being part of something.”

A small silence fills the space between them. Heeseung studies Jay like he’s considering saying something else, but then he just leans forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“I know,” Heeseung says, chuckling. “It’s been isolating for me, too. In a way.”

Jay’s eyebrows knit together from confusion. “How?” he chuckles. “You’re arguably the biggest solo artist in rock right now. You’re basically the new David Lee Roth. Just with…less flash.”

Heeseung shakes his head and scoffs at that comment. “No way,” he laughs.

“Seriously. ‘Love You ‘Til Dawn’ has haunted my every waking hour since you released it.”

“What do you mean by that? Haunted?”

They both smile, trying to subdue their laughter. Jay groans, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. “You know what I mean. That song was everywhere. It still is. Every time I turned on the radio, I heard your voice. Every bar, every grocery store.”

There’s a small silence between them, and that tension comes back. Jay wants to break it, keep the lightness of the conversation going, but it feels impossible. Especially when they lock eyes again and Heeseung looks at him like that. Like Jay is the only thing in the world. 

“You could have called me,” Heeseung mutters.

Jay bites his lip then, blinking slowly, uneasy. He breaks eye contact with Heeseung and looks down at the floor. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

Heeseung doesn’t address the statement. Instead, he laughs and licks his lips before looking at Jay’s guitar. “It hasn’t been the same without you guys,” he says, voice softer. “The shows, the writing. It’s not like how things used to be.”

Jay glances at him, surprised by the confession. “You never seemed to have an issue with it. Hell, you went straight to the top, you’re bigger than Red Horizon ever was—”

“But this wasn’t the goal, Jay,” he interrupts. “It was always supposed to be with you.”

The breath in Jay’s lungs seems to evaporate. “What?”

“The success. I wanted to make it big with you. Not without you.”

Jay stays quiet, because he knows. He knows exactly what Heeseung means and that it was never supposed to be this way. They used to talk about it non stop—what Red Horizon was supposed to be, what they were supposed to become together—but then things fell apart, to the point where it was unfixable.

“Why now, then?” Jay asks with a careful tone. “Why bring me back into this?”

Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He shifts in his seat before standing, then holds out his hand, and Jay takes it carefully. The touch of Heeseung’s fingers against his own sends an electric current through his veins. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Heeseung asks casually. Jay pauses, caught off-guard, before nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow. Same time?”

Heeseung nods. Jay grabs his guitar and other things, and as if on cue, Sunoo is back in the studio, helping Jay carry his things up the stairs. Jay turns around briefly, looking back at Heeseung, lingering there as they lock eyes. Jay has a million things running through his head, but none of it is coherent; one thought leads to another, until he can’t keep track of what exactly it is he’s feeling. He figures, with time, it’ll come back to him, those calm feelings, those normal thoughts. But it was hard with Heeseung. The enigma he was, the enigma he’ll always be. 

And as he drives home, he thinks about how it all began, how they ended up here.

——🎶——

The familiarity of the house settles in Jay’s bones as Sunoo leads him to the studio again. Sunoo is carrying his guitar for him again, and Jay feels awkward trailing behind, empty handed. When they finally reach the studio, Jay spots two heads sitting in chairs in front of the mixing board, Heeseung in the booth with headphones on, belting into the microphone. Jay can hear through the speakers that it’s the opening track from the demo, a powerful song that was fast-paced and energetic. Jay liked the song, it was one of his favorites on the record. 

Sunoo and Jay wait for the take to finish before walking inside. Jungwon and Riki turn around, meeting Jay’s eyes intensely. Jungwon stands, smiling, pulling Jay into a tight embrace. Jay is suddenly transported back to 1984 when they first met, when Jungwon gave them everything they could have asked for as an up-and-coming band. Jungwon was good to them. Really good to them. Booked them gigs they never would have dreamed of performing just one year into their careers. He treated them like humans; he didn’t work them like dogs, like a lot of other bands had to deal with.

“Glad you’re here,” Jungwon exclaims. Riki waves a hand up at Jay before turning back around to face the booth where Heeseung stands, headphones now hanging around his neck. Riki gives him some feedback on the track they just recorded, saying, more light on those falsettos, among other comments, and Jay retreats to the couch in the studio.

Heeseung then tries again, taking Riki’s comments into consideration, singing effortlessly. Jay remembers this track from listening to the demo tape. It was called “When I Say Goodbye.” It was a rock ballad, one that was a little different from the other songs on the record. Jay still enjoyed it, nonetheless.

Once they finish the verse, Heeseung exits the booth and greets Jay before sitting next to him on the couch. Heeseung drinks from his glass of water as Jungwon rests his elbows on the arms of the chair he sits in, Riki leaning back in his own chair. 

