#It would be one thing if it were just an acoustic guitar for two—three hours a day… you have to understand:

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I’m a musician and I recognize the need for practice BUT JESUS FUCKING CHRIST DOES EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSE HAVE TO PRACTICE THEIR INSTRUMENTS AT EVERY HOUR OF THE DAY

I’m trying to get shit done and the constant noise is sucking the life out of me. The man finished the whole upstairs himself for his instruments and didn’t even think of soundproofing for recording purposes. I haven’t even found a place yet and I’m already looking at soundproofing.

[icallhimjoey]

Reinvent Love

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, lil smutty, reader has hair long enough to tie up, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: oohhh big changes! we are TALKING! with our MOUTHS! what a time. This is the last part of flatmate!Joe - for real this time. I truly hope you've enjoyed what is still my most plotless (imo) bit of writing, lmk your thoughts <3

Wordcount: 4.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

There was something living inside of your chest.

It was only small, but definitely there. Soft. Vulnerable. Silently shrinking. It had gotten hurt and was wearing its bruises on the outside. When it got poked, you could feel the shooting pains as it curled in on itself more. It would find the safest spots to squeeze its eyes shut and you’d mentally tell it, it’s okay. You’re okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Maybe therapy wasn’t an insane suggestion, anymore, at this point. You felt like you were protecting a child to the point where you couldn’t let it see the light of day. Couldn’t let it go outside and play. Couldn’t let it have friends – let it meet Joe. Couldn’t let it experience anything joyful, because if you did, it’d probably experience more hurt too.

But it was hurting anyway.

And now it was only pain it got to feel. Never joy. Just bruises and cuts. Scrapes that slowly formed thick drops of blood that hardened into scabs which pulled at your skin and eventually turned into scars.

You wished you’d known that before you locked it up inside.

There was something living inside of your chest, and it carefully wished it could speak up and be heard.

When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.

“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.

You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.

“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”

You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.

This was stupid.

But you were stubborn.

You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.

Yea.

Joe could just leave.

You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.

 But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.

You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.

Find Joe.

Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.

And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.

The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.

He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.

You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.

“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”

“Pause?”

“Mhm.”

Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.

Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.

Me too, Joe thought.

Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.

He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.

He’d tell you in the morning.

Joe was going to tell you in the morning.

He would.

When Joe woke up, you were gone.

Fucking figures, Joe thought.

The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.

Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.

But it was fine.

There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.

Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.

After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.

Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.

And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.

It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.

Might as well act like last night actually happened.

“Sorry about last night, mate,”

“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.

“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.

It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.

But Josh was relaxed about it.

“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”

And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?

The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.

“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.

“Ah, well… you know,”

No, actually, Josh didn’t know.

Which was good.

Joe didn’t really want him to know.

Joe didn’t really want to explain.

Couldn’t really explain.

Where the fuck would he even begin?

“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”

Joe had to suppress a smile.

Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.

“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”

Joe drank his coffee and nodded.

“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”

Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.

Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.

Josh talked where you... well, you did not.

“Did she cry?”

He wanted to know.

“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”

That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.

It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.

You split the fridge?!

What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!

When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.

Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.

Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?

Probably not, he guessed.

Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.

You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.

Fine.

Fine.

It was fine.

You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.

Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.

You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.

You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.

For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.

“Morning run?”

You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.

Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.

That was meant to mean something.

You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.

“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.

Joe followed.

“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”

It went ignored.

This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.

Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.

Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.

“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.

It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.

You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.

You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?

Felt unfair.

You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.

Joe would get the hint, you thought.

He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.

Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.

You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.

You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.

Joe tried.

He really tried.

You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.

Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.

Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.

Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.

You handled the close eye-contact fine.

Handled the cupping of your face fine.

And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.

Was there truly no budging?

Was this… was this it?

Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.

You’d never talked about that.

Had never mentioned it.

Hadn’t labeled it.

You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?

He just wanted you to talk.

You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.

The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.

Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.

Something changed.

Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.

You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.

You’d never shared a shower before.

Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.

“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.

“I know.”

“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”

And, fuck.

Something snapped into Joe’s chest.

Something swelled and popped.

He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.

“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”  

You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.

You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.

“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”

Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.

You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.

He hoped you believed him.

You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.

So he did.

It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.

Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.

He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.

Joe pushed you.

Joe had been pushing you.

He shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

No more making you meet him halfway.

Joe was going to wait for you.

He would.

It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.

Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”

That made you look up at him.

“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”

And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.

“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.

“I’m right here.”

Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.

“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.

Joe saw.

Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.

“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.

“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.

“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”

“I love you too.”

Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.

“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.

You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.

“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”

And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.

You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.

It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.

It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.

It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.

It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.

You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.

Were just close, but more.

Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?

Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.

Didn’t really want to either.

As long as you knew. As long as you understood.

And you did. The proof was in the pudding.

Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.

Maybe someday, they could meet.

Have a chat.

Talk things through.

Or not.

They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?

They’d call you idiots.

And, yea you were.

But it was fine.

You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.

You were all that mattered.

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Your love.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat]

Really Very Pretty

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Description: Eddie's best friend gets a bit too drunk and starts to run her mouth when he has to go save her.

Warnings: alcohol (reader is drunk through this whole thing), language.

Word Count: 1953

Read Part Two Here!

My Masterlist!

Eddie should have known better. He should have been able to clock it from a mile away, but you had insisted that you were going to have a good time.

He knew you well enough to know that this party was going to end badly.

He didn't even know which friend of a friend's birthday it actually was. He'd dropped you off in front of a house he'd never taken you to before, and thank god he saw Robin standing on the porch, because he was almost ready to lock the van doors and take you right back home. You were clearly anxious about the outing, but you had continuously brushed it off, citing nothing more than excitement as the reason for your shaky hands. Eddie had practically begged you to let him tag along and play guard dog, but he hadn't been invited and, with the exception of Robin and maybe one other, you didn't know any of these people very well. You didn't want to step on any toes by bringing a plus one that you didn't actually have.

Eddie wasn't entirely sure why he was so nervous for you. You were an adult, you could handle yourself. And besides, he had no obligation to keep you safe like that; you two had been friends for a long time, but bodyguard was typically a boyfriend role.

Right?

It was well into the night, nearing three o'clock in the morning, when Eddie's phone finally rang. He had told you to call him so he could pick you up. He trusted you to know better than to try and drive yourself after a few drinks, but he definitely didn't trust the people you were with to get you home either. He scrambled out from under his acoustic guitar to answer the phone.

"Hey! I expected you to call ,like, two hours ago, are you-"

"Eddie, it's me," he heard Robin say from the other end. That was odd. His stomach instantly became heavy with anxiety; was something wrong? Had something happened?

"Robin! Hi," he said, trying to control the slight shake in his voice. "Wasn't expecting your voice. What's up?"

"You need to come get your girlfriend," Robin stated. Eddie instantly felt heat creep up his neck and was very grateful that Robin wasn't able to hear the blush that had settled onto his cheeks.

"Robin. She's not my girlfriend. You know that."

"Yeah, whatever. Just come get her."

"Did something happen?" Eddie's embarrassment was quickly stubbed out by nervousness.

"Not really," Robin responded, though she didn't sound all that confident in her answer.

"What?" Eddie asked with frustration. He loved Robin, he really did, but she never quite had a way with words. "What does 'not really' mean?"

"She just got, like, way drunker than she wanted to, I think," Robin clarified. "And now she's hiding, and I think she's crying, and I don't know what to do! I know you dropped her off, and-"

"Fuck, alright, I'm on my way," Eddie cut her off. He hooked the phone back to the wall and dashed out to the van.

This kind of thing had happened before. It wasn't like you didn't know your boundaries when it came to this kind of stuff, it was more like you would often choose to ignore them. You'd always been able to hold your liquor (it was kind of impressive sometimes, actually) but your impulsive nature left you prone to having just a few drinks too many. Pair that with how weird you'd been all day leading up to the party, and Eddie cursed himself for leaving you all alone.

By the time Eddie pulled up to the house most of the party goers had left, and only a handful of stragglers remained. He walked in and found Robin quickly.

"She's in the bathroom upstairs," she said to him as he walked up to her. "She didn't do anything too embarrassing, thankfully, but she looked really upset when she ran off."

Eddie nodded to her and started up the staircase, going two steps at a time. Even with all the people who had come and gone all night, the house felt incredibly empty to him. The same cream colored walls and carpet felt ever present in all of these new-construction-suburban-paradise type houses and Eddie didn't like them one bit. Something about the faux sincerity of it all left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he wondered how anyone could find all of this coldness appealing. Maybe he was biased, seeing as he was only welcome in these houses when he was upcharging freshmen at their first high school house parties, but he could almost feel the structure itself silently judging him.

God, he really needed to get you out of here as quickly as possible.

It took a couple of guesses, but he did eventually find the bathroom door. He knocked, though the force of his knuckles against the wood pushed the unlatched door open just enough for him to be able to see you on the floor, with your back leaned against the sink and your knees pulled up close to you chest.

You definitely looked worse for the wear, that was for sure. Robin was right, you had been crying, and it left angry black streaks running down your face from your eye makeup. Eddie walked in carefully and gently shut the door behind before sitting down on the floor next to you. You didn't look up at him, and instead chose to keep your eyes firmly trained on the little springy door stopper attached to the wall.

"I didn't call you," you said with a pout.

"I know," Eddie said. "Robin did. asked me to come get you."

"I didn't call you on purpose," you reiterated. Your voice was gruff and strained. "I don't wanna see you."

That struck Eddie right in his chest, though he knew that it was most likely just the tequila talking. You were very drunk, and come morning, you two would be back to being best friends again.

"Why don't you wanna see me?" Eddie asked with the slightest smirk. Now that he knew you weren't hurt, he was able to find just the tiniest bit of amusement in the situation.

"Because you're mean to me," you grumbled. You burrowed yourself into a somehow even smaller ball and did your best to turn away from him, though you had little success.

"How am I mean to you?" Eddie asked. He definitely wasn't mean to you; he would do literally anything in his power to make you happy.

"Because you're too pretty and you're too nice to me," you said. Eddie was instantly hung up on the fact that you called him pretty. You were drunk, not thinking straight, so you probably didn't actually think he was pretty, Eddie reasoned to himself. He pushed the thought right out of his head and moved on.

"I'm nice to you," he questioned. "And that makes me mean?"

"You're too nice." You turned to look at him through droopy, half shut eyes. They were rimmed with red. "You're not 'friend' nice, you're 'more than a friend' nice, but I know you don't mean it, and it's mean."

There was a sharp bite in your voice and Eddie didn't know how to respond. Did 'more than a friend' nice mean that he was nicer than a friendly acquaintance, or did it mean that he was nice in the way two people who are more than friends would be with one another?

"Do you want me to be 'more than a friend' nice?" Eddie asked without thinking.

"Not if you don't mean it," you responded.

"But what if I did mean it?" All of Eddie's better judgment had been thrown out the window at this point. Maybe he was taking advantage of you inebriation, that you would give him the truth because of it, but in this moment all he could think about was the fact that he had been pining after you for months thinking it would never amount to anything. Now it might be amounting to something and he had, he just had, to know.

"You're making fun of me!" you said. You dropped your face into your arms.

"I'm not, really! I just," Eddie cut himself off with a sigh. You were drunk. Nothing he could say would really get through to you, and even if it were to, you weren't going to remember any of this in the morning. If he thought about it, maybe that was a good thing. "Look, let's just get you home, okay?"

You grumbled some in protest, but didn't try to wriggle out of Eddie's grasp as he led you down the stairs and out to the van. He got you settled in the passenger seat before getting into the driver's side and starting the car. He kept the music turned down low, knowing your head was most likely already pounding, and rolled down the front two windows.

The cool night air whipped through the cabin of the vehicle. You shut your eyes and turned your face towards it. It had been hot, so hot, in that house, and you seemed more than happy to be out in the cold autumn evening. Eddie lived much closer than you did, and he knew your parents would be less than thrilled about you staggering inside at three in the morning, so he elected to bring you back to his place. He could just sleep on the floor.

He helped you out of the car and inside. You struggled to toe off your shoes, though you eventually got them off and tossed them haphazardly against the door with a thud.

Once he got you standing on your own, he quickly realized just how drunk you actually were. You kept your eyes closed as you swayed into his bathroom and Eddie was worried that you'd fall and hit your head on the sink or something; The last thing he needed was to have to take you to the ER. He was already on thin ice with your parents as it was, and getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night would absolutely cement their dislike for him. You hadn't thrown up or anything (at least, as far as he knew), so that was good, but Eddie knew you had definitely pushed yourself way too hard.

He wondered if you had been roped into some drinking game or something. Your competitive nature and poor impulse control made you much too good at them.

You'd been quiet since Eddie had lifted you up off the bathroom floor, but as you slumped down on top of his sheets, still in your jeans, you spoke up again.

"I'm sorry," you said, eyes closed.

"It's okay," Eddie reassured you. "I'm more than happy to come and save you whenever you need me to."

"And I mean what I said." You were muffled against his pillows, but Eddie still heard you.

"What, about me being mean to you?"

"No." You turned to face him and your big, watery eyes were enough to crush his heart. You sat back up and started to sway a bit. Eddie put a hand on you arm to keep you steady, and realized just how close the two of you were to each other. Your shoulders were turned inwards as you leaned in even closer, though he was sure it couldn't have been on purpose. "About you being pretty. You're really very pretty."

If you hadn't been completely plastered, Eddie would have kissed you right then and there.

[oiwxa]

UMAZANE MISLI | c.bg

STARRING: Choi Beomgyu x fem!reader

CAST: Lee Heeseung (EN-), Lee Geonu (Just B), Jung Sungchan (ex-NCT), Yang Jeongin (Stray Kids), Felix (Stray Kids), Choi Seungchol (SVT)

RUNTIME: 35.9k (sorry)

SYNOPSIS: Beomgyu thought that a life of academic excellence, popularity contests, and ego trips were left behind the moment he graduated from a prestigious private school. However, he found himself locked in an intense, three-year rivalry with you. He always had to be number one in everything that the two of you were involved in, but god damn, your band makes incredible music. Lord knows what would happen if one day, you find him moshing to one of your basement shows. Alas, you were oblivious, and he managed to convince himself that several streaks of messy, temporary red dye and ripped jeans immediately transformed him into a spy that infiltrated your band's smelly, sweat-infused, beer-rotting basement.

GENRE: Coming of age, slice of life, romance, comedy, band!au

WARNINGS: R15+ | Heavy substance abuse | Academic trauma | Familial and generational trauma | Profanity | Strong and explicit language | Crude humor and a flurry of sexual jokes | Honestly there's way too many explosive fights in this fic | Borderline existential | MC and the entire cast basically goes through a breakdown at some point in the fic | If any of these warnings trigger you then please DNI

DIRECTOR'S CUT: hi everyone !! this will be my debut into txt writing !! i hope you enjoy this fic, and as always, PLEASE triple check all warnings and make sure you read this work at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content that you consume. also !! of course, some facets of the band is inspired by the lovely joker out, the slovenian band that stole all of our hearts in esc 2023 !! the family dynamics and rich kid problems in this fic is inspired by succession, the HBO tv series. i also just wanted to give a quick shoutout to alice @jayflrt and her stoner's guide to starbucks smau, which inspired heeseung's character in this fic !! do give it a read if you have the chance !! she's vv funny LOL. also !! another shoutout to @jitaros for the e2l law school dynamics !! i tried my hand at the trope (watched too much better call saul for this LOL) !! this is an homage to crying lightning, and i hope reading this will inspire you to complete law school!hyuck :")))

SOUNDTRACK: Umazane Misli, Plastika, Demoni, Vem da Greš, Proti Toku, Carpe Diem, A Sem Ti Povedal, Bele Sanje, Katrina, and Dopamin by Joker Out (basically the entirety of Joker Out's discog tbh)

VISUALIZERS: Joker In // Law school Beomgyu

COPYRIGHT OIWXA 2023. DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

I. SHAGADELIC, BABY!

The studio has seen worse things. Pizza boxes covered in mold spreading toxic mildew across the entire room; broken drum sticks that were basically tetanus-inducing pieces of legos on the floor for the unlucky person sans socks or sandals; curled ends of guitar strings strewn across the floor like upturned nails; permanent stains of beer scattered in patches on the wooden floorboards; broken lightbulbs for more tetanus and other forms of infectious diseases; a nest of fruit flies concentrated on one of the leaking pipes next to the generator; an unidentifiable liquid etched on the edge of a dirty carpet with an equally mysterious source; crude graffiti filling up the bare cement walls; the temper of a lead singer with a god complex; and lastly, the simmering temperament of a guitarist that believes he deserves more credit than he is currently given. 

To call the basement of an abandoned house on the distant outskirts of Hongdae a studio was an insult to professional musicians who spend their entire lives in a well-insulated creative space. Your band barely had the budget to install acoustic foam panels across the basement—not like you needed it, though. Nobody in their right mind would dare take the last train to the station and hike at least an hour atop a closed trail to record music in a dilapidated house. It wasn’t like there was anything or anybody listening to the so-called “noise” you and your friends made at ungodly hours, too. If there were, it was probably the ghosts of those who once populated what you assumed was a small, forestry village before the war. 

Nonetheless, it became the meeting place that would house all of the band’s creative endeavors—and to be fair, you didn’t mind the musty smell or the murky leakages of dirty water. All of it to you slowly became a sanctuary that broke you free from the bondage of a degree you weren’t even interested in. What was even better was the people that occupied the rather decrepit space. Sure, there was a lot of infighting in the band that made you want to throw your drum sticks at each member or assault them and get charged with battery, but in the end, it was growing pains for the fruition of an otherwise decent band. For you, the disagreements everyone often faced were a testament to the band’s potential longevity. Even if you didn’t consider yourself the most vocal member of the ensemble, you had a reliable voice of reason that validated the input you’d give to every suggestion or performance discussed. 

“Disagreements should be normalized, you know?” You once remember saying when Jeongin would often cry about the heated arguments Geonu and Sungchan would have. “I don’t think we’d be as good as we are now if we never fought or stood up for what we wanted in this thing.”

A word had to be said about the duo before proceeding into important matters—after all, it was the two of them that had the longest overall experience in Seoul’s university basement scene. Geonu in particular was who one might call the “veteran” in your band. He practically grew up around independent musicians his whole life, and his brother was in the garage rock scene since Geonu graduated from middle school. It was the norm for him to show up underage inside bars, venues, taverns, and any place that reeked of spoiled beer, sticky sweat, and copious amounts of cannabis abuse. Of course, Geonu managed to stay clean save for a few sips of beer here and there; he was notorious for his inhumane self-restraint and resilience, after all. When Geonu was fifteen, around the end of his last summer as a middle schooler, he started a hardcore band and toured a couple of basements around Seoul and beyond. The problem, though, was that his lead singer was a late bloomer. Instead of obtaining the gruff, aggressive, and extremely hardcore (for lack of a better word) tone that was required for the genre, Geonu had to suffer through his band receiving “baby noise” status. To his credit, he took it extremely well, using the ridicule to his advantage. It became a common gimmick later on for the band’s cult following to bring pacifiers and cry like an infant during the breakdown of each song. He even began attaching packets of powdered milk with each tote bag or cassette tape purchased from his fans for extra humor. 

That period of his life closed when he was in his second year of high school, where he founded an indie band and completely changed the direction of his music. The hardcore punk to soft boy indie pipeline was a pretty common shift in many musicians in the current generation, and by then, Geonu had grown out of the nu-metal craze of gelled, spiky hair and repetitive power chords. He wanted something more out of his music and thus formed an unexpected friendship with Sungchan, who at the time was the star football player in their high school. Since then, the two had been in the same band together, often changing the lineup depending on where they were music-wise. The first generation of the band was called King Suit, and most of their shows consisted of covers translated from English to Korean. King Suit was perhaps the most radio-friendly iteration out of all the bands that Geonu and Sungchan were in, and they broke off for the exact same reason. 

“Nobody really wanted to write music,” Geonu explained one time after a freshman party. “I mean, I can’t blame them. It takes a lot of effort, and most of us were self-taught. Sungchan was the only one who was willing to make the academic sacrifice to write and produce music with me, so we broke off after graduating high school.”

From what you could tell, Geonu didn’t seem to look back at King Suit with the rose-colored fondness of nostalgia. Each time he complained about his former members in a drunken pursuit, his voice would drop an octave lower, seething bitterness and poison in his slurred cadence. Geonu also only complimented Sungchan when he was drunk. 

The second iteration of his attempts into the underground indie scene was with a short-lived shoegaze venture that was ironically named DARE. One surprising fact that you managed to squeeze out of Geonu was that Sungchan conjured the idea of starting a shoegaze band. He had been listening to a lot of my bloody valentine and Cocteau Twins owing to his nightly Naver scrolls and Spotify recommendations. According to an extremely inebriated Geonu, Sungchan became obsessed with collecting effectors and pedals, blowing his entire savings and part-time earnings into expanding his ever-growing collection of overpriced battery boxes. Truth be told, his obsession for pedals didn’t necessarily come from a place of musical interest—he just thought that some of the artworks plastered across the Keeley or Electro-Harmonix pedals looked cool. He managed to learn how to use them through deep research on YouTube and Reddit, but he would never admit that the sole reason for his collection was the pursuit of aesthetics. Geonu would also never admit that he wanted DARE to live a longer life, simply because his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow it. He would always argue with Sungchan about how the genre of shoegaze itself was a cut-and-paste replica of each other, and for Geonu, it would be embarrassing to admit that his opinions can change over time. He was too much of a staunch idealist in the sense that he stood by most—if not all—of his opinions, thus it would take an eternity for him to admit that he was either wrong or misconstrued about whatever statement came out of his loud mouth. 

Then, Joker In was born—at least, that was what the current band was called. Prior to the name change, the band didn’t have an official name, so each gig just listed your names as individuals. It was the only iteration of Geonu’s bands that consisted of you in the lineup, in addition to Jeongin’s replacement as the current bassist. Prior to Jeongin’s untimely recruitment, the band had an upper year who promptly had to leave because he graduating and he was an exchange student. You didn’t know what went inside Geonu’s mind theater when he recruited Felix, but you assumed that the short-lasting membership was worth it if he was that good of a bassist. 

And to your judgement, Felix was amazing. He was a veteran of the instrument and played the double bass at his university’s big band back in Australia. Naturally, he would adjust to the electric bass pretty quickly, mastering all the techniques and genres by the time the band scored their first gig. Felix wasn’t particularly good at Korean, but he didn’t need the language when his skills spoke for themselves. In addition to mastering the instrument, he was a phenomenal performer that captivated the audience through his laid-back playing style. Every note he plucked was effortless, and his deep, sultry voice complemented Geonu’s powerful vocals quite well. 