“Have you been playing?” Riki asks Jay out of curiosity. Jay, caught a little off-guard, chuckles nervously and widens his eyes.

“Not before coming here, no. I…I was taking things slow, I guess. I also didn’t really have any reason to play.”

Jungwon claps his hands together as Jay starts pulling out his guitar from the case. “Well, we wanted to get at least one song done today. So be ready to be here for a while.” Jay bites his lips as he looks over at Heeseung. Their eyes lock for a moment, until Heeseung looks away as Jungwon grabs his attention again. “Get back in the booth. Let’s finish this bridge. Jay, plug in, we’re gonna have you join in soon.”

Jay plugs in his guitar, then, tuning quietly while Heeseung practices his lines for the next take. Jay’s fingers settle on the familiar frets, the strings electric beneath his touch. He feels the ghost of the person he once was come back to life as he sits there with the guitar under his arms.

They run through the track, then the next. Jay learns the power chords seamlessly, already familiar with them before he got there. But there’s one shape change in the song “North Star” that Jay continues to mess up; it’s not even hard. Three years ago, Jay could have done this without struggle. But there, he is struggling, feeling the anger and frustration build up in his chest. 

“Just try one more time,” Riki says, eyebrows raised, seemingly frustrated, but not hiding it very well. Jay just nods and breathes heavily through his nose. The tension in his body is rising, he feels it coil up in his ribcage, and knows that they’re all looking at him differently now. Jungwon’s encouraging, and on the surface, Riki is too, but Heeseung looks concerned. Like he’s worried about Jay. And Jay hates it.

He goes into the chord progression once more with determination, but towards the end, slips up, pausing. 

“Really, we’re wasting all this tape—”

“Riki, it’s fine, we’ll get more,” Jungwon reassures. “Let’s take ten.”

Jay puts his PRS down on the ground before walking out, going upstairs and out to the patio. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he knows that he needs to be alone, that he’s feeling embarrassed and ashamed. He doesn’t realize it when Heeseung follows behind shortly after, bringing him a glass of water to cool off with. Jay takes it, sipping from it in gulps, then sets it down on the small table. 

Jay pulls out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up with shaky hands. The overcast sky above them is growing darker by the minute, the sunset not visible to their eyes, only a soft gray-orange is cast down on them from the clouds covering the sun. 

“Ignore Riki. He’s just stressed about this record,” Heeseung says as he stands next to Jay. Jay takes a long drag of the cigarette, hanging his head low as he exhales. Only when Heeseung puts a light hand on his back does Jay look up, and he meets Heeseung’s eyes, soft and comforting. “You’re fine, Jay.”

A silence passes between them before Jay speaks lowly. “This is fucking stupid.” He scoffs, tapping the cigarette. They both look at the ash as it falls onto the ground below them.

“You think it’s stupid?” Heeseung asks, voice light. “If you think it’s stupid, why are you here?”

“For you,” Jay retorts, raising his voice. “I’m here for you.” His voice is softer, almost a whisper, when he says the last part, and he tries to fight the tears brimming at his eyes. Admitting it hurts. Admitting it feels like he’s gone too far, again, but he can’t blame himself for it anymore. But as Heeseung steps closer, grabbing Jay’s shaking hand that isn’t holding the cigarette, Jay unravels. He becomes softer, more open.

“Then why is it stupid, Jay?”

Jay swallows hard, sweating beneath Heeseung’s touch. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted to see you again. I thought I came to terms with it, with loving you, with falling out of love with you, with—”

“You don’t mean that,” Heeseung interrupts. “You never came to terms with it. Because it’s not true.”

Jay scoffs. “It is,” he spits back.

They stare at each other for a dragged-out moment, their gazes glossy and weak. Heeseung walks away, crossing his arms, staring at the ground. “God, I just…I never wanted to do this without you, Jay.”

“No one asked you to go solo. You chose this, you signed that exclusive contract and never looked back, you and the label basically fucked me, Jake, and Sunghoon over because you were the golden boy. No one cared about us and you let them drive us out.”

Heeseung pauses, back turned to Jay, breathing slowly. “I look back all the time, Jay.” His voice is lighter, wavering. “I’ve thought every day about what would have happened if I said something.”

The silence between them grows uncomfortably, until Jay finally speaks. “I always wanted you, Heeseung. You should have known that.”

“I don’t know, Jay. You never said anything.”

“Neither did you.”

There’s then a long, bitter silence. Heeseung turns back around, stepping close to Jay again. He takes the cigarette from Jay’s fingers, putting it out on the railing of the balcony. He then throws it on the ground, stomping it out with his boot, before he looks up at Jay and tucks the hair behind Jay’s ear, his touch feather-light. In that touch, Jay feels himself come undone. Heeseung leans in closer, then he rests his forehead in the crook of Jay’s neck and shoulder, hands squeezing Jay’s biceps. 