The first time you saw Geonu cry was when the band dropped Felix off at the airport, bringing Jeongin along despite the awkward, one-sided tensions between them. Felix didn’t mind Jeongin’s presence since he joined the band knowing it was a short-term commitment, but Jeongin thought otherwise.

“What if he’ll hate me?” Jeongin would lament. It was your job to comfort him whenever he would dive deep into his woes about filling such a big role. Geonu was too cutthroat, and Sungchan was too much of a deadpanner. There was no way those two could ease the noisy thoughts of an anxiety-ridden boy. 

“Felix doesn’t hate, Jeongin,” You’d reply as you stuffed his mouth with endless slices of pizza. “Have you seen the guy? I don’t think he could get angry even if he wanted to.” 

The band became Joker In after Jeongin’s obsession for Eurovision came to light. At first, the three of you eyed him with confusion and bewilderment, wondering how a boy born and raised in Korea could care about a Europe-exclusive song contest. After being subjected to an entire week or two of arduously rewatching past contests and performances, you’ve grown to realize that Jeongin never watched Eurovision for the quality of songs that each artist produced. Sure, there were some good hits that grabbed your attention, but Jeongin didn’t care about the meaning of the songs written for the contest. For him, Eurovision was specifically created for drama and political tensions, paired with ridiculous, overtly surreal, and over-the-top staging that made you question the infinite potential of the human mind. What initially started as Jeongin’s sole hyper fixation now influenced the entire band’s direction, and Eurovision became a pact of friendship in Joker In. 

“You have to watch Viktor Plushenko skating on a fucking ice rink on stage with Dima Bilan,” Jeongin said, pushing his phone screen on Geonu’s face. 

“I’ve already seen that performance dipshit. You’ve shown it to me like, I don’t know? Every single time we go to the studio?” Geonu would reply, then keep his eyes glued to the performance. He didn’t want to admit that his go-to stage costume of a wifebeater and loose, silver parachute pants came from endlessly watching Dima Bilan on YouTube, but the avid Eurovision fan could pretty much piece his inspiration quite easily. Luckily for him, Korea didn’t have a lot of people that were willing to watch four whole hours of countries they’d never heard of sending artists runnings around in hamster balls singing about dusting a turkey in 2000s-era technicolor. 

“They sure did bring a wholeass ice rink on stage, did they?” Sungchan said, using his tall stature to tower over Geonu and Jeongin. He kept his eyes focused on the Olympic figure skater as he gracefully slid around the small, constrained ice rink in Belgrade. 

“Anything for Dima Bilan. Anything.” Jeongin cooed, eyes never leaving the blue-tinted stage on his phone screen. “Look at him! He’s so… sexy.” 

“Take a shot every time Jeongin simps over Dima Bilan,” You interrupted, snatching the phone from Jeongin’s hands. You went on the search bar and typed in the keywords that led to your favorite Eurovision winner, Duncan Laurence. Once his deep, solemn voice began to reverberate across the vast emptiness of the basement, you felt the three roll their eyes in your direction. 

“Of course, you’ll always play Duncan Laurence’s performance,” Jeongin sighed as he shook his head. He yanked his phone back from your hands and paused the video, momentarily admiring the tall, Dutch man playing the grand piano before shutting his phone off altogether. You returned the sentiment and folded your arms, closing your eyes from exhaustion. 

“Jeongin, you know that people can enjoy the contest for the actual music they produce, right?” 

“Well… yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Jeongin replied, giving you his signature foxy smile. “You’re free to argue that Stefania won last year because of its musicality and experimentation with hip-hop and Ukrainian folk music, but man, you can’t deny that people liked it because of Mr. Pink Bucket Hat and MC Kilimmen’s breakdancing.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Sungchan interrupted. Whenever the topic of Eurovision 2022 came up, he always felt the need to join the conversation. “I think Chanel with Slomo deserved the trophy.”

Sungchan always had a penchant to enjoy female entries in Eurovision. When the band rewatched Eurovision 2010 and host their first sleepover in the basement for the first time, Sungchan fell asleep until Lena’s “Satellite” came on. The moment he heard her voice, he jolted awake as if someone shocked him with a defibrillator, posture immediately upright as he leaned his tall frame too close to the projector that they managed to hook up. For the whole week since, he kept replaying her performance whenever he had free time. When he was doing chores around the basement or setting up for practice, he would constantly hum the chorus of the song, following the singer’s odd, breathy cadence while swinging his hips to the rhythms in his head. It got to a point where it became an earworm for the entire band, and for a while, Geonu decided to ban the song from playing whenever they were together. 

“You can’t keep playing Satellite when Alexander Ryback was way better,” Jeongin would bitterly mutter under his breath. He would then pretend to hold a violin and prance around the floorboards, using his light, airy steps to do several failed pirouettes. 

Eurovision became the center of your band, and it became a gimmick to put at least one Eurovision song on your setlist—much to your chagrin. On the one hand, you would enjoy the songs that Jeongin would pick, such as “Believe” and Lordi’s “Hard Rock Hallelujah” for your university’s Halloween bash. In those moments, you were into it because you enjoyed the songs. On the other hand, the songs that were often chosen for your gigs were too “poppy,” for lack of a better word. There was not much you can do except keep steady beats intact while you watched Geonu and Jeongin mess around on stage. It was fun watching them get extremely drunk on copious amounts of cheap beer and vodka cranberries, but in the end, you were left performing basic 808s while the rest had their share of fun. 

It wasn’t unfair. It was just the way music was evolving. You weren’t much of a connoisseur to begin with as well, so you sucked it up and kept the musical harmony of the band. After all, what was important to you wasn’t the ability to execute flashy fills or steal the stage from the rest of the members. If you wanted that for yourself, then you wouldn’t be in a band in the first place. The sole purpose of forming a group is to produce quality as a collective, not as individuals—as such, you kept your role practical. So long as you sounded good as a band, that meant you were doing your job right. 

Maybe that was why you got along with everyone very well. Unlike Sungchan, who had a greedy streak of outdoing Geonu’s vocals with his shrill fills, or Jeongin, who had the opposite problem of staying behind and lowering the volume of his bass on the amp, you kept a good balance between showing off your skills and keeping the band’s overall sound in mind. That dynamic was also reflected in the way you interacted with the rest of the band. When you were with Geonu, you were an agent that showed him humility. You would always slap him in the back without any ill will, making sure he understood that there was no hierarchy in the band. 

“We’re not Geonu and friends, you jerk,” You would often say to him while pinching his ears. “We’re Joker In now, and I don’t recall seeing your name at the forefront of our group.”

“My bad, my bad,” Geonu replied, feeling the pain inflicted wherever you pinched him. Sometimes, it would be a drum stick thrown in his direction. When you were feeling generous, you just shook your head and taunted him. 

“I could do your job just as well, wanna bet?” You’d ask, pushing him to your drum kit in jest. Geonu could take jokes pretty well, but whenever this threat would reach his ears, he’d often see his life flash before his very eyes. Even if he prided himself in his skills as a multi-instrumentalist, he didn’t want to admit that he was terrible at the drums. 

You had a relatively peaceful relationship with Jeongin, owing to the fact that you were both in the same section. As such, you had to parle with Jeongin the most about the musical direction of each song Geonu wrote or translated. Since the genre that you often played with the band was along the lines of contemporary indie rock or pop, you didn’t struggle a lot with learning the songs or creating a soft, basic beat that can go along with Geonu’s vocals and Sungchan’s playing. Jeongin’s case was rather different. Although he was a great bassist that had an impeccable sense of rhythm, he lacked the confidence to properly execute all the bass lines he had in mind. Whenever he felt daunting, it would take him a few drinks or a few words of encouragement until he could finally swallow his insecurities and face Geonu. 

“Why are you so scared of that tiny angry man,” You’d often joke, sticking your elbow to Jeongin’s sides. He would look back at you with a flushed and nervous look, scrambling for answers in his fast-paced head while looking back at Geonu. 

It’s not to say he was scared of Geonu, because you can’t really be scared of a man who was his height. Rather, Jeongin was intimidated by Geonu’s presence—and you completely understood where that unfounded sentiment came from. Jeongin was the only one who did not have any experience with live performances prior to joining the band. Sungchan had been playing with Geonu since high school, and you paid your dues back in high school when you were forced to play jazz drums in the big band. Sure, you had a bit of a blank when it came to performing live, but it was easy to get back in the motions of it all when you already knew what to do. Jeongin didn’t have the experience; he only had skill. No matter how great he was at the instrument in theory, he often didn’t know what to do once he was on stage. Geonu would have to pull him back an hour before rehearsals and sound check just to tell him to let loose—which ironically wasn’t something anyone could teach. 

“Loosen up, kid. You just gotta get out there and play! Don’t think about being perfect or fucking up, because once you do, you mess up. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, so you gotta get in there with good vibes only.” 

Jeongin’s gotten better now, but he still shared the same meekness and apprehension when it came to Geonu. You were sure that it’d completely disappear with time, but you weren’t completely confident about the band’s status in a few years. There was a part of you that still considered it a short-term gig—something you’ll eventually grow out of once you graduate from university and get a “real job.” For this reason, you got along with Sungchan quite well. 

Another word about Sungchan: Though he had the longest track record of witnessing Geonu’s god complex, he was also someone that didn’t take the band seriously. In fact, your shock persisted to this day when Sungchan drunkenly told you that he planned to leave the band and music altogether after he graduated.

“This is just a hobby for me,” You vaguely remember him saying with overly dilated pupils and languid, hazy steps. “I think I’ll quit when I get my shit together someday.”

It wasn’t until you were four months deep into the band that you realized why Sungchan didn’t want to pursue music forever. At first, you thought it was an uncomfortable, yet silent and covert tension between Sungchan and Geonu. They’ve known each other for so long; it was natural to have disagreements. Then, you realized through Sungchan’s work ethic and his commitment to the Varsity baseball team that he simply had more going for him than a four-piece cover band. He wasn’t the smartest of the bunch, but he was extremely athletic—which was always a plus when it came to the unlikely colliding worlds of mosh pits and Olympic-level stamina. 

Joker In often had its moments of explosive fights and passive-aggressive silent treatments, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Usually, all it took was for Sungchan to complain that he was hungry, or for Jeongin to take his phone out and plug it into the projector, screening his niche obsession of odd European performances for everyone to see. 

Unfortunately for you, though, the topic of today’s fight was around the one thing that should have brought the band together: Food. 

“What should we eat tonight?” Geonu asked, adjusting the microphone stand with one hand while scanning the messy, crumpled, and coffee-stained lyric sheet in his hands. 

“Pizza?”

“Sungchan, we’ve been having pizza for the past six months. If we order the same shit again I swear I might throw up,” 

“Yeah, I’m siding with Jeongin on this one,” You added, leaning your head on Jeongin’s shoulder while clutching your unruly, growling stomach. “Pizza’s just not it right now.”

“Then what the fuck do we order, captain?” Sungchan snapped, heaving a sigh as he groaned in pain. 

“Hey, don’t call me that!” Geonu replied and returned the sentiment, scratching his head in frustration and confusion. He looked out at the sky and checked his phone, taking quick glances between all the furniture in the basement. The skies were dark, and the only source of light the band had was the dim, low glow of an ancient, yellow light bulb that was still there before they called the place their studio.

“Didn’t I say we’re all equals here?”

“Well, you’re technically writing all the songs that we’ve played so far, and you’ve been really anal about the solo I’ve considered for Butterflies and Katrina…”

To be fair, Sungchan was right. For the past three weeks or so, Sungchan has tried his best to add more input into the mixing process, but Geonu would either turn his suggestions down or ask him to play quieter in recent gigs. At first, Sungchan could understand the frontman’s qualms; it was never in his best interest for anyone to overshadow each member. However, he disagreed with the way that Geonu played favorites. Two nights ago, he caved in and allowed you to perform a drum solo—but then again, that was out of the request of the audience. You were lucky enough to have half your friend group and the entire law society show up to embarrassingly chant your name over and over again until you had the opportunity to strike. For Jeongin, it was much more forceful. Geonu had been trying to replicate the same charisma that Felix had brought to the band, and as a result, he has given Jeongin complicated bass lines that aren’t the easiest to execute in front of a crowd. Geonu had his own moments as well, but he chalked it up to being the “face” of the band. Disagreements between the two were commonplace, but it wasn’t common to completely diminish Sungchan’s role to basic chords and simple riffs. 

“Sungchan, for fuck’s sake,” Geonu replied in his usual tone. “I’m not being anal because I don’t like it. I’m being anal because  I know you could come up with something better. This is the same, lazy, cut-and-paste solo that you’ve been playing in every single show so far, and we need more diversity in our tune to get everyone to eventually listen to the stuff we put out.”

“Geon, we’re a cover band. Don’t you ever forget that,” Sungchan chimed. He was sick of hearing Geonu tell him the same thing since they were in high school. 

“So? Translation takes a lot of work! Besides, the only reason we’ve gained our following so far is that we do something unique and original that Joker Out don’t do on their shows.”

“Oh please, all the gimmicks you do on stage basically count as stealing. You see fan videos of Bojan online and regurgitate that.”

“Oh? Like what? Please give me an example, because from what I can see, the crowd loves what we already do.”

Usually, all it took was for you and Jeongin to step in and break the two apart. Jeongin would console Geonu on the sidelines, and you would take Sungchan out for a “walk” until he came back with a fresh perspective. Sometimes, it took hours—days, even—for both of them to set their differences aside and swear an oath of momentary truce. However, this was the first time you’ve seen their bickering evolve into a full-fledged fight. You snuck glances between a panicked Jeongin, who slowly unplugged his bass and turned off the amp. He looked like an ostrich that constantly peaked his head in all directions, eyes rapidly scavenging the best time to step in and do what he does best. 

“I don’t know? You call our music shagadelic sad boy rock—just like how Joker Out describes themselves,”

“It’s an original word!” 

“It’s not if they’re already using it…”

“Guys!” Jeongin finally screamed. “I’m hungry! Can we just postpone this little lover’s quarrel for another time?”

“Jeongin’s right,” You backed up, watching the two attempt to bicker amidst Jeongin’s ear-grating, dolphin-like screech. “We haven’t eaten anything since we arrived, you know? We’ve just been busy going through our setlist like, five or six times. Can’t we just call for a break and get back once we’ve eaten?” 

“I hate that you’re always right,” Geonu finally responded after a light, pondering pause. “Pizza?”

Before Geonu could start dialing the usual pizza place’s number on his phone, a light creak bounced back and forth between the gray, cement walls of the basement. It came in little waves, then echoed with a booming shriek. The four of you immediately looked behind you, catching the lanky silhouette of a man wearing an oversized rugby shirt with marinara stains all over its striped pattern. He tipped his cap off and gave all four of you a smile, the very definition of heavy embodied in the soft, yet dense movement of each footstep. He wasn’t even wearing leather boots or platforms; his sneakers seemed to shake the entire room with every step he took. Once you were able to catch a glimpse of the intense redness in his eyes, you finally knew why someone who appeared so light carried such weight with him. 

“Oh my god, you scared me, Hee!” You jokingly exclaimed, greeting him with a strong pat on the shoulder. He cocked his head back and forth, giant, glassy eyes adjusting to see the blurriness of your face. Once he was able to stay still, he returned the gesture with a wave that almost knocked him down to the ground. 

“You losers didn’t call the shop so I got worried you died or something,” Heeseung said, passing the large box of pizza to Sungchan before slumping his entire body on one of the couches in the studio. “This place looks pretty gnarly, so I kinda expected a horror movie plot going on where one of you goes insane and murders everyone in the room.”

“To be fair, you did come at the right time,” You said, practically shoving a glass of water in Heeseung’s mouth. “Geonu was one step closer to ripping Sungchan’s head off just now.”

“Did you bring the usual?” Sungchan asked, knowing the answer just by the whiff of garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella that wafted throughout the entire basement. 

“Yeah, so every single one of you better pay me back. This was out of pocket.”

“You have the employee’s discount though, so the total price was probably around like, 12,000 won or something,” Jeongin said, trying his best to hold his laughter while taking a slice of pizza out of the box. Whenever Heeseung came with pizza, the war zone between Geonu and Sungchan subsides into a peaceful truce. 

“Hey, shit’s brutal lately, okay? I gotta get my money back.” 

Heeseung kept his body within the crevices of the old, unwashed couch, sinking his body further and further until he practically disappeared from your current realm of reality. At this rate, you would be surprised if Heeseung could get up and go home on his own. Though he was notorious for smoking copious amounts of weed every day, it wasn’t like him to show up to work completely fried. While the boy had problems with addiction, he was perhaps behind Geonu went it came to self-control and resilience. One time, he was able to quit weed for an entire month to focus on his studies. In those four months, he refused temptation altogether like a patron saint. No matter how many people tried to tempt him with a single puff or a bong rip, he would cover his nose and run away from the room. So far, he’s never caved in during these periods of asceticism. 

“Fine, you stingy ass motherfucker,” Geonu replied, opening his phone to send a few Wons to the demanding pothead. “Broke ass bitch.”

“Can I talk to you real quick?” Heeseung suddenly interrupted. His brain shouldn’t be capable of multitasking in his current state, but the addition of money to his bank account was enough for him to forget about collecting his debt from the band. 

“If it’s about that guy then I don’t wanna hear it. Besides, that’s all you talk to me about.”

“Beomgyu’s not bad if you give him a chance, trust me.”

Beomgyu. Hearing the name alone was enough for you to reach the same levels of anger that Geonu and Sungchan had just presented. Whenever the topic of Beomgyu came into the conversation, Geonu and Sungchan’s outbursts seemed like nothing but child’s play. While their arguments could easily be solved between a slice of pizza or a pint or two, you could never imagine yourself sitting idly and peacefully at a dining table with Beomgyu. 

“Trust you?” You suddenly interjected, anger slowly seeping into your brain with each passing second. “Trust you? The person who gets insanely high and goes to Starbucks because you find the barista cute? No thanks!” 

“Hey, man,”

“Don’t hey man me, you prick.”

“But you’re gonna love what I’m about to tell you,” Heeseung shushed, doing his very best to lull your unquenchable temper. The funniest thing to him was how being quick to anger was never in your personality. Throughout all the times that he’s known you, he was sure that it took infinite attempts to get you to at least crack or start getting annoyed—not angry. This was why no matter how much he tried to restrain himself, he couldn’t. It was too much fun watching you explode over some guy that apparently made it his life-long goal to get under your skin as much as possible—the best, or worst part about it is that it worked too well. 

“I caught Beomgyu listening to Joker Out lately,” Heeseung started, barely containing the eruption of laughter that was bottled within the confines of his throat. “It’s probably your doing,”

“Of course he would,” You snapped, rolling your eyes at the thought of Beomgyu listening to your band’s idols. “He’s nothing without me,”

“You know what the better part is? He’s trying to learn Slovenian so he can one-up you and see them live in Europe or something,”

“I don’t care,”

“You clearly do,” 

When it came to Beomgyu, you were terrible at keeping your temper in check. This was a well-known fact among your bandmates and a funnier gag to Heeseung. While your bandmates tried their best to pretend Beomgyu didn’t exist in your so-called friend group, they counted on Heeseung to spark the dormant anger within you. It’s not as if they were afraid of you, per se. It was more so the idea of taking responsibility; they’d rather let Heeseung take the fall than have you endlessly scream at them throughout practice for even mentioning Beomgyu’s existence. To be fair, they were right. With Sungchan and Geonu, things were simple. Even if they were to start punching each other during practice, everything could be solved if they ordered a slice of pizza. With you, however, things were different. You would endlessly talk about how much you hated Beomgyu regardless of the occasion. Even if there were pizza or expensive tickets to see your favorite band live, you would never let your loathing for Beomgyu come to a timely rest. It was always in the back of your brain, itching to come out at every opportunity you had. 

“Look at you, little miss I have to be number one in everything,” Heeseung mocked in his inebriated state. He took a dab pen out of his pocket and inhaled its contents, watching the world around him slow down by the minute as your warped, contorted face continued to deepen its wrinkles. You were tempted to take a huff, but adamantly shook your head in absolute refusal. 

“Say that one more time and I’ll hit your already empty head,” You replied, already hitting him a couple of times on the shoulder. 

“Ouch,”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?! He’s the one who started this whole thing! I never even wanted it to be this way!”

“Yeah you kinda did,” 

“How?!” 

“I don’t know? Like, that one time you got angry because he beat you in a project,”

At this point, the band dropped everything to pay attention to Heeseung. He was already somewhat dangerous when he was sober, but he practically had no filter when he was high—which was, to be fair, about ninety percent of his existence. Whenever Heeseung was high, all social filters were removed, allowing him to gain access to all of the things that would incite anger in you. This time, it was the sacred project that sparked the endless rivalry between you and Beomgyu. The band knew to keep their mouths shut around the topic to maintain the peace that they kept between you, but Heeseung? The word peace itself didn’t seem to exist whenever he was too high to even think about what he would order at Starbucks. 

“Well, that’s because he kept rubbing it in my face! I wanted to congratulate him!” 

“He told me you got this close to beating him up in the lecture hall,” Heeseung replied, failing to contain the large grin that was permanently etched on his face. “One of the TAs practically had to grab you before you swung your knuckles in his face.”

“Well, that’s because he kept being annoying about it! He said I got a good mark because I sucked the professor’s dick!” 

“You should know him by now, though. He has no filter.”

“But he said it like he meant it,”

“Yeah… about that…”

Even if Heeseung was, indeed, high, he was not a snitch—at least, he believed himself to be a man of his word. Even if tormenting you with talks of Beomgyu was one of his favorite forms of entertainment, what he refused to tell you was that Beomgyu was doing it out of his weird ways of telling you he had the hots for you. Heeseung didn’t know much about Beomgyu, to begin with, but to him, obsession in all forms was a pure sign of attraction. 

“Look, I think you two just need to lock yourselves in a room and fuck,” Geonu interrupted, rolling his eyes at the scene playing in front of him. A part of him enjoyed watching you lose your cool at a single man that couldn’t even utter proper insults correctly. Whenever Geonu had the displeasure of seeing you and Beomgyu fight, he ironically laughed at the two of you without realizing that it was pretty much a reflection of his own battles with Sungchan. 

“Hee’s right,” Jeongin quietly muttered, breaking his silence after devouring the last pizza slice. “I think you just need to get laid.”

“Excuse me?” You replied, mouth agape at the thought that Jeongin out of all people would call you out in your endless musings towards Beomgyu. “For your information, I do get some.”

“Oh really? When?” Sungchan joked. “When was the last time you fucked?”

“Last month!” 

“Rebounds don’t count.”

“Yes, they do!” 

“No, they don’t.”

A word about your rebound: it didn’t count. It was just a quick hate fuck with an ex that you haven’t talked to in three years. There was no preamble; it was action without thought. You didn’t even bother asking for her contact information after, and the two of you parted ways in mutual acknowledgement to never cross paths again. In that sense, it didn’t count. 

“Anyway, you better sort whatever beef you got going on with Beomgyu out. It’s getting really annoying watching you two fight all the time.” Heeseung said, taking another puff out of his dab pen once he started to feel the ground on his feet again. 

“Why is it up to me to fix things?! As I’ve said so many times before, he’s the one who started this whole mess!” 

“Sure…”

“Why don’t you guys believe me?!” 

“Have you seen yourself?” Geonu interrupted, scratching his head at your poor attempts at salvaging your once calm demeanor. “You’re like, little miss perfect. You’re in like, a million different student clubs, you’re volunteering around campus to the point where you live there—hell, you’re even running for student government this year.”

“Well, that’s because I need to! I need my resume to look good or else I’ll be unemployed for the rest of my life! It’s not like I’m doing so much because Beomgyu does a lot too!” You rebuked, treating the basement like a criminal court. So far, all the witnesses acted as judges with a gavel, striking each of their hammers down to denounce your alibi. Even if you believed you were right, it was up to them to recite the final verdict: Sure enough, you were guilty. Guilty of the vice that is competitiveness. 

“I mean, I believe you when you say that, but you have to admit that you’ve been overworking yourself since you met the guy like, three years ago,” Sungchan admitted, shuffling his feet towards you to give you gentle pats on your back. 

“No I haven’t!” 

“Listen,” Geonu started with a deep sigh. “You’re in varsity, you’re in charity, you almost joined a cult, you’re in debates, you used to be a senior editor for the school paper, you completed your internship like last month, you’re acing all your classes, you’re in the administrative board for your faculty’s association, and you’re in Joker In. That’s overkill, and I’m betting my dick on you not doing this much had you not met Beomgyu.”

“He just brings out the worst in me!” You screamed to no avail. This was the dead end of your court case, and you had to leave the basement without the last word. 

“He brings out the private school overachiever in you that’s for sure,” Heeseung joked, his pupils consuming the whites of his eyes until they were overly expanded like obsidian marbles. 

“That was so uncalled for, Hee. Put a trigger warning before you make my PTSD worse,” 

“Sorry, princess, didn’t realize that going to a super rich private school would be the same as surviving the Korean War,”

“Get the fuck out, Hee.” 

You had to stand your ground. Every single time the conversation led to Beomgyu, you were always seen as enemy number one. To be fair, you were the more aggressive out of the two of you. While Beomgyu limited himself to crass insults, you elevated the threat of physical assault and a free boxing match for all of the university to see. Sure, it wasn’t your intention to want to beat him up into a neat, fine pulp, but there was something about Beomgyu that always made you so violent. 

“And tell Beomgyu that he’s a prick!” You shouted, after finally managing to push an incredibly high Heeseung out the door. Through the small cracks that you left open, you could see him stumbling on his feet as he began to walk away, waving your figure off with a haughty grin. As always, he left his hat in your basement, and once you descended to the meeting point, you picked it up and threw it out of the broken glass windows, watching it swing back and forth between its sharp shards. 

“You two really need to see a marriage counselor or something,” Geonu whispered, watching your rage slowly disperse into your usual calm. 

“Geonu’s right, and I rarely agree with that cunt,” Sungchan added, attempting to flail his elongated arms on Geonu’s shoulders. 

“Hey! We’ve been playing together for centuries and this is how you repay me?”

“My bad, captain,”

“I think you two need to go to couples therapy instead of them,” Jeongin interrupted, using his thin, fox-like eyes to slyly look at the pair. “I mean, you guys have been at it since high school. They’ve only been at it for like, three years.”

“Thank you, Jeongin. Thank you.” 

As always, it was up to Jeongin to fix things whenever the entire band was on the brink of disbandment. For Jeongin, though, it was another stressful addition to his reluctant ventures as a member of Joker In. First, it was his anxieties about keeping Felix’s legacy after he left. Then, it was helping you mitigate the couple’s quarrels that Geonu and Sungchan always found themselves in. Now, it was helping you calm down after the mere mention of Beomgyu’s existence. 

“Anyway, let’s get back to practice. Rhythm first,” Geonu snapped. The one thing about him that made him an efficient frontman was his ability to gather the team back into practice. No matter how many times he’d often want to throw his microphone stand in Sungchan’s face or duct tape your mouth shut whenever Heeseung would come in and deliberately bring Beomgyu up, he had faith that the entire band would succumb to obedience once he took control. 

“Why?” Jeongin grumbled. To his detriment, Geonu had asked the rhythm section to double their practice time for the past week. At first, he didn’t really see an issue with this, but now, he was skeptical. You, too, shared the same sentiment, looking at Jeongin in confusion before reluctantly shrugging your shoulders and picking your drum sticks from the floor. 

“I have to talk to Sungchan about something important,”

With this, you gave Geonu a salute and watched the two climb up from the basement and disappear altogether. Once they were gone, you started to hit your sticks together, counting from two as you waited for Jeongin to play the backing track. 

As for Geonu and Sungchan, they eased into the abandoned kitchen of the rustic house, watching Heeseung’s slumped, sleeping figure on the broken couch. They made sure to drop him home before you finished your round with Jeongin, and they hurried to one of the care packages they’d often pack for a bottle of water. 

“How do we tell her that Beomgyu’s been sneaking into our gigs?” Geonu asked in a hushed voice, his ears turned to the direction of the stairs that led into the basement. 

“I mean, I don’t think we need to tell her,” Sungchan replied. “It’s gonna ruin the band and everything we’ve got going for us so far.” He nonchalantly took a sip of his water and took a quick glance at Heeseung, who was knocked out cold. 

“What do you mean? I think she deserves to know so the two of them can finally fix things,”

“Geon, it’s not that easy,”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t, but I can tell,” Sungchan muttered, trying to keep his already quiet voice even lower. “It’s probably just them blowing some steam off because they couldn’t find a way to do it before,”

“Hate fucking?” Heeseung joked, keeping one eye open before slumping back down into the comforts of the smelly, tic-ridden couch. Geonu also reminded himself to tell Heeseung to visit the doctor and take a long shower once he got home. 

“Not quite,” Sungchan said, returning the sentiment while walking towards Heeseung with another bottle of water. “You know, if you think about it, both of them come from a pretty well-to-do background. They’re both in the same program, and from what I sort of know about her situation and from what I can guess about Beomgyu, they’re both just facing the consequences of overbearing tiger parents,”

“What did she tell you?” Geonu asked. He was always one for good gossip. Unfortunately, Sungchan wasn’t. 

“That’s not my story to tell, I’m just trying to see it from her perspective,”

“So we don’t tell her?” Geonu asked again, rolling his eyes at Sungchan’s tight-lipped nature. 

“I mean, if she finds out, then she finds out. Just let it happen on its own.”

“And how do we make sure that nothing too messy happens in our gigs?”

“I don’t know, let them fight it off if it happens,” Sungchan muttered after a long, quiet thought. He’s thought about the scenario one too many times, but he wasn’t one to stop the inevitable. “It’s good to let all that pent-up frustration out I guess…”

“You’re too nice, Sung.”

“I know, Geon. I know.”

“What?! Come again?!” 

For Heeseung to call Beomgyu’s voice a scream was an understatement. If a dolphin were to learn to speak, it would sound better than Beomgyu whenever the topic surrounded you and your entire being. It was for this reason that Heeseung sometimes loathed the idea of coming home; he supposed the price of free rent came at a cost of living with the earthly incarnation of wrath. 

“Gyu, I know you heard me the first time,” Heeseung said, attempting to cover his ears to no avail. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hee. My ears are getting bad from hearing her name!” Beomgyu screamed again, fury visible in the twitches of his eyes. 

“Jesus, you don’t have to shout at me… I’m just your messenger boy,”

“And I don’t need to hear about her! So what if she’s playing their songs? She’s probably gonna fuck it all up anyway…”

“Says the person who went to their gig two nights ago,”

In the same way Heeseung knew all the tricks and tactics to turn you into a red, fuming ball of anger, he also knew how to push all of Beomgyu’s buttons. Then again, it wasn’t that difficult to get Beomgyu angry, for Beomgyu was the type of person to get angry at a mere fly that happened to land on his shoulder. It was very easy to tick Beomgyu off, but only you had the power to get him into a continual period of rage that never ceased to disappear the moment he hears your name or catches a whiff of your scent. Heeseung wouldn’t compare Beomgyu’s so-called hatred towards you in a predator-prey dynamic—to him, both of you were blood-thirsty warlords that could never come to terms with a ceasefire to the detriment of the rest of the world. 

“Hee, I swear, if you told her that—”

“Don’t worry, Gyu. I’m not a snitch.” Heeseung interrupted. “What I am, though, is a messenger boy, and if I’m being honest with you, I’m getting sick of my job. Just admit that you like her and I don’t know? Go fuck her or something,”

“Hee, I don’t like her. Let me correct myself: I will never like her. I like her band, not her.”

Beomgyu was an enigma in many, many ways, but what never failed to amuse Heeseung about his reluctant roommate was how hatred was stronger than attraction or any feelings of love. Beomgyu was the type of person to go through lovers like a page in a novel—fast, yet detailed, but never stuck on the same page for too long. And yet, when it came to you, he seemed to be an avid reader that ceaselessly consumed and repurposed every page of a novel, adding and subtracting everything that he could concentrate all of his energy on understanding the layers and complexities of a text revered by schools and institutions alike. 

“All you talk about is how impeccable the mastering is on the drums whenever you listen to their SoundCloud…”

“So? I just happen to like how she plays. That’s not a testament to me liking her,”

“Why do you hate her so much, Gyu? I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly ask,”

Heeseung never had the chance to ask Beomgyu out of fear, even when he was high. That was the one thing that never went away no matter what state he was in. To be fair, he had every right to be scared or fearful in any shape or form; he’s never seen a type of hatred as intense and raw as the one Beomgyu harbored over you. 

“Because she exists, Hee. She exists.” 

“Can’t you just let it go?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Beomgyu took a deep breath. He hated that he always ran out of something so essential to life whenever you came up. “Because some dipshit keeps telling my parents that she’s basically beating me in everything! Her!”

“So…?” Heeseung replied, rolling his eyes at the underwhelming result of their rivalry. “Why can’t you just tell them to shut up and mind their own business?”

“I wish it was that easy, Hee. God, I wish. Every time they call me it’s like Oh that girl got number one again! Oh that girl’s president of the law society, why are you VP external? Beomgyu-yah, why can’t you be better?”

Another word about Choi Beomgyu: If it wasn’t as clear as day, then it would be helpful to explain it now. He was from a well-to-do family with no financial obligations or the threat of living a brooding, middle-class life chasing paycheck after paycheck to sustain the bare necessities in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. With this in mind, Heeseung begins to paint a kaleidoscopic diagram of the various reasons why Beomgyu may be so hung up on always being number two against you. He closed his eyes, allowed the remaining traces of cannabis to set the cogs in his brain into motion, and came up with an epiphany that shook him to the core: Beomgyu was a bored, rich kid that needed something to keep him at his toes, and you were the very stimulant that he was looking for. Sure, it was, in a sense, an underwhelming conclusion, but Heeseung could only digress. He wasn’t born into a family that had it all, and he reckons that if he didn’t have to worry about his finances, he would end up being a bratty, bored student out for blood just like the very person that offered him a taste of wealth in a sky-high apartment. 

“Yikes… Talk about Tiger King and Queen…”

“So yeah, it is personal.” Beomgyu spat. It would be rude to call the boy tone deaf—especially in his hot-headed state. Heeseung kept his mouth shut, something that he rarely did when he was inebriated in any form. 

“You don’t have to tell them about her, you know?” He asked after finding the right words to say. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and huffed under his breath, his hands twitching to throw his phone off the balcony. 

“I’m not! That’s the point! I’m not telling them about her! They’re just stalking me on their own!” 

At this moment, Heeseung thought of trying his best to reconcile the bad blood between you and Beomgyu. Then again, he pondered—another thing he never seems to do. If he were to succeed in getting you and Beomgyu to set your respective differences aside, then he wouldn’t have his very own source of entertainment anymore. As much as he would’ve hated to admit, he always looked forward to getting high just to hear Beomgyu complain about you. What made it even funnier to him was how you were nothing like the devil that Beomgyu pictured. It wasn’t to say you were an angel that descended from the heavens, either. You were, in fairness, just an average university student that couldn’t—and shouldn’t—care less about a rich boy that endlessly yapped about you. Without Beomgyu in the picture, you were just a drummer that had to deal with another pair of noisy rivals that needed to go to some form of couple’s therapy. 

“Hee, you don’t get it, do you?” Beomgyu suddenly spoke, breaking the short-lived silence that Heeseung tried to salvage. 

“Afraid not.”

“I can’t get along with someone like her. I just can’t. She gets on my nerves, and I wish she didn’t exist!”

It was common for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain about his parents and his brother in the few months or so of him living with the boy. In fact, it was a routine for Heeseung to hear Beomgyu complain. That was what he was good at, and he was glad that he was putting his skills to good use by choosing the right program and career path. Now that Heeseung had the chance to picture it, Beomgyu would make a fine lawyer, incessantly nagging his way through each court case until the jury rules in his favor so he would shut up. 

“Jesus, you rich kids are kind of an ick…” Heeseung whispered. He gave Beomgyu a quick wave and headed straight to the balcony, closing it to see his roommate flash him the middle finger. He returned it with a smile, and fished a lighter out of his jean pocket to light the stem of a dirty, unwashed bong that was filled with beer instead of water. 

“You should be lucky I’m letting you live here for free,” Beomgyu mouthed through the glass windows just enough for Heeseung to see. 

“Yeah, I guess hearing you pine about a fellow overachiever and trauma dump about your terrible childhood is better than paying for rent,” Heeseung replied, opening the door to let Beomgyu into the balcony. Beomgyu hated it whenever Heeseung would smoke. A part of it came from the stench that stuck to his hair and clothes despite three laundry loads in the washing machine, and another part came from his irrational fear of anything related to drugs—which was rather odd since he was the type of person who was pretty loose when it came to drinking copious amounts of alcohol at social gatherings. 

“Hee, if I go to jail one day, you’ll probably be out of this earth to witness it.”

“Oh, I’m so scared!” 

Heeseung tried his best to stifle a bout of laughter that began to accumulate in his lungs but to no avail. In an instant, he was a laughing mess with red-laced eyes, and all Beomgyu could do was cover his nose as the hooded boy continued to blow smoke on his face. 

“Close the fucking door when you smoke, you’re hotboxing the entire apartment,” Beomgyu screamed, storming out of the balcony to close the glass windows shut. Before he could go back to his room, Heeseung stood up and opened the door again, letting the stench of weed laced with moldy beer enter the ventilation system. 

“You should try it sometime, Gyu. It’d loosen the stick up your ass for sure,” Heeseung said with a languid touch to his cadence. Every word and movement he uttered was met with heavy restraint, and Beomgyu knew that Heeseung wasn’t on earth anymore. 

“Are you coming?” Beomgyu asked. He knew there was nothing he could do to reason with someone that was properly baked. 

“To what?” Heeseung responded, almost shattering the bong in his hands as he languidly danced back into the apartment. 

“Joker In’s gig tonight,” Beomgyu said reluctantly—almost too quick for Heeseung to catch. 

“Gyu, I deliver their pizza like, every day. I don’t need to go there again unless they give me shrooms for free.”

“Whatever,”

Beomgyu stormed off into the bathroom to grab the essentials that he relied on for the perfect disguise: a disappearing can of Manic Panic hair dye in neon red, a pair of scissors and a bunch of razorblades that he used to tear his jeans and his tank tops, a pencil of kohl eyeliner that he stole from one of his first hookups during freshman year, and a near-empty bottle of black nail polish. Heeseung often joked about how his so-called “disguise” was just a blast from the MySpace, scene-girl past, but Beomgyu refuses to admit that his go-to look to your gigs was less-than-perfect. He’s snuck into your gigs since he saw you secretly put posters of a Valentine’s bash on every crevice of the law faculty; he was sure a couple more gigs couldn’t hurt before the inevitable occurs. 

“You’re going alone?” Heeseung asked, waving at his reflection in the mirror while trying his best to stop himself from uncontrollably laughing. 

“Yeah, why?”

“What if she sees you?”

“Have you seen her play? She only focuses on rubbing two sticks. I doubt she’d even notice me.” Beomgyu replied, sharpening his eyeliner. Heeseung knocked the bottle of nail polish and caught it, a wide grin of pride on his face as he carefully placed it back in its original position near the sink. 

“See? You’re constantly horny for her,”

“I’m not, she’s ugly and she’s annoying,”

“And yet you’re going to her gig,”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” To Beomgyu’s surprise, this had become his way of saying goodbye to Heeseung whenever he would go to your band’s gig. He used to push Heeseung out of the bathroom so he could concentrate on applying eyeliner on his waterline, but he’s become desensitized to the stings that he would feel when he would accidentally poke his eyes. Sometimes, Heeseung was willing to help Beomgyu apply red dye to his hair, tracing the lines of his tattoos around his arms and calling them crude shapes such as dick nozzle or pee pee stains. Whether he liked it or not, it had unfortunately become a ritual to have Heeseung with him when he was going through his transformation, and now, he was afraid that Heeseung’s absence wouldn’t give him the push and comfort he needed to go through with his covert operation to see you play the drums.

“I’m calling out to you, I wish I could hide,

Oh, no one loves me tonight

It’s just my demons and I,”

This was supposedly the hundredth time that Beomgyu had seen Geonu sing, but he could never learn from his mistakes. Alcohol, nicotine, and Geonu’s voice seemed to give Beomgyu the worst cross-faded experience of his life. Contrary to what others might believe, Beomgyu felt like this during all of Joker In’s gigs because Geonu was too good at his job. His voice had an enchanting quality to it that made Beomgyu’s walls collapse into putty, turning the decrepit paint-job of the basement into one, giant quicksand that continually pulled Beomgyu in. It didn’t help that the rest of the band amplified Geonu’s hypnotic timbre; Sungchan’s guitar acted as a second voice that harmoniously meshed with the mystic melodies that left Beomgyu in a trance-like reverie; Jeongin’s bass didn’t act as a stabilizer with its own heavy renditions of weightless bliss—and, of course, you. 

Suspension of disbelief was something that Beomgyu thought he could never accomplish, and yet, the moment you started to strike each tom with your drum stick, he knew that everything in his life didn’t matter to him anymore. He supposes it was the power of music, but he also hatefully admits that your skills carried an unbreakable spell with each note you hit. Rhythm wasn’t even something he particularly enjoyed, seeing as most of the music he listened to was melodic and lyrical in nature. It was only when you took the seat to the drum kit that he was finally able to stand close to the speakers, in the very corner he saved for himself, just to see your tireless figure effortlessly match the energy of the rest of the band. He didn’t know what it was that made him nearly obsessed with the way you played: What it the nonchalance you brought to the stage? Or was it the fills you’d add here and there whenever there was an instrumental break? Was it perhaps the almost-melodic nature of your playing that aroused not just him, but everyone in the room into a mosh-pit frenzy? Maybe it was the way you looked when you played—but he wasn’t drunk enough just yet to admit something so… raunchy. 

The walls started to fade one by one, and the group of people that crowded all corners of the basement slowly blended together into various forms and colors. The neon, old gray test lights that dyed the room in a diverse spectrum of colors swirled into one, hazy, hypnotic vision that almost made Beomgyu nauseous. Geonu’s voice began disappearing into thin air, and all he could hear was the muffled bass drum that you kicked with patterned intervals. 

This was out of the norm, and Beomgyu’s recklessness amplified into tenfolds of fear. He couldn’t feel the sensations of his skin anymore; his eyes continued to swirl into an amalgamation of colors and people that looked like blurry amoebas; time seemed difficult to track as everything was moving too fast and slow for him to ground himself; each body he bumped into felt like he was getting crushed under its weight; Beomgyu couldn’t breathe; Beomgyu couldn’t see anything anymore; the only thing that Beomgyu could hear was an all too familiar voice that he wasn’t sure he hated or loved. 

“Hey, you alright?”

When Beomgyu opened his eyes, he was outside the concert venue, crouched down on the same levels of the tall grass that tickled his face. His cheeks felt cold to the touch, almost as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. He felt through his hair and tried to contain the fear that embraced his body, locked in a state of panic at the sight of bright red staining his palms. It took a while for him to realize that it was just the temporary dye that he’d placed on his hair, but the apprehension and trepidation came to haunt him again when he looked up to see your concerned, glassy eyes. 

“You don’t look too good,” You repeated, kneeling down to his level as you lit a cigarette and blew the smoke against his direction. There were several empty water bottles next to you, coupled with an entire cooler filled with soft drinks, fruit juice, and whatever Beomgyu could see in the dimly lit outdoors of the outskirts of town. 

“No, I’m fine.” He breathlessly replied, staring down at the soles of his scuffed, leather combat boots. There was no way he could look up now. He could tell that you weren’t convinced; your chuckles made the pits of his stomach dance with the bile that was piling up in the organ. You took a water bottle and gently held his face in the soft surface of your palms, letting the liquid slowly refresh the corners of Beomgyu’s mouth. The haziness that he felt in his vision slowly dispersed into clarity—which worsened the nausea that overwhelmed Beomgyu in waves. It was the first time he got this close to you without wanting to rip your head off. He didn’t know how he felt about it, but the remnants of alcohol that swirled throughout his bloodstream made his cheeks flush in a bright shade of red. He quickly took the water bottle away from you, drowning himself in its cool temperature. Maybe that way, he would wake up and remind himself that you shouldn’t be a friend. 

The cool winds of the summer night grazed his cheeks in a tender embrace as he tried his best to keep his head down. He relentlessly prayed that the dimness of the venue’s entrance would hide his worst-kept features from you, fearing for the worst. Ever since his first visit to your band’s gig, he’s never felt something so close to a palpable sense of freedom—a euphoric high that gave him the taste of being a carefree young adult caught up in the fast times of rock music and decadence. He’s thought about making amends just to keep his little, secret sanctuary intact, but his stubborn pride wouldn’t allow him to yield to someone like you. Now that he was sober enough to think about it, he found the irony behind you embodying both his shackles to parental approval and a one-way ticket to liberation quite laughably fascinating. During the day, you were the very picture of something his parents wished he could be, and during the night, you had all the qualities of becoming a musician he idolized. He cursed fate under his breath, wishing that you weren’t blessed with the gifts of intelligence and innate leadership skills. He refused to admit it, but in another life where all you were to him was a drummer in his favorite band, he would’ve given you the benefit of the doubt and let you into his life. 