“This hurts, Jay,” Heeseung says, breathless. “I still need you. It hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” Jay’s voice cracks when he says it. He puts a hesitant hand on Heeseung’s hair, carding his fingers through the dark-auburn locks. Heeseung lifts his head, but keeps his proximity to Jay close, and then they’re just centimeters apart. The air between them seems to be sucked away into the abyss; Heeseung closes his eyes, leaning in closer until their noses touch, and he breathes in Jay, Jay breathing in Heeseung. “Heeseung, I should go, I’m sorry.”

Heeseung lifts his head slowly, looking tired, worn, and slightly drunk in the feeling of being with Jay again. A disappointed look washes over his expression, and Jay’s heart sinks. 

Jay tries not to cry in the car. He realizes, then, Heeseung was always there, in some hidden place in his heavy soul; his ghost lingered all these years, and just seeing him again was the last straw. Jay couldn’t bear to carry the thoughts, the feelings, the memories that came up with Heeseung. 

He grips the wheel, knuckles white, and for just a fleeting moment, he sits there, driving fast down the roads, the passing houses and buildings blurry as he speeds to the bar near his house. He hasn’t sat in there in years—he managed to avoid it at all costs since he promised Heeseung he’d get sober—but at that moment, none of it matters anymore. He doesn’t have a band to protect, a name to keep. It’s too much, and he just aches to drown it out with something.

——🎶——

The rest of the sessions from then on are awkward, filled with mostly silence, aside from Jungwon and Riki’s constructive feedback. Jay and Heeseung remain cordial, professional, when they’re all together. But behind closed doors, Jay feels nothing but resentment towards the elder.

And it starts to eat him alive. It gnaws at his brain as he drives past the bar he and Heeseung would go to after their rehearsals, and he thinks about the first night they ever touched—touched in a way that meant something deeper. How after they drank too much and went back to Jay’s apartment, where they watched his VHS tape of The Outsiders, and their legs touched, and then their hands, then as Johnny said, stay gold, Heeseung looked over at Jay and they kissed, Jay felt like his world was crumbling at his feet. The kiss wasn’t anything overly sexy or arousing, but Heeseung’s lips were on Jay’s, and that alone was enough to make the younger tumble into a pit of an unending desire for Heeseung. That’s how it went with the two of them; like they were at the top of a mountain—a rough, rocky, complicated mountain—and as soon as they took that first step, they just free-fell down into what could only be described as a poisonous love for each other.

Because after that first kiss, things spiraled. In the midst of their first tour, which was opening for a bigger progressive-metal band that was touring a few dates in the U.S., they spent every night in the same hotel room, locked up in the same skin, as close as two humans could get. 

Jay thinks about the way Heeseung felt. The way he kissed his neck as they fucked, how his eyebrows furrowed when Jay would say his name. 

And there was one thing Jay wanted to say, but could never muster up the courage to. And he never knew if Heeseung thought the same thing, or if he wanted to say it too.

As he drives past that bar the night they finish recording the album, he stops. 

Inside, he finds himself sitting at the bar, ordering a whiskey, neat. And he takes that first sip, and it tastes like 1989, like Heeseung’s tongue in his mouth, like Heeseung’s smile in the morning, like the ghost of what could have been. Flashes of other moments go through his mind; he thinks about the tours, the music festivals, the interviews. The fame he got to experience, regardless of how short-lived it really was. And as Jay swallows down more and more glasses of the alcohol, he thinks about what he lost. Yes, he had seen success, had lived it first-hand—but there was so much he didn’t get to do. Things he didn’t get to say. 

He tries to salvage it when he drives back to Heeseung’s home. He makes it past the gate, and drives fast into the driveway, where he trips over his feet as he walks out of the car and towards the front door. He rings the doorbell, and the seconds that pass between him doing so and Heeseung opening the door feel like hours. 

“Jay?” Heeseung questions. He can see the look on Jay’s face, it seems, and he knows immediately. “Oh, Jay.”

In his moment of weakness, Jay stumbles into Heeseung’s arms and starts to cry. 

“I love you,” Jay says, drawn-out and quiet. “I always loved you.”

Heeseung sighs. “I know, Jay,” he replies. “I love you too.”