He was reminded of your presence when you hovered a thin, white stick in front of him that glowed within the vast darkness of the night sky. He politely refused, shaking his head as a way to tell you that he didn’t smoke. You stifled a bout of laughter and tucked the cigarette back into its flimsy, dilapidated box, taking a languid seat next to the boy that you decided to take care of without realizing that he was the main source of your misery in your school life. 

“What was the last song that you guys performed? I think I missed it because I blacked out or something,” Beomgyu asked with slight hesitance. 

“A new version of Vem Da Greš that Geonu translated a few days ago,” You replied, humming the tune to the song that he wished he saw you play live. Something inside of him was telling him that he shouldn’t stay here any longer, so he got up and stretched his arms and legs, callously calculating his angles so you wouldn’t see a single hint of his face. He reveled in your denseness but despised your natural amiability. Once you got up and mimicked his stretches, he turned his head back and stuffed his hand in his jean pocket, fishing for his keys as he mustered a small goodbye in your direction. 

“Are you sure you can go home alone?” You asked. “I can drop you off at the bus stop or something, since this place is pretty far out from the nearest city,”

A part of Beomgyu knew that the city lights would reveal his identity, but another part of him also knew how stubborn you can be. Even if he were to tell you that he was fine, and that he’s been known to rely on drunk navigation a lot, he was sure you would ceaselessly insist on taking him home. That was another thing he hated about you—you were too nice, too caring, and too kind to be his rival. 

“I’ll be fine,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to change the tone and cadence of his usual voice. As expected, your cackles echoed across the large stretches of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house that your band inherited, and you slowly walked closer to his side to poke his shoulders. 

“You were literally wobbling around the basement, and if it weren’t for a nice group of girls that nursed you back to health at the sofa, you wouldn’t be here standing up to go home,” 

Beomgyu covertly checked the time on his phone, afraid that the phone case filled with his cards and IDs would give his identity away. The time read 03:46 A.M., and he heaved a long, drawn-out sigh. He should’ve called Heeseung a little earlier to pick him up before he got absolutely wasted. In fairness, he could just call an Uber and hitch a ride home, but the transaction would raise another round of suspicion for his parents. He already had enough to worry about when he turned off his location and lied about going on weekly hiking trips with his friends, and he didn’t want to subject himself to another endless lecture and the threat of heightened surveillance from his parents. 

“Fine,” 

You jogged back to the venue and quickly came out with several water bottles in your small backpack, tossing one in Beomgyu’s direction. It was already bad enough for him that you out of all people saved him from his drunken downfall. The last thing he needed to end his night was to go on a long walk back into the city with someone he was supposed to hate. 

“So, where do you live, if I may ask?” 

Beomgyu pondered. He didn’t have to tell you his exact address. “Around Mapo-gu, near Mapo station.” 

“Oh?”

He didn’t like the lack of response on your end. A low, vibrating hum escaped your lips, and you snapped your fingers as your mouth widened in amusement. “That’s where my friend lives! I can ask him to pick you up once we get there!” 

You quickly took your phone out of your pocket and held it in your ear, too quick for Beomgyu to protest and stop you from doing so. Now, he was sure it was all over. The moment he heard the receiver pick up, he braced himself for what was to come. 

“Hee, are you awake right now?” You asked, impatiently tapping your foot on the concrete roads that led to the only bus stop in sight—a shadowy silhouette of a thin, metal pipe with a flat circle that read Supsok Village Complex 2. He took a quick glance at your fretful stance, fidgeting with the straps of your phone’s drum keychain while fiddling with the pair of sticks that were lodged under the straps of your loose, billowy joggers. A satisfied hum huffed out of his breathless mouth when he saw you irately throw your phone inside your backpack. Even if Heeseung didn’t pick him up from the venue tonight, he knew that he could always rely on his copious cannabis routine to fall into a deep, unyielding sleep around this hour.

“I’m sorry, my friend’s a bit of a pothead so he’s probably knocked out cold or something,” You apologetically muttered. I would know, he’s my fucking roommate, Beomgyu thought to himself, returning your regretful sentiment with the only form of forgiveness he was willing to give you. Now, it was just the two of you, and Beomgyu had no clue if he should take the long, arduous hike back to his apartment or be thankful enough for your clumsy attempts at assisting him back to his domicile. The fact that he leaned towards succumbing to your aid made him realize that he wasn’t as good with alcohol as he would’ve liked—and now, he was sitting right next to you, eyes glued on his warped reflection in the glass windows as he watched you idly fidget in your seat. He was more than willing to suffer through the entire bus ride to his area of town in awkward silence, but judging from the way you tapped your feet and snuck quick glances between his brows and the tip of his nose, he knew that there was no escaping your desires for a tangible conversation. 

“So… did you enjoy the show?” You asked after passing through six different bus stops. Beomgyu played with the loose hems of his tattered tank top, letting the seams go undone. He didn’t expect you to take your hoodie off in one motion, tossing it to the side of his neck as you quickly looked away. He tried his best to etch the rare shyness he saw written on your curved, cat-like spine; this was definitely something he’ll be bullying you for tomorrow. 

Was he at fault for catching you in your most vulnerable state? No. You were just too dense to realize that the handsome, messy, rocked-out, drunk stranger right next to you was the very bane of your existence. 

Beomgyu’s glory was short-lived, though. Now, he had to make the move. He remembered what his brother had taught him back in middle school, when Beomgyu was still struggling through incessant voice cracks and embarrassing one-liners that he’d religiously recite to get the girl of his then-dreams to bat a single eyelash in his direction. Step one, take a deep breath—because oxygen is the key to looking good, apparently. Step two, expand the diaphragm to fill the ribcage and beyond. It provided the facade of chest muscles. Step three, turn the chin low enough so the vocal cords could only register low notes—he didn’t know the science behind it, but he found that doing these three steps immensely lowered his already low, baritone voice into unknown depths (Beomgyu would like to add that he would never do this sober. It took courage for him to fall for his brother’s tricks, and he was only ever so courageous when he was drowned in eighteen glasses of tequila sunrise). 

“Y-yeah, you guys did great as always,” Did it work? 

No, it didn’t. The timid shyness in your slouched stature was gone, replaced with your best attempts at keeping your laughter within the confines of your throat. He couldn’t tell if you were choking on air, stifling your dinner and pushing it back into your stomach, or suffering through an intense, sharp pain in your abdomen. All he knew at the moment was that the tension that was once present in the air instantly dispelled into the flowery picture of two young adults failing to hold their laughter back in the empty seats of the night bus. It was certainly an odd experience for Beomgyu to not just share a ride home with someone he would very much murder in the confines of an empty, night bus, but he couldn’t deny how right things felt at the moment. Within the dim, flickering fluorescent lights of the shaky bus, all he could see was another universe through the reflections of the glass windows—a universe where he met you under different circumstances. A different reality where he would take you home and house you in his apartment, watching sad movies in his bedroom until the first sunrise. 

Are you more of an action person, or comedy? My favorite genre is melodrama, he wanted to say. Maybe in his “new” identity as a faux washed-up youth in leather combat boots and ripped jeans, he might have some leeway into managing his double life. Tirelessly hating you for three years straight certainly added tired him out, so perhaps it would be a new thing to try 

“Ah, a repeater,”

“That’s… odd? I don’t see you around a lot, though,” You replied. It was often common for your band to track and befriend those that constantly attend your shows—then again, you weren’t the best judge of that. Each gig always ended in 

“That’s because I don’t stick around after the encore. I just leave once the song is done,” Beomgyu replied, trying his best to alter the tone in his voice. He couldn’t tell if you were just extremely tired or if you had too much to drink, but the deep swirls of colors under your lids was enough for him to feel a sense of security in his identity being under wraps. Just like the milkiness of the dark skies that danced with several shades of navy, you swayed back and forth with the motions of the car, heavy lids slowly going in and out of sleep as you tried your best to stifle a yawn and pay attention to your somewhat new companion. The driver announced the last stop, acting as an alarm for you to slap yourself in the face and hop off your seat. 

To be fair, both of you were in an equal state of fatigue and inebriation. Beomgyu was waddling as he tried to balance himself on the railings of the exit door, and you placed your weary palm on the semi-wet surface of the bus, momentarily taking it away after the driver had angrily beeped at you until you did so. Once the bus zoomed away, you felt a wave of nausea hit you—at first, it began at the back of your stomach, then, it slowly climbed its way up until you were hunched over at the nearest sewer, coughing out everything that was supposed to fuel you for a one-hour set. Beomgyu turned away and reluctantly placed gentle pats on the small of your back, hiding his face from the city lights that threatened to blow his cover off. 

“My apartment is this way,” He muttered. You nodded after a few rounds of coughing, then doused yourself with the last water bottle that was inside your backpack. 

“Mine’s on the other end of the street,” You replied, wiping your mouth with your jacket and quickly waving off his concerns with a tired grin. He couldn’t imagine the toll it took on you, or any musician for that matter, to play intense, fast-paced songs back to back without any rest, but perhaps that type of stamina was what it took to become a professional of sorts. Maybe that was also why you were such a feisty fighter, because you needed the energy to carry yourself throughout the day. 

“See you around?” You asked. He didn’t turn to look at you. He simply stood still, lowering his head until all he saw were the messy, beer-stained surface of the degrading leather in his combat boots. He gave you a quick nod, then stuffed his sweat-ridden hands in his jean pockets. Somehow, he could still feel your presence lurking around, waiting idly until he entered the apartment. It wasn’t until he was within the comforts of his building, swiftly jogging up to the elevator, that you began to walk away. Through the large, glass windows of the apartment building, you were but a mere ant, eyes lingering on the path he took as if it were a complex maze. He could see you taking quick glances between your road and his, a satisfied smile on your face as soon as you confirmed that he was, indeed, safely home. That was another thing he hated about you. There was no need for you to have gone that far to make sure a stranger from your gig got home without getting mugged. 

He didn’t need to be cautious when he opened the door to his apartment. Heeseung was already fast asleep on the sofa, strewn with empty bags of potato chips and bags of Starbucks takeout that he probably went out to get once Beomgyu had left to go to Joker In’s show. In his current state, it was practically impossible for him to get up and pick Beomgyu up. Beomgyu was pretty much used to ending his night with the role of a babysitter, but now, he didn’t feel like he had the energy to keep up with his routine. Heeseung could probably manage fine on his own, and Beomgyu desperately needed a cold shower to refresh his head at the unexpected encounter. God, she’s so fucking dense, Beomgyu thought, smiling to himself as he plopped his body on the warm, soft surface of his duvet. The shower will have to wait until the morning, and until then, he didn’t mind the extra load of laundry that came with massive spots of red dye on his pillowcases.

II. VOTE NO.24 ON EUROVISION! GO SLOVENIA!

To your luck, Geonu didn’t announce a practice session today. Normally, the band was privy to five hours of practice every single day—including the weekends. A part of it came from Geonu’s penchant for perfection, but another came from the growing bond that the band had developed over time. While Geonu and Sungchan didn’t necessarily need more time together, the daily sessions helped the entire band get to know each other and experiment with compatibility in the most esoteric way possible. In your first sleepover with the band at the eerie, decrepit basement (Heeseung would call it a horror movie set), you were able to call Jeongin a friend after he gently sat you through one of your first acid trips, gripping your hands tight as you endlessly cried about the visions and voices that still manage to chain themselves in your nightmares to this day. Another thing you learned about Jeongin that day was that he had a problem with mushrooms during high school, only quitting in his second year after an intervention that led him spiraling into a near-death experience of impulsively taking his car out in the middle of the night. You didn’t ask him for the specifics, nor did you mention that you were surprised that someone like him had gone through rehab, but you learned that Jeongin had trusted you with his story. 

“Believe it or not, but Eurovision was what got me through that entire ordeal,” You remembered Jeongin telling you at some point. He was confined in a psychiatric ward for nearly a month, his schedule and time dictated through therapy sessions, group activities, and worksheets that he haphazardly filled. He also told you that time passed differently when one was locked inside the same, white walls every day, and so the only time started to move for him was when the person next to him invited him to watch several Eurovision performances in preparation for the finals in Rotterdam two years ago. 

“I knew nothing about Europe then, but the guy next to me was married to a Swedish woman for a decade before she passed. They made it a routine to watch Eurovision every year, and he still tries his best to keep up with it even when she’s gone.” 

You expected him to mention Maneskin as the band that got him through his slump, but Jeongin was a man full of surprises. For someone with beady, glassy eyes and a geekish demeanor, you didn’t think that Finland’s Blind Channel would be the one that would get him out of the institution. 

“I mean this sounds like an edgy fourteen-year-old’s confession on an anonymous forum, but man, I’ve never really seen a band like that go so hard on live television, you know? Every time I see crazy antics or bands that had the same energy as Rage Against the Machine, it was always in the 90s or the early 2000s, when things weren’t too radio-friendly. And it wasn’t just them being hardcore like that, but it was how down-to-earth they all were—almost like they really loved what they were doing.” 

Jeongin didn’t tell you why he started taking mushrooms or what led to him getting institutionalized in the first place, but it was enough for you to know that what you once perceived as an odd affinity for Eurovision was to him, an important getaway that cemented him back into the ground. Since then, the topic of Eurovision had become a daily part of your life—and now that the 2023 semi-finals were coming, Jeongin and the rest of the band had been keeping tabs on the latest culmination of the contest. In your downtime, Sungchan would update the Discord server with his ever-evolving tier list of entries, and Geonu would log on just to argue and contest Sungchan’s opinions. Of course, both would know their places once Jeongin would enter the conversation, but nonetheless, it came to a point where your days would feel empty without someone mentioning anything Eurovision related. 

There was Eurovision, and then, there was Beomgyu. 

Oddly enough, your days also felt incomplete without Beomgyu. Ever since you made the bold mistake of scheduling the same office hours as Beomgyu, the two of you had been in a constant stalemate of academic excellence. For you, it wasn’t necessarily the fact that you needed to prove something; you initially enjoyed seeing someone get so riled up and bothered at the fact that you were always better in everything you did. In a sense, your goals, ambitions, and fortitude didn’t come from a place of parental pressure or identity-building—you had to be on top of your game to the detriment of your well-being. While Beomgyu may have seen it as a competition, you saw it as a zero-sum game. To you, your entire livelihood basically depended on being the best at whatever, whenever, and wherever—excluding your role as a drummer in Joker In. 

“Good morning, dipshit,” An all too familiar voice rang in your ears. You didn’t need to turn your head around to see who took the spot next to you in the vast lecture hall. Keeping your head to the busy tabs on your laptop, you heaved a sigh of both relief and exhaustion. Despite the absence of practice, you still had another part of your daily routine in check. 

“What the fuck do you want, Gyu,” You coldly spat, knowing that the response you were going to get had to do with your gigs last night. 

To the surprise of many—yourself included—your persona as the drummer of Joker In had been one of your best-kept secrets. Sure, being in a band was something most college kids got to experience, and student musicians were a common phenomenon across all facets of campus life. You nonetheless kept those two aspects of yourself as separate as possible, creating a clear divide that made sure none of those parts of your world intertwined and meshed together in any way. The law society didn’t need to know about the nightly debauchery you involved yourself in within the confines of the basement; those were stories that you kept to yourself to your grave—a musical pandora’s box that was meant to stay a secret. 

“Heard through the grapevine that Little Miss Perfect got shitfaced last night,”

This time, you closed your laptop and snapped your head towards Beomgyu. Heeseung was terrible at keeping his mouth shut, but he wasn’t there to bear witness to the copious amounts of alcohol and weed that muddled your body that night. In a flurry of panic, you did your best to remember everyone that was present at the gig, scouring through the entirety of emails on Eventbrite that signed up for a ticket or two. 

“And?”

Then again, what consequence would you get if you got caught? It wasn’t like the Law Society could strip you of your position; you were single-handedly the only president of the contemporary generation that managed to revive the organization from near death. If you told any of your professors about your musical ventures, you doubt they would look at you differently. In fact, they might even check out your gig or look up Joker In’s several sites across the internet, either becoming a fan of the band or not. Truthfully, there was no certain risk that threatened your current position and reputation on campus as the face of the Faculty of Law. The only thing that mattered to you was the unpleasant nature of combining your professional life with one that you exclusively created to escape the shackles of boundless perfectionism and tireless efforts to maintain all that you had built. 

“That’s not a good look for the law society,” He grinned, perching his chin on his palm as he flipped through his notes. You did the same, clearing your throat as soon as the ten-minute mark on the digital clock succumbed all students into a quiet, dreary dread of a two-hour lecture. 

“Last time I recall, you’re the one seen at a super sketchy rave last summer,” You whispered, keeping your head low enough so the professor couldn’t see you. “If you’re ratting me out for my band, then I’m ratting you out for doing lines with Heeseung at the Seoul Jazz Festival,”

“I only did one line, mind you,”

Another odd occurrence between you and Beomgyu’s rivalry was how both of you had accumulated so much dirt on each other, that it was practically impossible to call everything a truce. For the past three years, each intense battle between grades, essays, and projects was met with threats of outing the other for reckless behavior. Whenever Beomgyu would bring up your period of weed addiction in first year, you would rebut with some of his worst speeding incidents. If he were to draft an email to the program coordinator about your experiments with DMT when you just began your friendship with Geonu, then you were ready to send pictures of him doing lines with his rich friends at a yacht in Mykonos. Three years of constant rivalry also meant constant surveillance, and now that the two of you had reached the finish line to your respective degrees, the tension and threat of total exposure increased tenfold. 

“A line’s a line,” Beomgyu silently spat through gritted teeth. “I’d never do coke, so you should be thankful I’m not kicking you out as president,”

“Fuck you,”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m lucky, then.”

“That’s the only luck god’s gonna give you, Gyu.”

Three years of unyielding pride and egoism also meant that the two of you knew when to stop arguing. Even if most of the people around you saw you and Beomgyu as a pair that didn’t know when enough was enough, there were certain limits that introduced a silent armistice in the war that Beomgyu had waged on you. For one, if fights were to occur before a lecture began, both of you were willing to swallow your feelings of pride and pay attention, ushering the competition elsewhere in the form of aggressive keyboard smashing and who could raise better questions to the professor. This was one of those instances, and as always, you left the lecture hall as the main victor, even being called after class to discuss the prospects of constitutional reform with the professor. Beomgyu simply stood to the side instead of leaving—another trait about him that you grew too accustomed to. Every single time you were either called after classes to discuss further questions or network with the professors, Beomgyu would always be behind you, scanning through every nook and cranny to seize any opportunity to either sabotage your efforts or present himself as the more eloquent and intelligent version between the two of you. Usually, professors didn’t mind this type of engagement—in fact, many academics would thrive in an environment where their students would actively contest and participate in the discourse surrounding topics that interest them the most. However, between you and Beomgyu, this would be a strenuous experience for any professor that was unlucky enough to be caught in your competitive mess. 

Luckily, in every case, Heeseung would always be the savior, dragging the two of you out of the lecture hall in the nick of time. 

“You two should just make out already,” He would often say while muttering strings of apologies to the meek, slouched professors that would hastily grab their bags and rush back into the comforts of their own offices. Albeit humiliating at first, you were now too accustomed to the lanky, tall, and especially inebriated man taking both you and Beomgyu’s collars throughout the ends of the campus, only momentarily seating both of you at the edge of the cafeteria to either laugh or complain. 

“That’s giving him too much luck, Hee,” You bitterly retorted, giving Beomgyu the middle finger as a late greeting. 

“She’s privileged enough to be a rich private school nerd who sucks people’s dick on LinkedIn. I can’t give her too much action,”

“You’re the nepo baby, Gyu! Last time I recall, you got in because of your brother’s recommendation letter,”

Talks about Beomgyu’s brother were what always riled him up the most—of course, second to talks about you. 

Here’s the thing about Choi Seungchol: Though he wasn’t in the Faculty of Law, he was a memorable student that continues to be the face of the Faculty of Medicine. An accomplished oncologist with a prestigious tenureship at John Hopkins, he was one of the few Korean medical students who were able to break the difficult threshold of Western-dominated academia, proving himself with his tenacity, wit, and ever-expanding knowledge of cancer research. From the young age of seventeen, he had already graduated high school and shortened his study as an undergrad, dedicating his entire life to an ambitious—but certainly commendable—dream of finding an affordable, accessible, and efficient cure for cancer. Coupled with a look that was universally easy on the eyes, having a brother like Seungchol would have definitely sparked a deep-seated inferiority complex in anyone who had the displeasure of being his younger sibling. 

Tit-for-tat seemed to be the game that you and Beomgyu often engaged in, and if his kryptonite was his brother, then yours would be the long line of lawyers that you descended from. 

Unlike Beomgyu, who chose to study law out of an intense desire to separate his identity from his brother, you treaded onto the same path that marred your family name with generational pride. Sure, it wasn’t to say you wanted to become a lawyer, but rather, you wanted to become the best lawyer out of your family. Rich people had a different set of issues that they needed to face—a constant, mental battle that cut all ties between blood and family. In your family, there was no such thing as a maternal or paternal bond; every one that bore your name was wrought with the constant pressures of living up to it. Each generation was always compared to the last, and each brought the troubles of the past to the realities of the present. All the woes, infighting, and distasteful pride have unfortunately been a product of an entire familial generation that fought hard to keep its legacy intact—and for you, that meant your ticket to leave all of that behind was outdoing the family altogether, reigning supreme in the lifelong struggle of succession. 

With you, your family wasn’t family anymore—they were stepping stones. A key to success and freedom that can only grant liberation once you did everything to prove yourself. 

In a sense, all rich families were Darwinian. The Chois were a household name in medicine, and yours happened to dominate the legal system. One wanted to break free by independently taking another route in life, while the other aimed to destroy an old empire from within. To those that didn’t have the taste of prestige or the amount of free time to comprehend the psychological detriment of wealth, it was a simple case of money bringing too many unnecessary problems. Why worry about such minute issues like reputation and status when your windows didn’t work? 

To you and Beomgyu though, things were different. Too different, in fact. When both your lives were mapped out to success and filling in the shoes of the past, it was inevitable that you would define yourselves and your actions around your family’s troubles. Something as simple as joining a band would cause immediate ruin to the decades of perfecting your role as the ideal candidate to take over your family’s law firm. 

What Beomgyu didn’t know, and what you kept as an even deeper secret than your nights of musical debauchery in the basement, was that you were a bastard—the only child to a second, hidden marriage that broiled your entire family’s law firm in a mess that led to buying out several news outlets and tabloids who eventually took the money to erase all evidence regarding the scandal. You were paraded as the legitimate daughter of your family, and every single facet of your life had been broadcasted to the public since. From bagging first place in an essay-writing contest as a child to constantly making headlines as one of the best debaters in each high school debate competition, you had maintained the aura and image of a perfect successor. And now, all your accomplishments throughout university had been scantily advertised in university newspapers, online gossip forums, and local magazines—from your events in the law society, the talks you’d organize and give in legal seminars, down to the minuscule acts of charity you would do with the Cold Case Foundation. All of your life was documented for the world to see, prepping you up so the family could contain its skeletons within the safety of its closets. 

This was why you couldn’t contain the hatred and anger you’d managed to keep to yourself for so long when Beomgyu would bring your family into the conversation. An inferiority complex paled in comparison to a family secret that threatened to bring the mighty walls of your family’s empire down to the ground with a single slip-up. 

“News flash: I’m not the one who comes from an entire family that practices law,”

Ah, there it was. You stood up from your seat like always, never looking back as you stomped out of the cafeteria in blood-curdling, fuming anger. It was natural for Beomgyu to assume that you had an uncontrollable temper—after all, to him, you were a figure of contempt. Someone who was lucky enough to be born into a profession that he took up just to escape his lack of medical skills and affinity for science and mathematics. 

“Jesus Christ, she’s so entitled,”

“Not cool, dude. Not cool,” Sungchan suddenly appeared as he always does, carrying a carton of coffee milk and sipping its sweet contents into his throat. Heeseung never really understood why Sungchan would always come to defend you whenever it came to any mentions of your family, but he chalked it up to the behavior of a secret admirer. Spending time together every day in the basement and playing in a band is a great way to get to know a person, and an even better chance to fall in love. If that were the case, then Heeseung certainly felt bad for the guitarist. Although you were already perceived as a picture of admiration, awe, and intimidation from afar, nobody truly knew how cutthroat and blunt you were behind the sheer curtains of model excellence. Heeseung was one of the few that bore witness to how ruthless you can be, and if it were him, he would thwart all chances of attempting to woo you. If Beomgyu was already enough of a testament to your mercilessness, then it was the strict, iron command you had at the law society that made you a less-than-ideal lover in bed and beyond. 

“So I’m the bad guy for bringing up her family,”

“To be fair, she was the one who brought it up first…”

“Thank you, Heeseung!” Beomgyu exclaimed. Sungchan rolled his eyes and tossed the carton of coffee milk; a perfect shot right into the plastic opening of the bin. Heeseung watched with envy, lamenting at his failed basketball career. If only he had been taller, then maybe he might’ve had the chance to skip college altogether and fly to the US to sign a contract with the NBA. He’s always wondered why Sungchan didn’t opt for basketball as a sport, playing for the university’s varsity baseball team instead. He had the height and build to quickly gain ranks as a star player, and he certainly had the agility and aim to entrench himself as one of Korea’s best three-point shooters. Whenever Sungchan would look in Heeseung’s direction, the sense of being tinier than an ant in the entire universe maximized tenfold. It wasn’t just Sungchan’s height, but his general aloofness coupled with his nonchalance made everyone feel small under his presence. 

Sungchan raised his hand at Heeseung, waving goodbye once a mutual high five was sealed and locked—a pact of honest brotherhood, as one might say. He mustered a quick, awkward bow in Beomgyu’s direction and ran off the same way you treaded, ignoring the pair’s curious gaze as he scoured through the maze of crowded young adults and intertwined hallways to catch you in your usual spot. 

Beomgyu trailed Sungchan’s tall frame, watching his forehead graze the entry of the cafeteria. He huffed a sigh and grabbed his backpack, slinging it on his shoulder while knitting his eyebrows in frustration.

“Gyu, you’re not red anymore. You’re green,” Heeseung joked. Before Beomgyu could land a clean, painful hit on Heeseung’s neck, the boy quickly waved and ran past the swarm of students that crowded the hallways, waving his dab pen in the air as a quick sign of surrender. Beomgyu rolled his eyes and stared in the direction that Sungchan treaded, wondering if he should follow along. 

Then again, what was it to him? Why was he so angry over something that didn’t even concern him in the first place? You were the one who brought his brother up constantly, so it would only be right for him to hit you where it hurt the most. He didn’t know much about you, but an aching, swelling pang of guilt began rising up in the form of acidic bile, swirling like rough tides in his stomach until a bout of nausea overwhelmed his entire body. Why the fuck do I care? She’s the one who started it all, Beomgyu thought. He gave the hallway that led to the Law Society’s office one, last glance, completely turning his back in the other direction. He had another lecture to catch; he shouldn’t be worried about you.

Once he found your figure crouched under the table of the Law Society’s main office, he knelt to your height, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. You swatted it away with faux bravery, rigorously wiping the soft tears that marred the apples of your cheeks. 

“Hey,” He greeted. 

“Leave me alone,”

“I can’t,” Sungchan laughed under his breath. “I’m witnessing you cry like a baby for the first time,”

“Shut up, Sung.”

For Sungchan, striking a friendship with you was unexpected. He’d at least expected himself to be on good terms with Jeongin before even attempting an acquaintanceship with you. When he initially met you, he had to admit that you were a deplorable person of sorts. You carried an air of superiority wherever you went, treated everyone like they were below you, and you always had a ruthless, competitive streak that turned everything sour with a single blink of an eye. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was sure that he was going to tell Geonu to look for another guitarist. 

“I can’t work with her,” He confided right after he heard you play the drums in a mock-up audition for a new recruit. “She’s… bitchy.”

“Sung, she’s a professional,” Geonu would often retort, ignoring Sungchan’s complaints about his own strict standard of musical perfection. “I’ve never seen anyone play with so much dedication and tenacity. If only you took this shit more seriously, then I think you can learn to put those feelings aside and actually play the way I want you to.”

For a while, Sungchan did his best to avoid you. Every time you would ask him to play with you so you could synchronize your playing style with his, he would politely decline, opting to send you recordings of his guitar practices from home or outright pretending he didn’t hear you. Granted, he anticipated that you were the type to not let passive-aggression go. One thing he knows about all law majors was their argumentative streak—to him, that was the reason why so many of the people enrolled in that program were born under the star of Aries. Hot-headed, independent, and defensive—those were all the characteristics that aligned with Aries Suns and anyone practicing the legal field. 

It wasn’t until he got too drunk to stand that he experienced your rare displays of kindness. Though it was common courtesy to take care of drunk people at parties, you and Geonu were the only ones who actively checked up on him, closing the door to one of the rooms that became his personal infirmary while constantly feeding him water and a few, light snacks. Whenever he felt like throwing up and Geonu was unavailable, it was you who took him straight to the bathroom, lifting his head of hair as he lurched out his organs into the once pristine, white ceramics of a toilet bowl. Instead of asking him why he hated you, you simply kept your mouth shut, actively giving gentle massages on the crook of his neck and on the small of his back, gently feeding him more water in timed intervals as he continued to hurl and belch in the tiny, squared space of someone’s bathroom. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I don’t like you?” He asked, completely aware of his slurred words. You laughed and pretended you didn’t hear him—the exact same way he behaved whenever you would ask him to practice some of Joker In’s parts with you. 

Perhaps he had too much to drink, or perhaps he just felt safe in the small, cramped, yet cozy spaces of the bathroom, but the first thing he told you—sans re-introductions—was the fact that he wasn’t sure if he was attracted to Geonu or not. In what felt like hours of him trying his best to keep his voice down amidst the blaring, muted, and bass-booted music that streamed into the tiny cracks of the wooden door, he sobered up in a crying fit, watching your figure transform from blurry blobs of wooziness into swirling, tear-soaked waves that made you look like you were submerged into an ocean of his woes and worries. He admired your silence; he admired the small smile that you gave him throughout his entire episode; he admired the way you screamed at whoever was banging at the front door to fuck off; he admired how head-strong and confident you were, even if he knew that you didn’t return those qualities to yourself. 

From that day on, there was a mutual, unspoken pact that formed into a true, life-long bond between you and Sungchan. Whenever Geonu or Jeongin would ask him why he suddenly changed his mind, he would simply shrug, mimicking the same silence you gave him when he spilled his entire emotional journey of sexual discovery inside that holy bathroom. You did the same, giving subtle looks of confusion or outright denying the bad blood between you and Sungchan. The two eventually suppressed their qualms about Sungchan’s drastic shift, nodding in reluctant agreeability that this had to happen eventually for the band to continue. 

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure Beomgyu didn’t mean it,”

“To be fair, I brought it up first. I got what I deserved,” You whispered, careful eyes scanning through random bystanders through the small creak of the agape, wooden door in front of you. Sungchan stood up to close it, but you grabbed the hem of his sweater, begging him to stay. 

“Shh, don’t say that to yourself,” He replied, humming lowly to himself. “I think this is the point where you realize you should probably just get over it all. I mean, it’s been three whole years. Shouldn’t you just get over it and be the bigger person?”

Sungchan’s words hit you like a knife that slashed and hacked at an open wound. Each pause of silence brought another ounce of pain in your chest, and you couldn’t pinpoint if those feelings were a guilty conscience or another byproduct of your massive pride. You hated it when others were right, and you hated it even more that you continued to do the wrong thing despite knowing you could just ignore Beomgyu and get on with your day. Certainly, if you had kept things at light insults three years ago, then you shouldn’t be as riled up or hurt by Beomgyu’s actions and words by now. What bothered you even more, though, was how you didn’t seem to know who made things worse. At this rate, the rivalry between the two of you had gone on for far too long. You couldn’t pinpoint a true start that fueled your spite for him. It was almost like you had always hated Beomgyu from the start, even if there was a part of you that wholeheartedly disagreed with that predicament. 

“You know what, you’re right, Sung. I should stop giving him any of my attention if I want him to shut up,”

“See, it’s not that hard!” 

Before you and Sungchan could shake things off with a friendly hug, your phones buzzed in unison. With a quick nod, the two of you burst out of the Law Society’s office, ignoring the wary eyes that watched each of your steps with confusion and suspicion. You declined the call and swiped right on Sungchan’s phone, popping your head near the camera to see who was on the other end of the line. To your relief, it was an excited Jeongin, carrying crescents in his eyes as he huffed on his earphones’ microphone. 

“Guys!” 

“What’s up, Jeongin?”

“The finals!” He screamed, loud enough for you and Sungchan to mute the phone and cover the speakers. 

“What about it?”

“It’s streaming right now on YouTube!” 

You gave Jeongin a look of confusion, arching your brows and poking Sungchan with your elbows. Despite only getting close to each other for a short time, both of you mastered the art of silence. You didn’t need to tell him to look up the ESC’s website to check if Jeongin was right; there was a certain telepathy that linked your brains together. There was no need for eye contact or physical gestures, it was as if thinking was all it took for Sungchan to understand what you wanted him to say or do, and vice versa. If you were to picture it, then there would be a thin, invisible wire that connected your soul to his, matched with telephone cups where you each whispered your thoughts and actions back and forth. 

“Oh word?” Sungchan muttered once he reached the homepage of the ESC. The semi-finals happened too fast, and it didn’t occur to you that you missed the entire ordeal. Sungchan nodded along, shrugging his shoulders while using his height to push past the sea of students who fell victim to your band’s antics. The key to the exit was Jeongin jumping up and down at the entrance to the university’s main gate, fighting his way out of the security guards trying to calm him down. 

“Come on!” Jeongin exclaimed with infectious glee, grabbing you and Sungchan by the hand and taking the two of you to the nearest train station. 

“Jeongin, where are we going?” You asked. You were sure that Geonu had pinged the entire group chat about the absence of practice that day. Sungchan checked his phone and showed you Geonu’s message once the three of you slowed down and tapped your transit passes to the gates. There was indeed, no practice at the basement today out of Jeongin’s incessant pleas to cancel it. Geonu would have never imagined canceling practice over a singing competition held in Europe, but Jeongin threatened to leave the band if Geonu and the rest didn’t comply with his wishes. Considering how Jeongin was the most compliant member who never seemed to ask for much unless it had to do with Eurovision, Geonu granted the boy’s wishes. 

“The watch party!” 

You scrolled through Joker In’s Kakao group chat with Sungchan, only to find no mentions of a Eurovision watch party anywhere. By now, the entire band had figured that Jeongin was the impulsive type. While you had access to his hidden story of mushroom addiction, the rest were privy to Jeongin’s sudden online activity at the crack of dawn. He would send a barrage of memes and videos on the group chat only to disappear for a week. The only times he would come back was if Geonu had made a practice announcement in the chat, or if the band called him to the meeting place. 

Ergo, Jeongin was not the type of person to organize an entire watch party with his sporadic communication patterns. 

Once the three of you had reached the apartment, a barrage of cannabis hit your nose. Of course, Heeseung was on the side with a bong in hand, while Geonu was already absorbed into the couch, eyes red artificial bliss. Before you could take off your shoes to step inside Jeongin’s apartment, you halted your steps, blinking several times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Some people say that hate was just another form of obsession, and the last thing you wanted was to see Beomgyu in your dreams. 

“Why is he here? 

“Beomgyu is Heeseung’s roommate,” Jeongin meekly replied, keeping a small smile on his face as he kicked his shoes off to dash into the kitchen. Sungchan reluctantly followed suit, taking a bowl of potato chips and popcorn to the small, glass coffee table that was at the center of Jeongin’s rather spacious living room. 

“So? Heeseung never brings him to the basement when he delivers pizza,”

“That’s because Beomgyu doesn’t work at the pizza chain,”

Instead of sitting in the empty space next to Beomgyu on the couch, you opted to take a random spot on the couch, sitting behind Geonu’s legs. Normally, he would complain about you using him as a headrest, but at this rate, he was too high to comprehend that there was something leaning into his calves. 

“Whatever. Since when did you like Eurovision anyway?”

“Before you did, that’s for sure, fucking poser,”

“Oh my god, you son of a—”

Before you could stand up, Sungchan placed a firm grip on your shoulder, entrenching you within the surface of Jeongin’s soft, fur carpet. You took a mental note to ask him about his tastes in furniture. On the other side of the couch, Jeongin had hurried back from the kitchen with a few packs of seltzer that he struggled to carry, pushing one of them into Beomgyu’s lap before he could retort in violence. 

“So everyone in this room is voting for Slovenia, right?” Jeongin asked with an eerily large grin. 

“Yep! Number twenty-four!” Sungchan confirmed, making it his duty to make sure you didn’t lash out throughout the entire song contest. There was no use in fighting back; the hands of a varsity athlete cannot be contested with the likes of an occasional charity player. 

“I’m voting Finland…” Beomgyu huffed, rolling his eyes in your direction.

“Gyu, you literally listened to nothing but Carpe Diem last night,” Heeseung retorted in languid, heavy breaths. If one could guess the lightness of his lids, it would be comparable to a bodybuilder’s daily dumbbell perched on top of his eyes. 

“Shut up. I vote for whoever I want, and my money goes to Finland,” Beomgyu replied, cracking a can of cherry seltzer open with his hand. You followed suit, prompting the boy to roll his eyes once again. 

“He’s voting for Finland because he wants to be oh so special like the rest of the world who’s basically riding Käärijä’s dick!” 

This time, you gulped the can of seltzer down in a single sip, crushing the weak, malleable material between your fingers while raising a middle finger in Beomgyu’s direction. Instead of chugging his drink, he took a deep breath, pacing the amount of alcohol that entered and exited his throat. He knew what he was like when he was drunk, and even if the need to punch you into oblivion was there, he had to control himself—at least, for Jeongin. 

“Shut the fuck up, you two! It’s starting!” You and Beomgyu immediately behaved accordingly, exchanging silent death glares while Jeongin ushered to the middle of the large, flat-screen television mounted on his wall. Even if you knew how serious Jeongin was about anything Eurovision related, you didn’t know that he could exude a level of anger that outmatched you and Beomgyu’s squabbles. 

The introduction to the Eurovision Song Contest lined up with the flurry of buzzes that attacked your back pocket. Upon seeing the caller ID, your fingers automatically hovered over the red button. However, the ringing didn’t stop. No matter how many times you’ve tried to dodge each call you got, it would only come back in waves, accompanied by a barrage of text messages that caught your eye,

Dad’s in the hospital.

To be fair, all your memories with your father had been non-existent at best. The only time you’ve ever seen him was in a pristine, neatly-ironed business suit, gallivanting around the meeting rooms of the law firm or taking the same behavior with him on the dinner table, only allowing everyone else to lift their forks once he was seated. Your father’s presence had a shroud of mist around it—mostly because you couldn’t remember a time when you genuinely bonded with him. To call your father a father only suited you best when you were writing your college application essays or passing interviews for internships and research opportunities. Outside of that, you addressed him with utmost formalities, keeping his power trips unbridled by addressing him as Sir or President. He used to like being called an attorney, but after he began to realize that everyone in the firm held the same occupation, he opted for something more. As such, the news of him being in the hospital was shocking, but it was the least of your current concerns. To you, he was just your lifelong boss, slipping you into the legal world with a guaranteed, secure career filled with success and everlasting wealth. The only reason you had to visit the hospital was to discuss the potential inheritance papers that might have to be negotiated on his deathbed, not because of a familial, patriarchal bond that was never even there to begin with. 

“Hold on, I have to take this call,” You said, hastily getting up while balancing yourself on the carpet. You whispered a mute sorry in Heeseung’s direction, who was suddenly sober at the sight of his bong tipping over. 

Once you were in the bathroom, you locked the door and turned on the lights, keeping your eyes away from the large vanity mirror that enhanced the brightness of the entire room. Closing your eyes, you allowed a mouthful of oxygen to enter your lungs, slowly breathing it out as you dialed your brother’s phone number. It didn’t take a single ring for him to pick up. 

“Hey,”

There was always something about your brother’s voice that irritated you. It wasn’t too nasally, but it wasn’t the most clear-cut pitch either. There was a certain grating quality to it that made listening to an obese chain smoker for hours on end a better feat than hearing your brother in a firm meeting or a case discussion. This was probably the reason why you could tolerate Beomgyu, because you’ve lived with people you genuinely despised for as long as you could count numbers and read the alphabet. 

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” You spat, anticipating the worst. You could hear your brother’s breath hitch on the other end of the line. Of course, a situation like this would stress him out. 

“You know I only reach out if it’s important, so get your ass to the fucking hospital right now. Dad’s going through a hemorrhage, and it’s the worst one we’ve seen so far.”

“Oh,”

“So hurry the fuck up. I’ll write your uni up so you can take an academic leave. Shit’s pretty serious,”

Whenever your brother classified a situation as pretty serious, it usually had to do with money. Talks of a potential merger, a big case that’s worth billions of won, or the acquisition of smaller firms that soon became a part of your family’s legal empire. Anything that had to do with money was serious to your brother, and of course, anything that had to do with money was discussed between the family, beneath the nose of your father. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what this means, right? Dad’s dying, his fucking secretary had just been named the sole trust to the firm, and the entire family’s basically going to war over this fucking fiasco.”

“What the fuck do you mean he signed over the trust to her?”

This was the only time you agreed with your brother about the nature of serious situations. The entire firm and the family were aware of the affair he had with his secretary, but you didn’t know how bad of an impact his senility would have on the future and well-being of the firm and beyond. You kept the phone latched between your shoulders and your chin, taking a seat on the toilet cover while crossing your legs. 

“Just come to the hospital. One of the Choi-owned clinics in Gangnam.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” You curtly replied. “I’ll be there in twenty,” 

Family ordeals were things that Geonu forgave when it came to skipping practice, but you weren’t sure about breaking the news to Jeongin. Perhaps if you simply told him about your father’s condition, he would let it slide. After all, he was the caring sort. Anything that tugged his heartstrings would render him in a thick, melted puddle of tears. All it took was a story of an old, dying man, and you were sure that Jeongin would let you go. Taking another deep breath, you counted to three and opened the door, slowly making your way from the kitchen and into the living room. Instead of taking your seat back next to Heeseung, you stood still, placing your hands on your waist. Despite Geonu’s current state, he managed to groggily sit upright, eyes peering straight into your soul. The rest of the people in the living room followed him as an example, eyes switched from the television screen to your leveled posture. 

“Guys,”

“Look who’s back from her makeout session with the prof,”

“Beomgyu, not now.” You interrupted, clearing your throat as you mentally ran through the quick story you conjured up in your head. My dad’s bleeding out, and I have to go to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. I hope you guys understand. 

“What, you can’t take a joke? Jesus, I never knew little miss perfect was a softie…”

You would usually let your temper subside and give Beomgyu the benefit of the doubt, but this time, he had crossed the line. It wasn’t to say you cared about your father, but it was still a dire situation that needed to be taken seriously. For all the intelligence that Beomgyu prided himself in, he was not the type to understand basic social cues. As if remaining still wasn’t enough of a message, you let the frustration you’ve built up for years wash over you, closing your eyes as you unleashed three years of pent-up irritation and vexation escape your lips in a shrill shriek. The only thing you felt sorry for at the moment was how this was directed at Beomgyu instead of your family, but you needed to release it all before you eventually exploded. Heeseung dropped his bong and alerted himself awake, leaving his mouth agape while his eyes quickly darted past your forehead. Even Sungchan, who was privy to your bursts of anger, lit up in static shock, rendered in a frozen state that made him glued to his seat. Everyone in the room now had their eyes on you—including Jeongin’s roommate who peeked his head out of his door. 

“Seriously?! My dad’s dying, and this is how you react? Look, I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you hate me this much, but this isn’t a game anymore. I’m done, and I’m out of here!” 

In a flash of a second, you were out the door, letting it swing before reclining into a loud thud. The entire room was now drowned in an ocean of silence, and Beomgyu was the only one who gasped for air. He tried to stand up and chase after you, but his legs were stuck to the cotton of Jeongin’s carpet, pulling him deeper and deeper until his entire body was one with the ground. Geonu exchanged glances with Heeseung and the rest of the band, taking a nearby glass of water and gulping it down in a single sitting. Sungchan quickly climbed up to the couch and sat beside him, patting gentle circles on the boy’s back before directing his attention to the sole, uninvited guest that ruined the watch party. All Jeongin could do at the moment was take the remote from the coffee table, lowering the volume of the television until the entire apartment was laced in another wave of deathly silence. Even if the living room was packed, it felt as if he was the only one in the room, stuck between the carpet and the technicolor screen that showed the first performer of the night. Glimpses of red, black, and white dyed the entire space in ominous colors, flashing images of Edgar Allan Poe in the empty, white walls that surrounded the entire group. The only time someone spoke up was when Jeongin’s roommate passed by to turn off the lights, quickly rushing back within the safety of his room as he locked the door shut. 

“You fucked up,” Heeseung started after a few rounds of unspoken guilt. “Hard…”

“It’s not like I can tell her that I’m mad at her because I don’t know? My parents always yelled at me for not being like my brother?” 

No, that’s not what I wanted to say, Beomgyu thought, but it was too late to take his words back inside his mouth. Now, the initial state of shock that occupied the room was replaced with pure, unbridled resentment. 

This time, he was sure he fucked up. 