Jay looks up, lifting his head. “No,” he says, trembling. “No, Heeseung, I mean I love you, and it has consumed me since I met you. I never wanted to do this without you, either. And…it’s okay if you don’t love me back anymore, but I just—”

He’s interrupted when Heeseung’s lips crash onto Jay’s, soft but intense at the same time, just like Heeseung himself. Gentle, caring, but still rough around the edges. Jay barely kisses back, as he’s still spiraling in his drunken state, but Heeseung’s hands on Jay’s waist make the younger calm down a little, making him stop crying.

They pull away, and Jay rests his forehead against Heeseung’s. “I just needed you to know.”

Heeseung nods, pulling Jay inside. They go to Heeseung’s room, which is large and comforting to Jay. Jay pauses in the middle of the space as Heeseung sits down on the edge of his bed. 

“Come here.”

Jay inhales deeply before meeting Heeseung. Heeseung takes Jay in, resting the younger on his lap, arms holding him loosely. Jay sinks into his warmth, his comfort, and closes his eyes. He thinks of everything, of the years that passed by with a blur, of the choices that tore them apart, of the songs and melodies that bound their souls even when they tried to become strangers. 

They don’t speak for a while. Heeseung rubs small circles on Jay’s back, and Jay relishes in the feeling as he realizes he hasn’t been touched like this since those nights in their hotel rooms on tour.

“I don’t know what happens now.”

Heeseung hums lowly. “I don’t know either, Jay. But we don’t really need to figure that out right now, yeah?”

Jay lifts his head, meeting Heeseung’s eyes. Their gazes lock, and Jay falls deep, tumbles down that mountain, as he sees the boy he kissed in his apartment years ago; the same boy who convinced him that their music would change lives, would change the world.

“Just stay,” Heeseung adds. “Stay here.”

So Jay does; they crawl beneath the covers of Heeseung’s bed, and they hold each other. It’s safe, warm, and makes Jay feel better, especially when morning comes and he realizes that he’s relapsed after being sober for two fucking years.

He goes into Heeseung’s bathroom and leans over the sink, refusing to look at himself in the mirror. Instead, he bites his lip before turning on the faucet, splashing his face with cold water a single time and wiping his eyes and cheeks with his hands. He hears a knock on the door, and Heeseung is on the other side when he opens it up.

“Hey,” Heeseung greets. Jay smiles weakly, standing awkwardly in front of the elder. “You alright?”

Jay scoffs. “You know, I was sober for two years before last night.”

Heeseung looks down at the tile floor for a moment before he meets Jay’s eyes again. “I didn’t know,” he admits. “I’m really sorry.”

Jay just shrugs lightly. “It’s not your fault,” he reassures. “But I feel like I’m going to just…lose it, now.”

A small silence grows between them, and Heeseung just reaches out for Jay’s hand, taking his fingers loosely, lightly. Jay looks down at their intertwined fingers and inhales deeply. Jay takes his hand back, rubbing his eyes, as Heeseung steps closer. He wraps his arms around Jay’s shoulders, pulling him close, breathing him in. Jay slowly embraces Heeseung back. It feels odd, hugging him. And in that moment, it’s not comforting; it’s unsettling. Jay’s mind is spiraling every which way, making his heart race, and Heeseung must feel it against his own chest, as he pulls away and looks at Jay with concern.

“Jay,” Heeseung breathes. Jay takes in a shaky breath and looks up at Heeseung.

“I’m sorry,” he responds. “I should go.”

“Jay, no,” Heeseung urges. “Stay. Please.”

“I just want to go home,” Jay panics. 

“But you’re not okay, I want to help you.”

“You’re not helping though, Heeseung,” Jay stresses as he walks past the elder, back into the bedroom. “I look at you and I feel fucking sick.”

Heeseung stares at him with a blank expression, almost defeated. Jay gathers his things and starts towards the door, and Heeseung lets him. They don’t say another word; Jay then starts to think more and more about it all. About everything that’s happened between them.

He recalls how they, through all the nights wrapped in each other’s limbs, never labeled what they were; how they never said they loved each other; how through every show, every look, every song, they remained in a limbo state, until things started to fall apart and they wouldn’t see each other for years. And Jay would hurt in ways he didn’t know he could every single day in between. 

The falling out the band had was, in hindsight, rather immature. It started with a phone call Heeseung got from Jungwon, who informed him that they had been invited to play at the first Lollapalooza festival. Only thing is, they wouldn’t be headlining, which rubbed Jay and Sunghoon the wrong way, meanwhile, Heeseung and Jake saw it as a great opportunity. 

They argued back and forth in a meeting with Jungwon and other people on their team. Jay insisted that it’d be insulting to play a new, up and coming festival and not headline, especially when their song was sitting at #1 on the charts for weeks at that point, and they had become platinum-record holders with Dilemma. 