“Why did you keep this up for so long, anyway? It’s not like it’s that hard to say sorry or something,” Geonu retorted, slowly sobering up. 

“Look, whatever. I’ll get going now, because apparently, I’m always the bad guy,”

“Gyu!” 

Jeongin tried to chase after Beomgyu’s silhouette, only for Sungchan to hold him back. With two silent nods, Jeongin let go of Sungchan’s sleeve, fiddling with the hems of his sweater while watching the tall, lanky boy jog out the door. He didn’t know if he should end the watch party then and there, or if all of them should continue from where they left off. By now, the second performance had started. Flashes of green and red brightly encompassed their eyes, and they remained seated. Geonu texted the band’s group chat and pinged your user to give them updates on your father’s situation, while Heeseung swiftly took his lighter and lit the stem of his bong, deeply inhaling the glass rim in what was going to be his biggest rip to date. 

What was going on outside of Jeongin’s apartment was a different story on its own. You had called one of your drivers to pick you up from the nearest train station, and now, you were zooming past highways and fast cars, reaching your destination as soon as Beomgyu had stepped out of Jeongin’s apartment building. He tried to rush past the flurry of people during rush hour that crowded the station, but the only person he could see was Sungchan, who had managed to chase him by the tail of his jacket. 

“Hey,” Sungchan uttered, never letting go of Beomgyu’s jacket. 

“Here to defend your girlfriend?” Beomgyu spat. Sungchan was used to this by now,

“No, but I’m here to let you know that deep down inside, I know you’re not a bad person,”

The two were now in front of a vending machine behind the station, a place where drunken white-collared men would drink their sorrows away. It also happens to be the place for a rendezvous to hide under the neon lights of the city—high school couples that secretly meet after the academy for a kiss goodbye before going home, college kids that are too drunk to scan their passes at the gate, office workers that feel the need to have a drink or two before being welcomed back home by their kids, smokers who hide their vices under the surveillance system, and people that are waiting for their online saint to whisk them off their infinite suffering. The vending machine was witness to all facets of society, including Beomgyu and Sungchan’s conversations that would have never seen the light of day. Before the two began, it was a natural ritual for any that chose the vending machine as a meeting place to treat their interlocutors with a beverage or two. Sungchan chose a sizzling can of lemon cider, tossing a couple of loose change he had jingling in his pockets and inserting it in the machine. He tossed the can in Beomgyu’s direction, who accepted it with a meek, small bow. Then, Sungchan fished for the last few coins he could find in the deep trenches of his slacks, pressing the bright, green button that displayed a tall bottle of water. It didn’t occur to him that he had a half-filled water bottle that he took with him in his tote bag for baseball practice; the movement was as automatic as the vending machine dispensing a plastic water bottle in its hooded container. Once Sungchan had the water bottle in his hands, he twisted the cap and waited for Beomgyu to snap the can open. The two clinked their beverages and consummated a few sips. 

“Sure, you’re insufferable and bratty as fuck, but I know you have the heart in you to listen,” Sungchan said, after he was finished with his water bottle. Beomgyu took the can back to the side of his arms, holding it tightly to make sure its fizzy contents didn’t spill out into the streets. 

“She’s been going through a lot, so you should probably cut all of this and apologize if you still want to go to our shows,” 

Beomgyu slowly nodded, taking the can of lemon cider up to his lips once again. For a big city like Seoul, his bright, neon yellow can stood out from the masses of commuters that passed the duo to get to their destination. Sungchan kept his water bottle under his arm, tapping on the plastic cap twice to make sure that he sealed it properly. With a satisfied hum, he cleared his throat and eyed the boy who couldn’t take his can off his lips. 

“I know you’ve been sneaking out in your really shitty disguise, but for my sake, hers, and yours, you should talk it out and hopefully fix whatever you got going on,” He continued. His fingers found themselves at the edges of his pocket again, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips upon failing to feel through a small, rectangular carton that eased all of his woes with a single huff of smoke. What he found instead was a small, cheap plastic lighter that he didn’t remember purchasing. Granted, he probably stole it off Heeseung’s collection or took it with him when he helped Geonu light his joint. Whatever the case, he found no use for it now. 

“If not, I’m gonna have to ban you from ever showing up again,”

Beomgyu finally took the can off his lips, wiping his mouth with the thick decor of his jacket’s sleeve. Considering the weather, he should’ve probably opted for a lighter cardigan that didn’t graze his lips with leather. Nonetheless, he ignored all feelings of discomfort. He should be used to it by now. 

“Whatever,”

“It’s not whatever, and I’m sure you know that too,”

Beomgyu watched Sungchan’s tall, lanky frame stand upright from his slouched posture, waving his transit card in his face as he started to walk towards the station. He didn’t know if Sungchan was going to go back to his place or if he would pay a visit to the hospital. The only way he would find out is if he bumped into him in the white, putrid halls of a place he’d been avoiding since he left home to attend university.

Beomgyu had always hated hospitals. For as long as he could remember, the smell of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol would always overwhelm his nose, rendering him in a trance-like state that made everything around him a blurry haze of fragmented memories. He could try to recollect the countless hours he’s spent waiting for his father to get off his shift, but all he could gather was the car ride home, sitting silently beside his brother while the driver played an old rockabilly tune from his time. His father wasn’t even in the car with them, and he was probably doing another late shift in the operations room with his mother on standby. When Seungchol was old enough to shadow their father’s sessions, he would be on these car rides alone, carrying the same, putrid odor that reminded him of a distant family that never had dinner together once. When Beomgyu would get home from the hospital, he made it a habit to call his maids or helpers to set up a dinner table with him, each member of the cleaning team acting as his father, his mother, and eventually, his brother. This was the only way he could sleep at night, because the scent of antiseptic would be replaced with dish soap, cleaning tools, and remnants of flower-scented detergent. If the cooks were available, they would also join Beomgyu at the large, family dining table of the Choi household acting as external relatives that he would only see in family functions. 

Now that he was back at the hospital, the memories of a lonesome dinner came flooding back to him in tidal waves. First, his father’s tall silhouette would come into full view, for he was never the type of person to turn his head towards his second son. Then, he could see his mother’s side profile, eyebrows knitted in a constant frown as she would scan through each clipboard and envelope with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. When he was in high school, his brother had already begun shadowing for one of the several hospitals that were under the Choi name. He would initially tag along, but opted to stay home once he realized that this wasn’t a game of doctors that he would play with his brother in one of the many playrooms they were granted as children. Seungchol had patients to attend to, and he was a mere nuisance to the inner workings of his family’s craft. 

This was also the point where he figured he would try his hand at the humanities, shifting from an interest in stock brokers and the financial sector to settling for the legal field. In earnest, he never found an affinity for anything political. The newspaper was one of many things that made it so difficult for Beomgyu to remember his parents’ faces, since they would spend their mornings jeering at the headlines in disgust before rushing out to work. Seungchol started doing the same once he was old enough to understand the weary woes of the world outside of their wealthy life, and at that point, Beomgyu had already resented the news enough to block it off his phone and other devices. 

If his lifelong grudge had taught him one thing, it was tenacity. It was a trait his parents exhibited when they went from performing surgeries to managing hospitals, and it was the same trait that Seungchol inherited when he began his own medical career. For Beomgyu, tenacity meant suffering through a lot of the things he disliked—whether it was politics, the news, or medicine. To him, tenacity came in subtle ripples. At first, it was the several scandals that he would hear about at the academy regarding big pharmaceutical companies patenting life-saving medication and selling it at a higher markup. He didn’t even know what a markup meant, but he did know that it was something he could use to destroy his family once and for all. When he entered university and applied for the law program, he used his tenacity to climb to the top, even when the humanities weren’t the strongest set of subjects in his CSAT exam. He didn’t understand how money worked, and he certainly couldn’t care less about the politicians he would see campaigning on the streets during election season. The only thing that mattered to him ever since he was a child was to do whatever it takes to get his family back in a single piece—even if it meant destroying the legacy and generational prestige that the Chois had built for themselves since the Occupation period. 

Places like the hospital were what made Beomgyu’s tenacity disappear into thin air, replacing it with irresolute shakiness. It didn’t occur to him that a single whiff of the hospital’s chemicals immediately turned him into mush—a walking, wandering blob that’s place was always behind his parents or his brother. Here, he didn’t feel human at all. He felt like a visual display—a name tag that bore his family name in shame. It was for this reason that Beomgyu refused to call an ambulance or take himself to the hospital no matter how hurt he was. Every episode of alcohol poisoning would always end in several over-the-counter drugs that would end up in the toilet with the remnants of bile that trickled up to his mouth, coughing up every stint of regret that failed to leave his system. No matter how drunk he would get, he would always berate Heeseung for threatening to dial 119, constantly reassuring him that he could cure whatever he could on his own. 

Now, he was back in the very place that he spent his entire life avoiding, hiding behind the metal railings of a hospital bed once his eyes caught a familiar, white coat sported by the outline of someone he hasn’t seen in years. 

Apparently, years of playing doctors with Seungchol worked against him, and now, he was faced to face with someone he had the displeasure of calling his brother. 

“Hyung,” The word used to come out naturally, but now, it felt too foreign to him. At this rate, he was more comfortable calling his own brother “Doctor Choi” than by any other name that he used to call him. He tapped his tongue twice inside his mouth to feel its insides squirm, then, he restfully let his eyes sit at the crown of Seungchol’s jet-black head, watching the luster of his healthy hair shine under the bright, fluorescent lights of the hospital that always managed to invoke a certain nausea within him. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” Seungchol replied, his voice barely a weak whisper. “It’s been a while,”

“Are you in charge of him?” Beomgyu asked, jutting his chin towards the emergency room. Seungchol looked back and shrugged his shoulders, resting the clipboard on the hilt of his belt as he longingly stared at his younger brother. 

“Who?”

“Him,” Beomgyu asked again, pointing to the patient’s profile on his clipboard. Seungchol adjusted the thick, rectangular frames that slid down his nose, squinting his eyes at the tiny fragments of characters that he could barely read. Beomgyu didn’t know that his older brother’s eyes had degraded past his early problems with astigmatism. 

“Ah, you mean Kim & Lee LLC’s current head?” Seungchol asked. 

“Yeah,”

“Yes, I’m in charge of him. My department assigned me to him since our family sort of owes them in some ways,”

Beomgyu didn’t question the Choi’s relations with yours. None of that concerned him in the slightest, and he was aware of the magnetism that many rich families often exhibited—birds of a feather flock together, especially when feathers were made of gold. 

“How’s school?” He asked. He began walking towards the emergency room and stood outside of the door, peeking his head inside the tinted windows while he vigorously tapped his pen on his clipboard. Beomgyu kept his hands in his pockets and followed suit, peering at whatever he could read in Seungchol’s report. 

“Alright,”

“I’ve heard his daughter’s faring better than you at school,”

Speak of the devil, and she shall arrive. 

By now, a single sliver of your presence was hard for Beomgyu to miss. If tenacity was one thing he had, then perseverance was the other. Throughout the three years he had known you, he’s learned one, giant lesson: to persevere. No matter how much he dreaded the preparations for the bar exam, no matter how worn he was over countless hours of dedicating himself to reading pages upon pages of ancient Roman law, a part of him embraced the sheer hard work that he dedicated to each and every aspect of his academic career. 

Then again, none of that mattered when he was always second best when it came to you. Even if the number of hours both of you had put into a project or an essay was the same, he would always fall short of a mark or two, forever trailing behind your shadow the same way he had always trailed behind the success of his ancestors, then his parents, and now, his brother. 

“This is why I’ve always hated you, hyung,”

“I know, I know,”

That was another thing that Beomgyu noticed about the people that managed to do better than him in every facet of his life. From stories he would hear from his mother, the Choi ancestry was filled with quiet, blasé doctors whose first and only priority was to tend to each patient that required assistance. The same trait was replicated tenfold in the way his parents would berate him; both of them would shrug their heads in blatant displays of disappointment instead of yelling at him. He was sure he was never hit as a child, but the string of pain that came from the sheer looks of despondency was imprinted on his shattered ego, forever sinking their sharp fragments into the throes of his heart. When his brother reached the age of twenty, he had mastered the same, cold look that his parents would often give him, doing the same whenever Beomgyu interrupted him at the hospital. 

How did it all come to this?

Beomgyu wished he knew the answer to a question he had been pondering since he was old enough to think for himself. 

“So you’re not even gonna say sorry? Apologize? Admit that what you and our entire family’s put me through is wrong?”

“Beomgyu, that’s just how it’s always been. I don’t really know what to say other than how lucky you should be right now,”

Luck. Being born a Choi meant a lifetime of financial security and a plethora of career options knocking at the foot of his door, and yet, Beomgyu couldn’t see how this luck was worth the feelings of inferiority that plagued him to no end. 

“How the fuck am I lucky, Hyung? How the fuck am I lucky?! Because from what I know, I’ve been the one that just so happened to be born with the inability to do math and science!”

Seungchol slid the pen he was tapping inside his breast pocket. He placed the clipboard on one of the empty, leather chairs that lined the entrance to the emergency room, adjusting the rims of his glasses in the process. 

“All my life, I’ve studied so hard, went to the academy, and never complained about it—hell, I sucked it all up and gave up on getting friends, having fun, and basically being the best example of what mom and dad wanted. But no! Apparently Seungchol-hyung is always better! That law girl is always better! Inseong from fifth grade is always better! Everyone is always better than me! If they wanted someone better, then they probably shouldn’t have asked for another son!” 

The only thing that Beomgyu could hear was his own voice bouncing back and forth between the walls of the vast hospital. Seungchol stood in silence, taking his glasses off and wiping the lens with the hems of his white coat—a pure semblance of their father. 

“Beomgyu-yah,” He whispered with a lower voice. “Just know that I did all this because I wanted you to be free. I care about you, you know?”

He waved his younger brother goodbye, pushing the large doors to the emergency room where people dressed in blue scrubs awaited his command. Beomgyu tried to chase after him, but he stopped in his tracks. All his life, he was always behind his father, his mother, and his brother. Now, he was behind you. Through the small creaks of the door, he traced your sulking silhouette, seeing himself in the way you bowed down to your own brother, who stood upright with a phone and several envelopes in his hand. Maybe if he let his pride aside a long, long time ago, then he would’ve come to the conclusion that the two of you weren’t so different after all. 

“This is Kim & Lee LLC’s associate speaking, and we would like to file an academic leave as soon as possible.” 

Throughout knowing you, he had seen you cry for the first time, mimicking the exact same sorrows and anguish that plagued him since he was a child. There was nothing to be done, so he left the hospital, never turning back once.

III. VENUS PLAYS WITH MARS IN A GAME OF CHANCE

Nearly three months had passed, and you didn’t show up since. The band was aware of your periods of being a recluse, but none of them anticipated how bad it was until you stopped responding to their texts and calls altogether. The meeting place felt like a barren wasteland in your absence, and none of them could start practicing without you chanting the counts before every song. Heeseung would come by with a slice of pizza from time to time, and it has become a ritual for them to leave you a slice even when you’re gone. It didn’t matter to them that the offering would turn into mold in a few days—what mattered was how the last slice or two was always going to be meant for you, almost as if you’d come back in the crappy basement to devour your slice and complain about how it’s practically inedible. 

  The band wasn’t the only group of people that felt your absence, though. Beomgyu never realized how important you were in the law society until you gave him a passive-aggressive email that relinquish all your responsibilities as president to him. While a part of him felt happiness at the thought of finally taking over, there was an inkling of guilt within him that felt too unqualified to assume your role. Yes, he’s often lamented to Heeseung that he would’ve been a better president than you, and he even told his parents in a bitter argument that he was doing more as one of the vice presidents than you actually were as president, he had to admit that your absence caused an impending upheaval that practically caused the law society to implode. At first, it started with self-fulfilling prophecies stated by the other executives that were anxious about Beomgyu’s ascension as the de-facto president. Some said he wasn’t suited for the role based on academic performance alone, and others have already made predictions about his eventual impeachment from the board of executives. Your rivalry with Beomgyu was a well-known gag in the law society, but now, it didn’t feel like an inside joke anymore. In your absence, nobody knew what to do—and Beomgyu began to realize that perhaps he didn’t have it in him to be an effective leader and a prolific communicator. 

In some ways, Beomgyu finally realized why you were so effective in a group setting. For one, your ability to make compromises with the rest of the team elevated your status and competence from a newbie to a reliable figure. The same could be said for your band. From what he’s heard from Heeseung, Geonu only recruited you because of your background in jazz. He never considered your dynamics with the group or if you were a difficult person to work with, and he chalked it up to luck that you were good at mitigating all sides of the argument whenever he and Sungchan would bicker. Your effectiveness as a team player was further highlighted in the dashing performances that you and your band would deliver as Joker In. Despite all the arguments and horror stories he’d hear from Heeseung, the Joker In he saw on stage didn’t evoke a single ounce of disagreement or discord. Once the four of you were on stage, it was as if you were a single unit with the rest of the band, seamlessly playing melodies as a natural instinct more so than hours of relentless practice and infighting. 

Rhythm is the pillar of music and poetry, he once heard you utter in your conversations with the band. Though he initially disagreed and tried to back up Sungchan’s lamentations of playing a bigger role in the group, your absence has instantly highlighted why you were a stable foundation in everything that you were involved in. Sure, you weren’t the flashiest of both the law society and Joker In, but your absence placed a large dent in the operations of both. Even if you were a quiet figure in the law society, often staying on the sidelines to approve or reject event proposals while everyone was fighting for credit, everyone would always look to you as a final figure of approval. Once you either accepted or rejected an event and started dispatching the organization committee to plan and make these events come to fruition, all elements of disjuncture ceased to exist. It was the same with Joker In. Sure, you were often in the background trying to maintain stability while Geonu and Sungchan played the lead in each performance, but he was willing to admit that the band’s sound was nothing without your invisible hand guiding each melody and verse into perfection. 

In a way that the band and the law society needed you, Beomgyu realized—albeit with denial and extreme hesitance—that he needed you as well. Without your presence, he couldn’t care less about his academic performance. Nothing mattered when the certainty of him being at the top was secured. The astonishing irony behind all this was that, in some ways, he did ask for this. He did ask to become number one in everything, and yet he failed to realize that perhaps being number one in itself was never something he could ever be. 

The reason he got this far was because of his intense rivalry with his brother. For as long as he could remember, he was always vying for attention from his parents—practically pleading to be seen as anything but his brother’s shadow. Then, it was the several rivals he’d encountered in school once his brother was off to university. They were no match against your unyielding nature, but he would be lying to himself if they didn’t push him to further heights. 

Competition was something that he was always surrounded with, and with you gone, he didn’t know where to start. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and he hated that feeling more than hating you. 

For someone that prided himself in intelligence, he certainly fell short of common sense. Throughout all his years of trying to chase after your success and your achievements, he wasn’t ready for the loneliness and emptiness that would overtake him once he reached the top. Maybe that was why you decided to play in a band, even if doing so would result in parental disapproval. Sure, he didn’t know your life story, but that was at least what stopped him from starting his own band in high school.

What the fuck are you thinking, you bastard. Starting a band? In high school? This is why your brother was always better, Beomgyu-yah. 

“Shut up, Dad,” He whispered, remembering all of the GPS trackers laced on his phone and the strict curfew he had to maintain in his teenage years. Even if he knew nothing about you, it was perhaps the freedom and carelessness you had in you that made him envious of everything you had. To him, you were the epitome of a life he could’ve lived had he not been born into his so-called family—a breath of fresh air that tempted him with the fruits of liberation and rebellion. 

In some ways, he loathed you because he idolized you. He wanted to be you in any shape or form. That was, of course, until he rested his eyes on each news headline that managed to damage your reputation bit by bit. 

KIM & LEE LLC’S GOLDEN HEIRESS DEMOTED AND DISOWNED FROM THE FAMILY TRADE: HER SECRETS ARE REVEALED

The news came out roughly three months ago, right after he caught a glimpse of your brother making a call to the university’s board of directors. A part of him wished that you would fight back the same way you did whenever Beomgyu would cuss you out or make your life a living hell—because to him, you were always a fighter. 

He was aware that hospitals could change a person from the moment they entered into its sanitized walls, but he wanted to believe that you weren’t privy to its wicked curse. Above all the families that wept and got their morale weakened by an undesired diagnosis, an incurable disease, or an exorbitant bill that took a lifetime to pay back, he was sure you were immune to it all, keeping a headstrong demeanor in any situation. 

But all rich children were doomed the moment they were born, and you were just like him, a victim of circumstance. 

All he could do now was to continue dialing your phone number, even if the reply he got was the same, automated, female voice that told him your digital existence was erased from its archives. 

I’m sorry, but your call cannot be completed at this time. Please try again later. 

What if he gave you a chance? What if he got to know you instead of letting his bitterness get the best of him? Could things have been different between the two of you? Or would the rivalry persist in a different, more amiable form? Flashes of images were reflected in the large, bathroom mirror that he constantly gazed at, and in these times of automated mundanity between attending classes and fulfilling his new duties as the de facto president of the law society, all he could see was your smiling silhouette imprinted on the chair that he occupied, telling him again and again that he didn’t belong there. 

He contemplated visiting your father, but the nurse at the reception would always get back to him about your absence. You hadn’t visited him since the day your family withdrew you from university, and now, he didn’t know where you were. The band refused to talk to him altogether, and Heeseung hadn’t been to the basement since he quit his job at the pizza place. Sungchan’s whereabouts were also unknown, and whenever he would bump into Geonu in the hallways, he was met with firm resistance. 

“Don’t talk to me unless you’ve figured out a way to fix this entire mess.” The lead singer’s voice looped in his head. 

Beomgyu didn’t believe in a lot of things, but now, he believed in one thing and one thing only: Pillars and foundations of a building can be broken, but they can also be repaired. If you were what kept everything from falling apart, then maybe it was his fate to be the carpenter that rebuilt all the things that he had managed to destroy. Donning the same, neon red hair dye and scuffed combat boots, he decided to live out his life as the boy who simply wanted to see his favorite band play one, final show in the place where he knew he could be himself, free of the shackles that bound him in a life of academic rigor, a lack of identity, and an endless battle of finally finding who he truly was.

“So you weren’t joking about Dad giving the trust to his secretary instead of us, his goddamn kids…” You remember saying to your brother when you saw your father laying unconscious in the hospital bed. To you, your father was a figure of utmost respect and order, someone who didn’t suit the strings and tubes of IV drips and an oxygen mask. He was an innovator, a natural leader that was always meant to stay seated right in the middle of everything—whether it was the dining table or the main meeting room of Kim & Lee LLC. It was your first time seeing him outside of his usual pristine, tidy suit, and you didn’t know what to feel about the sudden change in appearance. Sure, he has aged, but even in old age, you had at least expected him to live and fight for his life for ten more years, still donning a black, expensive suit with utmost pride. 