That’s when Jake left a nasty note on Jay’s answering machine, insulting Jay and everything he’s worked for. The words he spoke in the message hurt, they cut deep; and that’s when Jay knew he didn’t want to continue any longer.

Things before that were even rough; they weren’t rehearsing as much, and when they did, conversations were dry, only driven by criticisms of each other’s performance. Dry comments about playing the right notes or singing the right words or playing the right rhythm. Things became hostile. And looking back, Jay can recognize why; they had risen to fame so fast, so incredibly rapidly, that they had no time to breathe. No time to recognize who they had become, but also, who they were before; where they had come from.

——🎶——

The label throws a release party for Heeseung’s solo record, which he titles North Star after the opening track on the album. 

Jay spends the day of the party pacing, listening to all his records, staring at the photograph on the mantel. He tries to think about what it is that’s lingering between them, what’s keeping them apart, what’s always kept them apart. How they can love each other so deeply, yet Jay feels that disgust, that anxiety, every time he thinks about Heeseung.

He can feel Heeseung’s lips still on his, he can feel his touch, his light embrace as they slept. Jay squeezes his eyes shut, then meanders into his room by the time it hit the evening, pulling out his nice clothes and getting ready for the party.

It’s being hosted in Heeseung’s home. Inside, the lighting is dim, but the energy is high. There are some stacks of the record sitting on a table at the front entrance, and Jay picks one up and inspects it closely, looking at the image of Heeseung on it. His head is thrown back, the image blurry, lips slightly parted. Something about it is somewhat erotic and makes Jay’s stomach tingle. 

Jay doesn’t expect to know many people there, but as he walks into the mansion and sees the familiar faces he once worked with, his heart sinks into his stomach. He sees the A&R managers, the journalists, the TV executives that he once knew. He runs into a few as he makes his way into the small crowd, towards the bar, and says calm hellos to them. 

Jay doesn’t expect to see familiar faces, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect to see his old bandmates sitting at the bar, sharing a beer.

He approaches them timidly. It’s been a year since he talked to Sunghoon, and more than a year since he spoke to Jake. Things between Jay and Sunghoon were just awkward, kind of like they were with Heeseung, except they didn’t have the layers of all those nights in hotel rooms, lips locked and hands roaming. And with Jake, things were rather hostile. After the message he left Jay, Jay promised to never speak to him again. But he seemingly doesn’t have a choice now; especially as the three of them are sitting right before him.

They all turn around, looking at Jay. His eyes meet Heeseung’s first, then he glances over at Jake and Sunghoon. Sunghoon smiles, and he stands from the bar stool, hugging Jay.

“Hey, man,” he greets. Jay relaxes a little bit then, smiling and letting out an exasperated breath. “Nice to see you.”

Jay stammers at first, before he musters up, “Yeah, you too. Hi, Jake.”

He looks at the bassist he once called his friend, and he smiles, and they shake hands. Heeseung then nods towards the balcony, where they all file outside into the chilly nighttime air, leaving their beer bottles at the bar. On the balcony, the night is brisk and clear, distant city lights sparkling from afar below the hill where Heeseung’s house sits. Jay leans on the railing, the metal cold under his palms.

“It’s been too long, guys,” Sunghoon laments. They stand somewhat-far apart, just enough distance between them to make things comfortable. 

Jay huffs out a laugh, the others remaining quiet. Jake crosses his arms, clearing his throat, and he exchanges glances with Jay a few times, tension between them thick. 

“Jake, I know things ended badly, and I wasn’t easy to be around back then—”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jake snorts. 

Sunghoon shoots him a perplexed expression. “Jake—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jay gives in. He forces himself to look at Jake. “Say what you need to.”

Jake scoffs again. “You kind of blew it all up for us, I mean, we were right there. And you—drinking yourself to death, disappearing before shows, and Heeseung—”

He stops himself, jaw clenching.

Jay’s stomach twists. He looks down at his shoes. “I know.” His voice is low as he speaks. “I know, I ruined it, it’s my fault.”

Sunghoon shifts uncomfortably. “We all made mistakes. We were kids. We didn’t know how to handle any of it, I think.”

“At least some of us tried,” Jake mutters.

“Jake.” This time, it’s Heeseung’s voice, firm but quiet. 

Jake’s eyes switch over to the elder, then away again. He takes a sharp breath. “Whatever. I’m not here to fight,” he says as he uncrosses his arms. “Congrats on the record, by the way. It’s really…it’s good. And nice job on guitar, Jay.”

Heeseung and Jay exchange looks before they look back at Jake. They both smile weakly, before Jake turns around, heading back inside. Sunghoon steps a little closer to Jay, leaning against the railing as well, as Heeseung stands from afar and watches them. 