“Isn’t this ridiculous?” Your brother replied, crossing his arms. The one thing that separated you from your brother was how difficult his expression was to read. Even in the face of adversary and doubt, he always managed to carry with him an aura of unyielding demonstration, refusing to display his woes on his sleeve. 

“Yeah, I guess,”

“You know, I never wanted to consider you as a part of the family,” 

“I know,”

“But this is a crucial time for all of us, and—”

“So what? Are you gonna create a fucking coalition of sorts within the family and try to sue Dad? The current owner and founder of the firm?”

It didn’t even scathe you one bit that your brother had, for the first time, openly shown his disdain towards you. It was always evident in the way he would avoid you around the house, never uttering a single word to you unless it had something to do with your academic achievements or the future of the firm. When your father announced that his solid line of succession had been broken by your existence, your brother moved out to America, only coming back when news broke that your father’s health was waning. It had always been that way since the two of you were children; the two of you were only siblings by family name and nothing more. 

“If it’s several against one, old man, I’m sure we’ll win,” He coldly stated, flipping through several documents that outlined the future of the firm. There were many things you hated about your family, and your brother was the best example of why that was the case. Even if you refused to believe it, the opportunistic trait that carried your family’s name for generations was a genetic plight that even you couldn’t escape. 

“Don’t you even have a shred of humanity within you? That’s our Dad, and he’s dying!” 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to arrive at the hospital on time,”

I was spending time with my friends! The only people who cared about me! You kept your mouth closed, demonstrating a pensiveness that only the law society and Beomgyu have seen you perfected. As always, your brother’s lips were pressed in a firm, thin line, eyes never acknowledging your existence. To him, the papers were more important than whatever was in front of him. 

“You didn’t look like you cared enough to even be there,” You retorted, mimicking the same nonchalance that soon became your family’s trademark. 

“My point exactly,” He hummed. “You know how terrible he was to us when we were children, right?”

“That doesn’t excuse ousting him from his position, though,”

“If his so-called leadership and stubbornness is what’s bringing the firm down, then I think it’s about time he left his post,”

“And you’re telling me that you’re the better alternative?” 

It was one thing to admit that your brother was right, but it was another to acknowledge him as the next best option in the line of succession. Despite your father’s rather tumultuous decisions that came as a result of senility and burgeoning egoism, he was a natural at micromanagement. Even in his old age, he still commanded an air of elitism that only leaders had. Your brother, on the other hand, lacked such charisma. For all his smarts and his efforts, he simply didn’t have it in him to wield the same charm and authority that your father did in his younger years. Even if he was a spitting image of him, there was no denying that the resemblance was only in the skin. For what your father had in terms of innate control and governance, your brother fell short of such defining qualities. While you had made a name for yourself as a promising air, he was forever tainted in the tabloids as your father’s shadow, forever chasing behind the outline of his pointed shoulders. 

“Well, I mean—”

“Shut the fuck up,” You spat. “I got better grades than you when you were a kid. I was first place in everything, and you were second at best. I attend the best school in the country, and, as always, you got rejected, opting for inferior schools. I’m already getting offers to attend law school in Ivy League institutions, while you had to beg your professors for a recommendation letter to even try to get into Columbia or Yale. You had your first internship at our company? Motherfucker, I worked at Morgan & Stanley Korea when I was nineteen. You think you’re the only alternative? You think you’re the next best option? Grow the fuck up and sit down. You’re just lucky to be where you are right now because you’re Daddy’s first.”

Now, three months later, you wished you could say more—not to your brother, but to your unconscious father lying down on his eventual deathbed. You wanted to cuss him out; you wanted to tell him how horrible he was; you wanted to plug his life support off then and there; you wanted to maul him into pieces; you wanted to slap him the same way he did when you would do every little thing to disappoint him; you wanted to take all his money and run away; you wanted him to experience the same pain and suffering of being a bastard child that should have never been born in the first place. 

But, by doing so, you were admitting defeat. You were succumbing to an ideal scenario of revenge that would leave you unsatisfied even when your father would die on the spot. As much as it tempted you to destroy him when he was chained by his disease, you were in the game long enough to know that there was a better life out there waiting for you—a life of a true winner. You’ve wasted your entire existence on being the perfect heiress, but now, it was time for change. Now that you were disowned, you were free, and in your eyes, this was a victory in disguise. 

And luck would have it that your pleas for freedom would be answered in a single phone call that sealed the deal. 

“We just got a deal from DooRooDooRoo, they got back to us about the record deal,” Geonu had called you a month later, when you were spending every single day under the comforts of your duvet. Back then, you couldn’t even tell that a month had passed, because everything had remained frozen in time. Each passing sunrise and sunset meant nothing to you when seeing your father’s bedridden image would always feel like yesterday. In a sense, time had been completely difficult to track, and you opted for stopping your clocks altogether, tearing off the calendar in your apartment, and replacing it with its original white walls. You didn’t think that the newfound sparseness of your apartment would worsen the lagging of time that hazed your entire being, but it didn’t matter to you. You were out of school, and you didn’t have a schedule to follow anymore. Why place a calendar on the wall when all the dates are merged into one? 

“What do you mean record deal?” You replied, keeping the phone on speaker to hear his voice. “Geon, we’re a cover band, I doubt they’d even want to sign us because we didn’t send them an original demo,”

Truthfully, the only thing that made the time pass was when you were in front of the electric drum kit in your room, replaying the same songs that once brought you joy in the basement that you managed to call your sanctuary. You contemplated leaving your apartment to visit it once in a while, but there was something in you that didn’t allow you to face Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin. What were you going to say to them? They already knew everything the moment the tabloids embarked on a journey of defamation, bearing their voracious fangs on another opportunity—a good story that would destroy the stronghold of your family’s empire. All they needed to know were in the headlines of each news article that was displayed on their television screens and their phones. If Geonu was right about signing a record deal with one of Korea’s biggest indie labels, then it would be bad press to have a fallen heiress as its core member. 

“I sent them the track you worked on,” He stated an amalgamation of static breaching your ears. He was definitely in the basement—most likely alone. The day you disappeared, Sungchan had also gone missing, turning off all his devices and blocking off any form of contact. The same could be said for Jeongin, sans the drastic effort to cut all ties with everyone else. You could still get a hold of him, but it would be in inconsistent lapses of time where he would either sound groggy or overtly happy—nothing in between, and especially nothing like his usual self when he was active in the band. Word had reached your ears from his roommate that Jeongin was admitted to the psychiatric ward a few weeks ago, the culprit being psychosis and his sudden relapse into the same, old habits that marred him in his younger years. 

Ironically, the news you would get from the people that you usually surrounded yourself with when you were a student didn’t come from themselves, but rather, from Beomgyu. Even if you didn’t answer his incessant calls, he would always leave you a voice note every day, detailing his new life as the president of the law society, the current status of your bandmates, and even little tidbits of his life. Without fail, he would always send these in at around six in the evening, making that hour the only way you could tell time. Before you knew it, you kept your watch active, setting an alarm with your smart home monitor to alert you whenever the hour was coming. Then, you would hide under your covers, pressing your cheeks on the cool, glass surface of your phone to hear his voice. Sometimes, you would close your eyes, watching fleeting images of a life that could’ve stayed intact had your father not succumbed to old age. Beomgyu had the voice of a narrator, and each description and detail he provided painted a picture of fragmented memories that felt distant yet so far away. 

“What?” You screeched. You didn’t know how to talk to Geonu, and it was a shame that someone you played music with every day suddenly felt like a total stranger. You were too used to Beomgyu’s soothing voice giving you a glimpse of the outside world, that it didn’t occur to you that the current phone call you were having wasn’t a product of one of Beomgyu’s scheduled voice messages.  

“The track that was in our drafts like, before you went MIA,”

“You mean Carpe Diem? That’s just something I wrote when I was bored, though,”

There were too many sessions in the basement that led to unfinished songs and fragmented drafts, but there was one, concrete product out of all the practices you’ve had as Joker In that never left your head. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact date of writing and actively composing the song, but it was certainly around your sixth or seventh night as Joker In when you began to voice more of your creative inputs into the musical journey that Geonu commanded. 

It was perhaps around the summer season when Jeongin had just replaced Felix as the new bassist of the band. You were sitting on a draft that you had carried with you since high school with your covert experimentations with the adolescent underground music scene. The song was obviously incomplete, but you had the drum track narrowed down to perfection after years of working on it and rearranging some of the fills and sections, experimenting with complex time signatures while retaining a certain sense of replayability that many radio-friendly songs had. At first, it was just a side project that you conjured up after Beomgyu had challenged you to write a song. It may have counted as cheating to repurpose a draft that you made before meeting him, but so long as you changed and updated the song, then it could’ve counted as a new song. By then, you were still on shaky terms with Sungchan, so you opted to ask Geonu to play both the rhythm and lead sections of the guitar. Felix had happily worked on the bass when he was still in Korea, changing a few things here and there to suit his rather intricate playing style. You had worked with Geonu for a few weekends to complete the lyrical bits of the song, but each draft left you in an uninspired mess. Being eloquent in your essays and your courses certainly didn’t translate well into poetry, and even Geonu’s longtime experience with writing lyrics couldn’t quell the dissatisfaction you had with the piece. 

That was until you decided to write your frustrations about Beomgyu, matching up each word, rhyme, and cadence with the tune that you believed you had perfected. You showed Geonu the first draft, solidifying your efforts with his nod of approval. He worked on rearranging a few words to fit the bridge and the chorus, and then, the song was suddenly scrapped. You didn’t know if it was because the band got busy with a surge of live shows and activities, or if you just didn’t want to work on the song any longer. All you knew was that by the time you decided to let go of the song, Beomgyu had replaced your brother and the rest of your family as enemy number one, making the song a daily reminder of him and his deplorable antics. 

“Well, Sungchan completed his bits and covered Jeongin’s bass parts. I sang through it with some of the lyrics I came up with when I was listening to the initial track,”

“Wait… you got a hold of Sungchan?”

Sungchan's whereabouts were kept under wraps since the day you left the hospital and your university for good. At first, you tried to call him, but his number was non-existent on the third ring. Text messages led to nowhere, and his account on Kakao had been defunct when you checked the band’s group chat. The only remnant of his identity was left in Beomgyu’s daily voice messages to you, where he speculated that he might have gone back home somewhere in Seoul.

“I saw someone who might have looked like Sungchan at the station near Mapo-gu today, but I could be wrong. These days, high schoolers are basically giants now, and it’s pretty hard to tell, but I’m still searching for him nonetheless. Did you know? He chased after me when I tried to go to the hospital to see you. We had a long conversation by the vending machine, and then, he just disappeared like that. I think I owe him a lot, really, and if it weren’t for him, then I doubt I’d have the conscience to make things right. Once again, I’m sorry for being a coward that could only apologize through these stupid voice messages. You deserve so much more than that, and even if you don’t wanna see me, the least I could do is try to make amends. You can forget about me after that, but I just wanted you to know that I never hated you—really. I did say that a lot, and Heeseung might disagree, but I don’t think I hated you. I think it was a bit of the opposite.”

You could vividly picture the outlines of Beomgyu and Sungchan by the vending machine near Jeongin’s apartment, sharing a drink or two as they talked about the sudden turn of events. Without Geonu, who often brought out the best and the worst in him, Sungchan was the diplomatic type who disliked conflict. You were aware of him giving warnings here and there to Beomgyu whenever you would storm off from a heated argument with him, but you didn’t know that he would go to such lengths to make things right—and now, the only trace you had of who you could finally call your best friend was in the images that Beomgyu would leave in his voice notes and an unknown text message that read I got rejected. 

“It’s a long story, but he signed the deal. You’re the only one that needs to sign it—of course, if you want to. I mean, I know how much your career and all that matters to you, so it’s no pressure. If you want, I can—”

“I’m signing it,” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m signing it,” You repeated without preamble. Back then, music was just a hobby for you—a way to escape the fast-paced, yet unchanging life of perfecting your image as the ideal candidate to lead your former family’s firm. In your younger years, the thought of pursuing music full-time and escaping the legal field to attend a music college in the heart of Seoul had plagued you, but you let the only thing you’ve known your entire life take over. Now that the foundations of your identity were shackled, you believed it was high time for you to rebuild everything you had lost in the process, facing forward to a newfound pursuit instead of constantly staying in the present. 

“Damn…” You could hear Geonu slowly sniffle in the distance as if he were right next to you. The empty walls of your bedroom had suddenly transformed into the decrepit, unpainted cement that lined the basement. The scent of rotting, molding pizza and lukewarm beer wafted your nose, bringing you back to the sanctuary that you would now call your one, true home. 

“What?”

“I just… You know… it’s been a while since we’ve last seen you, and I just didn’t expect you to sign the deal…”

Now, you could tell that Geonu was crying—something he never did in front of anyone unless he was drunk enough to let his tear ducts do the job. You took the phone away from your cheek, taking your comforter to dab a few splotches of wet tears that slowly trickled down your face. 

“Well, a lot can happen in three months. I’m not in school anymore, I’ve been disowned, and I’m out of the line of succession. I’ve been given an apartment and some hush money to do whatever the fuck I want, and my so-called family has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m free to choose whatever I wanna do, and I think I’d like to tour with you guys for the rest of my life. I never thought I’d be saying this, but fuck, man. I need you guys.” 

“I could say the same for you, asshole. Now quit moping around and get your ass in the studio. We’ll be recording and perfecting our debut album until we can all get a house in Europe and live with fast cars, big houses, and a nice life on the hillside.”

“Sounds like a cult or something,”

“Joker In is basically a cult, and we’re nothing without our founding member, so hurry up and get your ass to the studio. Now.” Before you ended the call, you could hear Geonu’s wide smile welcoming you back to the studio. You ended the call and tossed your phone on your bed, taking your bag of weary drum sticks with you. The map that led to the basement was entrenched in your head, and for the first time, you kicked your sneakers back onto the soles of your feet, jingling the keys to your apartment between your fingers as you heard the click that confirmed the safety of your house. You didn’t even check to see if the door was fully locked. None of that mattered when you were finally coming home.

Sungchan had told you personally that Geonu rejected him in the most “Geonu” way possible. A few days after the band’s reunion in the basement, he had invited you for coffee in one of the cafes near campus. At first, you wanted to change the location of your meeting. After all, being seen as a dropout was the last thing you wanted in your gradual return to life. However, the curiosity within you didn’t seem to die down when you breathed in the air of young adulthood and fast-paced trains. The cafe had always been there since you were a first year, and yet it had only occurred to you now to visit it and see what it had to offer. 

It was a quick, heartfelt conversation between slices of apple crumble and hot cups of warm, camomile tea. He didn’t even give you a greeting; he just sat you down and told you that Geonu didn’t like him back. 

“He said it was to keep the band intact, but I’m sure that’s just his way of telling me that he still wanted me in his life—you know? Even if he didn’t like me that way,”

You would’ve expected an underlying tension in the room during your first few practice sessions with the band, but the moment you entered the basement, everything was left as it was. The rotting boxes of pizza continued to collect mold and mildew, dyeing everything in a murky shade of green. All of the instruments collected dust—a remnant of a time when everything was actively used. Curled ends of guitar strings were strewn on the floor, uncleaned and unscathed since the moment everyone decided to take a break from the basement’s security. The only thing that struck you as a testament to time was how clean the abandoned house looked, perhaps due to a lack of usage. Conversations persisted the way they usually did, and before you knew it, everything was back to normal. Jeongin looked thinner than usual, but he had the same, bright aura of joy and the same passion for Eurovision that he did as before. Sungchan and Geonu continued to bicker in the same manner that they always did, letting the elephant in the room stay dormant. There was no awkward tension or uncomfortable silence that engulfed the entire band, and before you knew it, Joker In was coming closer and closer to perfecting their debut album. 

Today was a different story. There was an announcement by Geonu that practice would commence as usual, and it was granted that there would be a couple of sleepovers in the basement since the deadline to pitch your demo to the label was coming to a close. Being one of the more punctual bandmates out of the rest, you decided to show up an hour earlier, carrying several backpacks filled with toiletries, instant food, and a comforter that held you in your worst breaks. 

“Guys?” You called, only to hear your voice bounce back to you. 

It was normal to hold pranks in the studio, but hide and seek wasn’t the band’s forte. Even if Geonu used his height to his advantage and crept behind small cracks of furniture and large amplifiers, you would always manage to find his mop of hair sticking out in the distance. Sungchan’s footsteps were too loud to ignore, and Jeongin was terrible at keeping his laughter at bay. None of those remnants of your bandmates was present in the studio, and all you could do was heave a sigh at the fact that they might be late. 

Then, there was an eerie feeling that began to consume you. No matter how many times you’ve run up and down the entire house to see if anyone was there, you were left with an empty feeling of solitude, even if you were sure that you weren’t the only one in the building. There was an unshakable presence that made it too difficult for you to ignore, and after ceaselessly checking the same hiding spots again and again, you decided to halt your search altogether and give up. Heeseung often joked about the basement’s ideal location as a horror movie set, so maybe he was right about a few lost souls from the war that lurked in the corners of the basement. 

“You know, this place could have been a burial ground or something, right?” You remembered him saying amidst a flurry of smoke from his bong. Perhaps he was right, and it was about time that you coined yourself a believer of the paranormal. Dropping out of school and throwing away your potential degree was the last thing you imagined, so if the unpredictable managed to stir your life in a completely different direction, then maybe ghosts did exist. Right? 

“Hey…” A voice that only existed within your phone’s voice messages popped up behind your ears. You managed to let out a shrill shriek, quickly turning around to see a man with bright, red hair. His black nails were chipped to the edges, and his dark, grey jeans were distressed to reveal his protruding knees. The scuff marks on his combat boots were accentuated by the dull luster of leather that shone in the sunlight that seeped into the basement. 

“Oh, hi there,” You replied, clearing your throat as you collected yourself. It didn’t occur to you that three months could change anyone this drastically, but seeing your former rival in an outfit that didn’t suit him eased all of the apprehension that was built up in your system. 

“I know I’m the last person you want to see right now,” Beomgyu whispered. You weren’t used to seeing him so solemn, and you certainly couldn’t shake the dissonance in the calmness that he exuded. Even if you hadn’t seen Beomgyu in a while, you always associated him with a ball of anger that threatened to explode at any second, and now, the only thing that resembled his fiery passion was the bright, poorly dyed red dye that stained his head. 

“Well, not really. You’re up there, don’t get me wrong, but you’re definitely below my half-brother, my father, and basically every single person in my family.” You said with a small, awkward smile. 

“Oh, well, that’s good to know, I guess?” Beomgyu asked. He expected you to question his disguise or his presence, but perhaps you weren’t as dense as he thought. Maybe you knew who he was right from the start, even in your drunken state when you decided to send him home from a gig that felt like ancient history. 

“Did your brother tell you what happened?”

“No, but your face was all over the internet for a while. Some tabloids saying Kim & Lee LLC’s star daughter had been removed from the line of succession after it’s been exposed that you were in the underground music scene,”

“Jesus…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Out of all the reasons that they could’ve chosen, they chose that,”

“Yeah…” His voice was barely a whisper now, and he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, the same way he did when he nervously walked home with you from the bus stop. “I also heard that your band got signed.”

“Through Heeseung?”

“No, through Sungchan actually,”

“Wow, I never expected him to talk to you like that,”

“I know, right?” 

The light in Beomgyu’s eyes had disappeared, mellowing him out into a completely different person. Now that you had the chance to think about it, his newfound rebellious look suited him more when he would incessantly curse at you and call you by all of the profanities that the Korean language had to offer. The clean-cut, professional air of arrogance that he carried was reserved for the silent meekness that Beomgyu now exuded. 

“So, why are you here?” You asked. 

“The boys told me you were coming,”

“Ah…”

You checked the group chat and saw a flurry of texts from the rest of your bandmates detailing their tardiness. Geonu never went to the music shop since he would usually borrow instruments and equipment from his vast network of student musicians, and Sungchan was never the type to be late over a visit to the record store. Jeongin was a bad liar, and it was evident in his texting patterns that he tried his best to cover everything up with a rather believable excuse of waking up late from a nap. 

“They set us up, didn’t they?” You scoffed. Beomgyu slowly nodded—the confirmation that you needed to finally piece everything together. 

“I mean, three-ish years of basically wanting to kill each other needs to come to an end at some point, right? And it’s not like I’m graduating since I’ve already dropped out of uni…”

Beomgyu continued to fidget with the edges of his pockets, whistling a low, barely audible tune as he lightly kicked the can of empty beer that landed on the sole of his combat boots. When the can rolled over to your feet, you returned it to him with a stronger kick, initiating a simple game of soccer that allowed Beomgyu to display his years of practice in the varsity team. 

“I quit the Law Society, and I also quit the debates team.” Beomgyu interrupted, keeping the can to himself instead of kicking it back to you. He began to do a few tricks and keepy-ups, stopping at the fifth pass to kick the can back to you. 

“Oh,”

“I’m off student clubs for a while, and I’m just focused on getting my degree,”

“What happened to the Choi Beomgyu who wanted to be the best at everything?” You retorted with a grin, turning the can into an impromptu volleyball. 

“You get to a certain point where none of that even matters anymore, really.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah…”

Now, the can was on the ground. You kicked it into a nearby corner and used your bag as a seat, taking your comforter out to wrap yourself around its soft surface. Beomgyu hesitated before joining you on the floor, maintaining a sense of empty space between the two of you. Your eyes traced the thin, sheer curtains that flowed back and forth with the gust of wind that cooled the basement, tracing its trajectory until your eyes landed on Beomgyu’s lonesome outline. 

“Wanna… you know? Talk about it?” You asked, wrapping the comforter tighter around your shoulders. 

“I think we should talk about you first,” He replied with a smile that used to be reserved for everyone else apart from you. 

“Right… Well, I’ve been disowned! Yay!”

“You’re a full-time musician now, though,”

“Another yay!”

The basement had always been a place where you would escape Beomgyu for the simple reason that people like him brought you back to the familial infighting that plagued your childhood. It was a place reserved for music and music only, not a place to recall the copious amounts of studying and perfectionism that you allowed yourself to suffer through in your three-year rivalry with him. You would’ve never imagined that one day, you would be able to share this place with someone like him, but something about having him sit a couple of spaces next to you as you caught up with him felt right, rendering the intensity and tension that you associated with him into an evaporating mist. 

“Man, you’re actually funny,” He said behind a light chuckle. 

“And you’re actually pretty nice behind all your stupid dick jokes,” You retorted with the same, gentle sentiment. You took a can of lemon seltzer out of your bag and tossed it in his direction. He caught it mid-air and gave you an even brighter smile, glassy eyes scanning through the can with awe and nostalgia as he opened it and took its nectarine contents between his lips. 