“It really is nice to see you guys,” Sunghoon adds before he follows Jake back inside. He shoots them both a small smile when he turns around as he reaches the doors, then disappears into the darkness inside.

Jay finally musters up a glance towards Heeseung, who’s now leaning against the railing, too, looking out at the city. His expression is unreadable. Jay steps a little closer, then looks out into the distance.

His throat feels tight when he speaks. “I had no idea they’d be here.”

“I didn’t either, honestly,” Heeseung admits. “Jungwon must’ve invited them. Didn’t think about how it might be a bit much for us.”

Jay shrugs. “Maybe he thought you’d want to see them. You know, since you asked me to help with your album.”

Heeseung chuckles. Then, a small silence grows within the space, and Heeseung turns towards Jay, looking at him fondly. 

“Sometimes I wonder if it was the right thing to do.”

Jay looks at him. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung bites his lip before exhaling. “Asking you to help,” he admits. “I feel like nothing’s changed between us. I…I don’t know how to be around you.”

A sour taste forms on Jay’s tongue. He feels so confused, so angry, all of a sudden. He thinks back, back to when things fell apart. How Jake would villainize Jay for his problems, and Heeseung never did anything to defend him. 

Jay swallows hard, gaze concentrated on the headlights weaving through the city below them, avoiding looking at Heeseung. That sour taste curdles in his mouth bitterly as Heeseung’s words echo in his mind. I don’t know how to be around you.

“You didn’t try to know, either.”

Heeseung’s eyelids close, and a flash of guilt washes over his expression. He straightens from the railing as he says, “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Jay laughs hollowly. “When Jake, Jungwon, everyone, tore me apart, you just watched. You stood there and didn’t defend me. When you of all people should have understood it.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “Jay, I didn’t want things to…I don’t know, fall apart—”

“But they did. You see that, right?” Jay retorts. Silence then falls between them. The music inside swells through the glass doors, but the air outside feels dense and suffocating. 

“I’m sorry.”

Jay’s nerves are screaming, then. Wired and electric through his body. Heeseung looks at Jay like he’s going to say more, his hand twitching at his side. He steps closer to Jay, reaching out, placing his trembling hand on Jay’s cheek. Jay’s looking down, but then, his eyes flick up, and Heeseung exhales a shaky breath. 

“We’re here now. That’s all that we need. Right?” Heeseung asks with a whisper. Jay blinks slowly as he nods. “God, just let me kiss you again.”

Jay swallows hard before he harshly, quickly, presses his lips to Heeseung’s. Their arms quickly become tangled as they grasp for one another, trying to hold on for dear life, as if the other is going to slip away again. It takes no time for them to get back into their regular groove, where Heeseung’s tongue is slipping past Jay’s lips and Jay reciprocates all of it, where Jay’s hands are sliding up beneath Heeseung’s shirt and clawing at his velvety skin. Their heads move quickly, kissing each other frantically. 

“I need this,” Jay exhales. “I need you.”

Heeseung nods. “I’ll meet you upstairs, okay?” Jay agrees, and they pull away. Heeseung pecks one more time at Jay’s lips before he walks away, presumably to the crowd, and Jay wanders off upstairs, opening the first door he sees. It’s Heeseung’s room. Large, covered with framed photographs of the band’s glory days and expensive, untouched guitars hanging on the walls. Jay looks at the photos until Heeseung returns. 

Jay turns, and Heeseung starts undressing, but something about the sight of Heeseung bare again makes Jay grow uneasy. Like he’s unsure of what this is going to do to them. Like he wants more, he wants Heeseung fully, but can’t commit to it; not with their past, and not with Heeseung’s future.

Stepping up to Jay, Heeseung tugs at the hem of Jay’s shirt softly, then Jay lifts his arms and lets the elder pull off his clothing. Heeseung then leans in slower this time, kissing Jay gently, until they grow more and more desperate for one another, like all that desire that was sitting in their systems all these years came back full-force. 

Jay’s hands roam the surface of Heeseung’s back, while Heeseung keeps his hands planted on Jay’s cheeks. Heeseung bites Jay’s bottom lip, pulling him closer, and Jay groans at the feeling. 

“Lay down,” Heeseung instructs with a whisper. Jay listens; he goes to the bed, sitting at the edge, then scooting back and laying down fully. Heeseung hovers over him and leans down slowly. Both of them hold their breath as their bare bodies press up against one another again, for the first time in years. The feeling is electric; it makes them both lose all composure. Jay claws at Heeseung’s lower back again, leaving red marks in his fingers’ path, as Heeseung starts kissing down the length of Jay’s neck.

“I want this,” Heeseung breathes in between kisses. “I always wanted this.”

Jay can’t help but feel a little ashamed, because truthfully, he wants it, too. He feels a tightness, a tingle, growing in his legs, near his center, as Heeseung kisses his collarbones. 

Heeseung moves lower, tongue tracing every piece of Jay’s skin, taking in the taste of him. Jay closes his eyes and lets himself feel every emotion; love, pain, confusion, and more love, instead of fighting the current that swept him under every time he thought of Heeseung. His familiar hands, the taste of mint on his breath, the little sounds Heeseung made into Jay’s skin; he’d once catalogued them to his memory, but had erased them the best he could, only to find them here again, alive, right in front of him.

A faint shiver runs up Jay’s leg, and Heeseung feels it, responding by gripping Jay’s thigh, sliding his palm up slowly. Jay clamps his jaw shut, trying—but failing—to not make any noises that confirm how much he still wants this. Heeseung reaches Jay’s navel; his lips kiss the skin softly as his fingers curl over the band of Jay’s pants, tugging in a teasing manner. 

“Can I?” Heeseung whispers, but Jay still hears it. It seems like a silly question to ask, considering the fact that Jay’s fully hard by then, his cock begging to be let free from his jeans, his length touching Heeseung’s chest. Jay nods slowly.

Then Heeseung takes off Jay’s pants entirely, along with his boxers, and immediately grabs his dick at the base before he continues kissing Jay’s stomach. Jay starts to lose himself, starts to go a little crazy, as Heeseung’s lips and tongue are landing on practically every surface of his body except his length. He squirms in his position on the bed before Heeseung finally runs his tongue up the length of Jay’s cock, earning a hearty moan from the younger. Jay exhales softly once Heeseung’s mouth is fully around him, taking in the distant familiarity of the sensation.

Suddenly, he’s back in those hotel rooms in random cities, where Heeseung would quietly enter Jay’s room and they wouldn’t have to say much; where they’d quickly lose all their clothing and become tangled in one another. The feelings that come with thinking about those days are hard to bear, but Jay tries to enjoy the moment. He hasn’t been with anyone in over a year. And finding people who wanted to sleep with a washed-up former-rockstar was harder than it seems. And either way, he really didn’t want to be with anyone that wasn’t Heeseung.

His dick gets more and more wet as Heeseung sucks him off. The sounds of Heeseung’s mouth on Jay’s cock is just as arousing as the feeling of having Heeseung around him is. Jay tries to subdue his moans as Heeseung sucks harder, faster, but struggles. He puts a desperate hand through Heeseung’s hair as he guides his head up and down his length. 

“Baby—”

Jay catches himself as he says the pet name. He only called Heeseung such things when they were in bed. And the name rolling off his tongue feels odd, but so natural at the same time. Heeseung lifts himself off Jay’s cock and comes back to where their faces are parallel, breathing in each other’s space. 

Heeseung then straddles Jay’s waist, still clothed beneath his waist, and caresses Jay’s face softly with his fingertips. Jay shudders beneath his touch; but becomes even more undone as Heeseung’s thumb hovers over his bottom lip before pressing down, then he slides that thumb into Jay’s mouth, past his teeth, pressing down on his tongue. Jay breathes heavier as Heeseung’s thumb curls onto his tongue before pulling it out and sliding his hand down to Jay’s chest, pressing hard.

Finally, Heeseung takes off the rest of his clothing, then straddles Jay again. He takes Jay’s hand, putting it on his own cock, and Jay immediately starts stroking him. Heeseung does the same for Jay; and they do it for a while, not speaking at first, just moaning; until Heeseung mutters something Jay can’t forget.

“I love you.”

That, neither of them had dared to say in a while. But it comes off Heeseung’s lips like a declaration; one that will haunt Jay until the day he dies. But in that moment, it sets him off, it makes him twitch and groan as he chases his orgasm. Heeseung is panting in Jay’s ear, and as Jay comes in Heeseung’s hand, the elder curses under his breath, tensing under Jay’s touch as he also climaxes. 

Then they’re a moaning mess, foreheads pressed together as they let out the most suggestive of noises and grasp for each other. Jay sobers up from the high of emotions and desires, realizing what they’ve done, again; his chest starts to tighten as Heeseung wraps his arms around Jay’s shoulders and breathes into his neck as he rests his forehead there. Jay, not knowing what to do with his hands now, just places one on Heeseung’s back, rubbing up and down slowly.

They remain there, and Jay can’t help but feel the rush of emotions take over his system. That tightness in his chest lingers, and his lips start quivering as he recalls every moment they spent like this years ago. Until Heeseung stands again, grabbing his clothes, dressing himself again. Jay reluctantly follows, buttoning up his shirt as Heeseung watches him. The elder walks towards him, cupping Jay’s face in his hands, then kissing him tenderly one last time. 

And Jay feels, in some hidden place deep within him, that it will be their last kiss.

——🎶——

Jay decides not to join Heeseung for most of the tour. He settles for playing the California dates, plus one in Phoenix, and Seattle; the night approaches slowly, as those dates came at the end of the tour. 

Heeseung introduces Jay with grandeur at each show; the crowd erupts with outrageous applause and cheers when Jay steps onstage again. But the final show, Jay has a feeling he knows it will be something special, something he’ll never forget.

It’s disorienting at first; the heat of the lights, the sound of the cheers, the loudness of the drums playing behind him. But after a few moments of discomfort, his body remembers how to bear it all. 

They start playing, opening with one of the songs from the new album. Heeseung’s voice is shrill and sharp through Jay’s in-ears, and from that sensation alone, he’s transported back to 1987, at their peak, when Red Horizon felt untouchable. Halfway through the song, Heeseung drifts towards Jay, and their shoulders brush just briefly. 

The whole show, Jay loses himself, and it’s not until the encore when Heeseung walks back onstage on his own, and Jay watches from the wings, he understands it all; why Heeseung asked for him, why he started everything all over again.

Heeseung takes the microphone before he looks out at the crowd, each blurred face cheering him on, Heeseung starting to get emotional. 

“Thank you all for coming, really, this tour’s been unforgettable,” he starts. Jay and the rest of the band stand back quietly as they wait to play the next song. “But, uh, I’m sad to say it’ll be my last one.”

He lets the crowd react, lets them settle with the information. But Jay can’t seem to comprehend it. His eyes well up, his throat tightens, and his stomach starts to turn. He doesn’t want to believe it; he wants to think he conjured up the words in his head somehow, and that Heeseung, in reality, said something completely different.

“I know it’s time to hang it up, and I really just want to thank each and every one of you for supporting me thus far. But I’ve honestly realized, it’s not the same as it once was. Making it big on your own, it’s…it’s isolating. And it’s not what I’ve wanted since I picked up a microphone. So, I wanted to play one last song, it’s one that means a lot to me.”

The crowd hums, and Jay wipes a stray tear from his cheek as Heeseung looks over to him from the stage. He looks like an angel. He’s glowing under the spotlights, radiating warmth. Jay thinks he’s hallucinating when Heeseung nods towards him, gesturing for him to come onstage. Jay hesitates, until Heeseung walks towards him, grabbing his hand, dragging him out.

“You probably all know this guy, but if not, he’s my old friend, someone I cherish a lot. We played together in a band called Red Horizon before I ever pursued my solo career,” Heeseung explains.

Jay smiles nervously as the crowd cheers for him. Heeseung then whispers to Jay, “Let’s play our song.” A confused expression comes over Jay’s face. “Gold.”

Then, Jay agrees, picking up the acoustic guitar from the side of the stage, strumming as he walks back onstage. They hadn’t rehearsed the song at all, not since when they first reunited and played it together. But the chord shapes come back naturally to Jay, and he strums slowly and lightly before Heeseung starts to sing.

You say it’s too late, I tell you stay gold / the sun glowing on us now shines softly between it all.

Jay thinks about the time they wrote the song, after they watched The Outsiders and after they first kissed. Each note rings softly through the arena, and it feels like it brings them closer again, like the string that binds them is strong again, like it’s in-tact, unbroken. And Jay feels it as he can’t stop looking at Heeseung next to him.

Every memory starts to unfurl right then and there. Jay can feel their history unraveling right in front of them as Heeseung sings the lyrics, you make me want to cry, but I can’t quite name why / I’ll touch your skin and draw the lines where your heart fits next to mine. Then Heeseung’s gaze flashes towards Jay mid-verse, and for a fleeting moment, Jay forgets how to breathe. Suddenly, there’s no audience, no spotlights. Just the two of them and everything that came before.

Then the song finishes, and they smile at each other. For a moment, the universe holds its breath, and then the crowd erupts into cheers, but neither Jay nor Heeseung hear it. Something mends between them in that moment. 

“Thank you,” Heeseung says as he pulls Jay into a loose hug. 

Jay swallows. “Anytime.”

They stay there for another moment, until the lights dim and they walk backstage, and it’s all over, again. Everything they once built together comes crashing down again. And as Heeseung hugs his crew backstage fondly, Jay watches, eyes watering with an emotion he can’t quite articulate. He knows it for certain, that this is the end, that it’d likely be the last time he’d hold a guitar. 

Heeseung finally glances over at him, their eyes catch each other, and Heeseung smiles small. Just for the two of them.

Jay smiles back, just in case, for the last time.