“Anyway, what about you? What’s going on?” You asked, taking a water bottle out and twisting the cap open. 

“I think I’m gonna stick to being a lawyer, but I’m definitely staying out of the family drama,” Beomgyu replied. The can of lemon seltzer was now on the ground. 

“I thought big pharma and the medical industry didn’t have as much fun as we do in the private sector,”

“After I kind of got over my brother being cut out for the job more than I did, I just felt the need to stop being bitter. I mean, it’s whatever. I don’t really care anymore about my parents telling me that I’m basically a disgrace to the Choi name. I overcomplicated my entire life by focusing on that the moment I started breathing, and I think it’s about damn time I act like a fucking lawyer and defend myself from them instead of constantly looking to them for approval.”

“That’s not a very Choi Beomgyu thing to say,” You laughed, rolling the water bottle until it knocked over his can of lemon seltzer. Its contents began pouring out into the wooden floorboards, and you knew Geonu was going to scold you about it later. 

“Well, the Choi Beomgyu now is not the same as the Choi Beomgyu three months ago,” He replied with a smile, as if to tell you that he’d stick around to help you clean up the mess once everyone else arrived. 

“I still don’t get why you hated me so much though,” 

If Beomgyu were to apologize to you at the hospital or right after the Eurovision watch party, you weren’t sure if you had it in you to forgive him. This wasn’t out of the bitterness and pent-up grudges that you managed to hold onto for so long, but rather, it was more so out of your own pride. You were sure that you would take his apology as is and never speak to him again out of a failure to admit that you, too, had crossed the line when you brought out the same traumas surrounding his own family and his brother. 

Three months of silence was all it took for you to admit that a three-year rivalry felt like a childish game. In essence, the two of you were one and the same, both marred by the heavy expectations of generational wealth and status. Even if there were slight differences in your respective stories, perhaps the intense hostility that characterized the two of you came from the same place—one that made it rather difficult to see each other as equals or separate people. You didn’t know if Beomgyu felt the same, but the peak of your aggression with him certainly came from a hidden, inner dilemma that came from seeing yourself in Beomgyu’s glassy, beady eyes. 

“I actually came down here to explain all that, to be honest—then again, I already feel like I did it pretty well when I talked about my brother and whatnot.”

“Some sort of innate, deep-seated inferiority complex since you were always compared to everyone around you?” You retorted and whistled, prompting Beomgyu to muster a dejected nod in your direction. 

“Yeah, that.”

You know, I had the same thing with my own brother too. Crazy, right? You thought but kept those words to yourself. Words weren’t needed between the two of you anymore; you knew him long enough to understand that he could probably guess what was on your mind. 

“Can I be honest?” You interrupted, taking your comforter and tossing it between his lap. You shuffled closer until the space between the two of you ceased to exist. Beomgyu reluctantly nodded again and took your blanket in his palms, feeling through its seams as he stared at the setting sun. 

“I thought you already were,”

“Well, I mean, really honest.”

“Shoot,”

“I actually knew you were sneaking into our gigs.”

A part of Beomgyu wanted to get up and run out of the basement, but another part of him knew that he should’ve trusted his gut from the start. Though he was aware of socially dense, book-smart academics, he was sure you weren’t of the sort. From managing the law society with impeccable leadership down to being a core member of a band, he knew deep down that adept communication and management skills came with social awareness. Nonetheless, he took the confession with ease, admiring the events at the night bus with a newfound perspective. 

“I played dumb because I didn’t wanna ruin things for you, you know? Music is something that brings people together, and I can understand that in some ways, being in this basement was a safe space for you—some sort of escape from all the bullshit that your parents put you through,” You explained, heaving a sigh as you kicked the now empty can of lemon seltzer towards the same corner where the crushed, dented beer can had landed. 

“And at first, I thought you weren’t so bad. I mean, you actively came to our shows even if, for whatever reason, you hated me at school. I think my thing about the entire ordeal is how I can’t wrap my head around you being so mean to me.”

He always knew you were honest, but he didn’t think you would be honest in such a raw, authentic way—especially with him. 

“Like I’ve said, the Beomgyu three months ago is a different Beomgyu. I didn’t really know how to process the grudges I’d held against my parents since I was kid, so I guess I took it out on the people I’ve been compared to,” He replied, after a few seconds of silent pondering. 

“Is that really it?” You asked, repeating his pensiveness with your own rendition of a long, drawn-out pause. 

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess,”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you trying to say?”

You grabbed your comforter and tossed it into his face, running behind the drum kit in anticipation of an attack. Instead of seeing your comforter fly across the studio, however, Beomgyu remained still, slowly taking off the cotton blanket and neatly folding it into a pile beside your backpack. 

“That you were obsessed with me,” You finally joked. The sun had completely set, and there were no signs of your bandmates coming into the basement anytime soon. Heaving a sigh of relief, you took a seat on the stool that saw the best of your musical abilities, grabbing a thin, 7A drum stick that was worn down in an amalgamation of splinters and cracks. You twirled each stick around your fingers, humming a light, jazzy beat on your head before hitting the ride cymbal and placing your feet on the hi-hat pedal. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Beomgyu retorted, taking a seat on one of the amplifiers as he watched you perform a small solo that reminded him of the bossa nova records that would often leak out of his maid’s earphones.  “I did find you pretty cute, I just wished you didn’t show your cards as a teacher’s pet in our first classes together,”

“Little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a girl?”

“No, more like little boy couldn’t handle being bested by a nepo baby,”

The crash cymbals rang in Beomgyu’s ears, but he didn’t step away from the noise. After hearing your band’s studio sessions on several online music streaming platforms for so long, he couldn’t resist the opportunity of watching you play live in such close proximity. To him, you were surely a one-of-a-kind musician, one that managed to turn senseless beats and fills into a melodic journey. 

“Not anymore!” You yelled, tapping your sticks to the side of the snare drum while kicking the bass drum’s pedal to accentuate each rhythmic interval with timed, yet deeply dispersed vibrations. 

“Ex-nepo baby,” Beomgyu corrected. He wanted to pick the acoustic guitar beside one of the larger amplifiers in the basement, but he resisted the temptation to play alongside you. 

“That’s more like it,” You said with a smile, halting your drum solo and slipping your sticks back into a small, slender bag. Pushing your weight off your stool, you leaned backward until you could reach the hilt of the acoustic guitar, gently handing it over to Beomgyu as you readjusted the towel that lined the entire snare drum. He took it and admired the woodwork, recalling the chords that he had taught himself when he was a teenager that had the ability to dream. 

“So, what do you wanna do?” He asked, bitterly scrunching his nose as the dissonance of untuned strings reverberated in his ears. You tilted your head to the side, but Beomgyu took his palm up in the air to stop you from getting up from your stool again.

Thom Yorke was right, everyone can play the guitar. 

“Can you sing?” You asked, leaning your chin onto your palm while keeping your elbows leveled onto the cotton surface of the towel on top of the snare drum. 

“Sorta?” Beomgyu replied with a shrug. 

“Can you set up the mic on your own?” 

“I think so?” 

“Great, show me what you’ve got. I’m sure being a big fan also means belting out notes like Geonu, right?” Once Beomgyu was confident enough about the tuning of the guitar, he started to strum the chords that lined each stanza to the song you wrote. Instead of playing along, you deepened your trance and kept your eyes on his slouched figure, watching a man that could’ve been a musician with you in a different world. The basement had always been a sanctuary for the two of you, and now, free of all the ills of wealth and familial obligations, you openly shared your secure liberation with him, watching him play a song that was written for him.

EPILOGUE: CARPE DIEM

Wе'll play our love against your hate

Don't you count on us to let you win today

Today

Through the corners of your eyes, you could see Beomgyu in his so-called disguise: bright, long, red hair sprayed on with less than perfect agility and accuracy, torn sleeves that revealed his stick-and-poke tattoos across his arms and chest, ripped jeans to match his long legs, and a pair of combat boots that made his walk turn into awkward waddles between the dance floor and the bar. God forbid you found him attractive in the daylight, but the nighttime brought out a different beast in him. He wasn’t the snobbish, prideful boy that you would bicker with during your law modules; he wasn’t the sharp-tongued asshole you wanted to fight in the middle of the hallways; he wasn’t the man that made you feel less than a woman whenever he unluckily graced you with his presence; he was just Choi Beomgyu—a lost boy under the dark, neon lights of the disco ball of fate that spun the two of you together in a distorted, complicated mosaic of trials and tribulations. 

You wouldn’t dare admit it, but you found him rather attractive from the start. That was the reason why you wanted to catch his attention when you first met him in your first-year orientation. Back then, he had sleek, black hair, trimmed to perfection to explicitly embody his status with a single look. While you presented yourself as the exact opposite of who he used to look like, there was no harm in trying, right? 

Who knew that your lack of courage to speak to him and befriend him from the start would spur a three—almost four-year—rivalry of academic battles and hurt? You certainly didn’t predict it, but perhaps fate worked in wonderful ways, as he was now doing two-steps to a song that you wrote, composed, and poured all your heart into. 

A song about Choi Beomgyu. 

We danced and played until the sun came

Writing a story using our names

About a generation not afraid to seize the day

Geonu’s voice was the perfect touch to the lyrical prose and intricacies you communicated through the song. It was sweet, yet packed a pang of pain in each syllable—something that you always applauded him for. What made his performance better was how it made Beomgyu’s wasted presence look like an angel—as if Geonu’s voice was the spell you needed to finally see the man as a divine, untouchable being in your eyes. The test lights of all different colors glowed like a halo on the crown of Beomgyu’s head, and with the last cymbal to end the song, you immediately got up and dove to the crowd, throwing your drum sticks behind as your lips grazed the man you’ve hated for the past three years. 

Beomgyu couldn’t tell if he was too drunk or if he’s waited for this moment since he saw you on the edge of the row at an introductory elective he chose to fill his schedule, but he took your arms in his in one, fell swoop, catching you in your fall with the sturdiness of his grip. In an instant, all of the feelings he had for you blended into a single word: love. 

Who knew that hate was not the opposite of love? He certainly didn’t. In a sense, he should’ve listened to Heeseung from the start and swallowed his stubborn pride—then again, he also knew that life didn’t work that way. At this moment, he thanked his unyielding nature for allowing him to be with you for three, long years. Even if there was an incessant voice within him that complained about the prospects of being with you earlier had he not been so difficult, there was an equal part of happiness within him that was completely satisfied with the way things were. Chance worked in wonderful, albeit unpredictable ways, and maybe if he didn’t hate you so much, he wouldn’t even know of your existence from the start. 

The crowd around the two of you cheered as they watched you engulf Beomgyu in another, languid embrace. Their voices were mere whispers filtered with the booming sound of Geonu’s speech in the microphone and Sungchan’s own guitar solos; all you could see was Beomgyu’s angelic face between your soft, sweaty palms. The rush of adrenaline that usually came with playing shows was now replaced with the gentle hums that echoed across the cages of your chest, aching with a pulsating pain that threatened to implode inside of you. 

“You’re such a loser,” Beomgyu whispered, taking the back of your hands in his as he caressed the surface of your knuckles with his thumb. You could feel his rapid pulse quicken by the amount of alcohol he consumed, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t need to be inebriated to feel a certain way. 

“Shut up,” You retorted, touching the tip of your nose on his before climbing back up to the stage to finish the song one and for all. 

With the band together, arm in arm, the four of you gave the crowd the last bow you’ll ever give them. Salty tears were shed, roaring claps and cries for an encore were heard in the distance, and the only person in your eyes was Beomgyu, who was sober enough to stand still and spill his drink in your face. In return, you blew him a kiss and threw a single drum stick in his direction, watching him effortlessly catch it and twirl it between his fingers. As the chants for an encore grew louder, you stared at each of your sweat-ridden bandmates—all of them nodding at the last request. 

“Alright, assholes,” Geonu began, taking the mic stand apart and throwing it to the side. “You asked for it, so we’ll give you one more performance. One more, yeah?” 

Sungchan didn’t even need to play the first chord to the song; Jeongin didn’t need to pluck the strings to his bass; you didn’t need to go back to your drum kit to strike the first beat; Geonu didn’t need a microphone to signal the first note of the song. Everyone knew what the next performance was going to be, and they crowded around the stage, forming a circle with Beomgyu at the center. 

This one’s for you, prick. You mouthed with a wide, ear-to-ear grin on your face. You took a can of lukewarm beer and pierced it right in the middle with your teeth, watching the crowd gaud you to finish it all in one go. Then, you crushed the empty can in your fingers and threw it to the side, rushing back to your band as they all sat on the edge of the stage. 

“You guys know the words to this one, right?” Geonu shouted. The crowd roared with approval and kept their feet still in anticipation despite the hazy inebriation that turned their vision into a mere collection of blurred movements. The alcohol had rushed past your bloodstream and circulated in your head, forming a telescope that pointed to Beomgyu as your one and only North Star. 

Look me straight into the eyes,

When I truthfully lie to you

For a graduation gig, this was perhaps one of the best gifts you could ever ask for. No amount of material desire could replicate the sense of community felt within the tiny, decrepit basement that your band has called home. Now that you’ve thought about it, this basement didn’t seem to belong to your band anymore. It belonged to everyone in the room. Those who wanted to escape a life of mundanity and academic pressures, those who wanted to forget about the time they fucked up their jobs, those who wanted to remember their youths with rose-colored lenses and shagadelic sad boy music, and those who just wanted a place where they could be themselves. The basement was a home—no, a sanctuary—that welcomed everyone with open arms—even the likes of Choi Beomgyu. 

Dreams are of your taste,

Mornings smell like you

You took control of the chorus and screamed to your heart’s content. Everyone’s voices blended into a harmonious blend of heartfelt solidarity. There were people making out in the corner of the bathroom, those that were too drunk to stand and yet muttered the lyrics in the best way they could, and the strongest soldiers of your long setlist remaining still, arm in arm with each other as they continued to sing the lyrics with you and your band. Beomgyu was still in the middle, eyes glued to your swaying figure as you slowly descended from the stage again with a microphone in your hand. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering,

And searching for the path that leads to you

Geonu, Sungchan, and Jeongin descended the stage too and started interacting with the crowd. You could see Heeseung in the distance waving at you with two joints between his fingers and a girl clad in a bright green apron in his other arm. He gave you a thumbs up and bowed before going to the bar, and you returned his gesture with a fervent scream of gratitude. You then took Beomgyu’s head and ruffled his hair, letting the residue of his red dye stain your palms. 

“So that’s what the song meant,” Beomgyu whispered right next to your ears, watching your panting figure gulp down an entire bottle of water in one go. He took the microphone from your hands and sang the last verse to the of his best abilities, letting his mind scavenge through all the times he’s secretly listened to your band’s discography on Soundcloud. There was no use in pretending he didn’t know any of the words when he’s spent every waking moment listening to Joker In on his commute to and from campus. 

“Yeah, kind of funny, right?” You replied, tossing the empty bottle to a nearby trash can. Beomgyu tossed the microphone back to Geonu, who was now being nursed back to health by Sungchan. You gave the two a nod and took Beomgyu’s hand to leave the confines of the basement. 

Now that the two of you were outside, you breathed in the fresh scent of grass and greeneries that surrounded the abandoned house. The night sky in hues of navy evoked divine iridescence with the hymns of the crickets and fireflies that sparked the outskirts of town into a bright, starlit grove of secrecy. You took another can of beer that you hid inside the pockets of your overalls and crushed it open, offering a sip to Beomgyu once you were finished taking a large gulp. He refused, leaning his tall frame on the unpainted walls of the house. The noise from the basement echoed into the vast, empty skies. Everyone’s voice seemed to repeat the chorus of the song in muffled hums, and you joined their choir with a quiet rendition of your own, humming the song that brought you to Beomgyu in a gentle lullaby. 

The compass fails to listen to me,

My lost soul’s wandering

And searching for the path that leads to

You stared at Beomgyu before finishing the last line of the verse, twirling the cool can of beer between your fingers. It was impossible to hate him under the moonlight. 

“Do you still think I’m that sexy stranger that you almost took home with you from the bus stop?” He asked, craning his neck to look at you with his glassy eyes. 

“Dipshit, we went over this a long time ago. Did you really think I was that stupid?” You replied, returning the rhetoric while fishing for a pack of cigarettes in your pockets. Beomgyu scratched his head and cleared his throat, averting his gaze to meet the destroyed leather of his combat boots. 

“Well, you’re still kind of dense…” 

“A face like yours is difficult to hide, you know? Even with your dumb excuse of a disguise.” 

A light chuckle escaped your lips. Beomgyu always wondered what you’d sound like if you laughed with him instead of laughing without him. Perhaps it was the remnants of alcohol that remained in his bloodstream, or perhaps it was the irresistible, honey-like tone in your voice that made him want to hear you laugh again. 

“Can we start over again?” Beomgyu interrupted. This time, he positioned himself at an angle that made him face you regardless of where his neck was aching to go. You gave him a small smile, followed by a middle finger as you let the fizz of beer emulsify within the confines of your mouth. 

“Seriously? I thought seeing your dumbass play guitar in the studio was already enough?” You replied, letting the embers from your lighter reflect its yellow flames in Beomgyu’s marble-like eyes. 

You were not one to waste a cigarette, but a single puff engulfed you in a woozy feeling of nausea and turbulence. As you stubbed the light out of the long, white stick on the dying grass around it, you turned your attention back on Beomgyu—the most patient he’s been since the two of you first met. Everything with Beomgyu felt long and drawn out, but this time, you didn’t mind. The night was long, and you wanted all the time in the world to start over, even if it meant confessing some of your deepest, dirtiest thoughts to him. 

Carpe diem. Seize the day. 

And so, you did. Beomgyu’s cheeks felt like satin feathers ruffling and tickling each of your fingertips, electrifying you with a gentleness that lulled you closer to him. There was nothing to be afraid of from the start, and even if it took you three years to overcome that unbridled, irrational fear that is Choi Beomgyu, you were nonetheless glad that it was all over. Another day was about to come, and who knows? Maybe Beomgyu wouldn’t be an enemy anymore.

—CREDITS: @writingmochi @gyvhao @chocorenchin @michipan @hsgwrld (hi meg !! also tagging you on this because this is a eurovision fic lMAOO this is vivian on her txt blog btw !!)

[cherrylng]

Matt Bellamy interview - Muse [ROCKIN'ON (December 2000)]

"If you ask me, our first album was a youthful rock experience at its ultimate limit….. Thanks to that, we've now reached a point where we don't even want to know what happens if we keep going."

So where are these horrid kids headed now that they've buried the ‘first Muse’, who froze the whole of the UK with their unbelievable live performances and insane falsetto? Matthew Bellamy, 22, talks about his next ambition!

Interview: Erica Yamashita / Photography: NAKA

Muse's performance at Akasaka Blitz on October 14th was a speedy one hour and 12 minutes long performance with 18 songs. There was no encore. At the end, Matthew rolled around at the feet of drummer Dominic and started messing around, waving his hands and disappearing to the side of the stage, and then bassist Chris went around destroying the drum kit one by one, so there was no time for an encore. But that was also a happy ending, with Matthew whispering something to the two of them just before. Matt was waving his guitar around a lot, but it was only the first day of the Tokyo show, so I guess he was thinking that he couldn't smash it here. Instead, he ran around the stage.

The show on this day was also very loud from the beginning. To be honest, it was a bit rough. Of course, as usual, their performance was impressive, but they seemed a little slack and were trying to intimidate others with their strength. The two ballads in the middle of the show, sung by Matt, sitting beside Chris with an acoustic guitar, completely changed the wavelength. Interestingly, what followed was a stage full of shadows and storytelling, even though it was a fast and loud world again. There was a relentless pull that is the essence of a Muse show. An unidentifiable energy emanates from Matthew, who is tiny even in Japan. A mass of emotion that you find yourself unable to take your eyes off.

Some have expressed concern about the future evolution of Muse, saying that they are too technically accomplished for their young age, that they are doing stage actions that are like rock conventions, and that they are becoming musically stylised. However, 22-year-old Matt Bellamy is wavering. This was his third visit to Japan in seven months, which inadvertently confirmed his wavering and self-examination. He has all the talent, technique, and brains. He has both desire and confidence. I would like him to soar into the second chapter of Muse, which is as bold as he can.

"With "Showbiz", I wanted to destroy purity and innocence. But on the next album we're going in the opposite direction."

Last night's gig was really intense (laughs). 「Yeah. I admit it. Sometimes we have gigs like that where we just blow it from start to finish. It depends on the mood of the moment.」

What was your mood like yesterday? 「Well, I was a bit confused and restless.」

Oh, why? 「Haha…… I had a lot of interviews and stuff during the day, so by the time I got on stage, a lot of things had built up inside me. Also, I changed the set of songs since yesterday.」

I see. You played four new songs, didn't you? 「I think three, to be precise. The opener was a new one and an old one that we did as a test for this tour.」

That was a very hard opener. Are the songs for the new album almost complete? 「Yeah, almost. The songs themselves are done, we just need to decide what form we want to take with each one. When we go into the studio, we listen back to everything we've played live and change the details and decide on the arrangements and instruments. I think a couple of the songs will be harder than any of the songs on "Showbiz", but overall I think there's a wider range. From the hard stuff to the softer, more subdued songs. There are at least two very mellow, emotional, and quiet songs. There are also about three songs that are not disco or dance music, but are more like early 80s electro-pop, with a lot of synths.」

One of these songs, "Plug in Baby", already has a title and was played yesterday. It sounded hard live, but it's quite a melody-driven number, isn't it? 「Yes, yes. We've already recorded that one. That one, and the one that doesn't have a title but starts with the keyboard that I played yesterday, we've finished recording those two songs. "Plug in Baby" is quite hard on bass and drums, but I think it's very melodic in its recorded form, including the vocals.」

By the way, what's a Plug In Baby? 「Hehehe…… (chuckles to himself). It can mean a few things, but, er, it might be a little strange…… There are various systems, like governments and big companies, and the idea is that the handful of people at the top of those triangles are all connected and have huge control. There are many smaller triangles in the world, and I am at the top of a very small triangle called Muse. And I'm learning what control is. What kind of influence can I have on the band members, on the crew, on the recording site, etc.? How my ideas flow through all these different people. And eventually, when the record comes out and people start talking about it. Some people take the time to raise their children and spread their influence. At the moment I don't want to have kids at all, but instead I can come up with ideas and concepts about the situation and observe how they flow through people and how things change.」

Does that come from the recognition that controlling what and how is a big issue in being in a band? 「Originally someone was trying to exert control over me, telling me to do this or say that. I've learnt little by little how to stand up to that and make the situation happen the way I want it to happen. That's one theme. But there's also a slightly weirder theme in the song "Plug In Baby", which is the theory that the people who run the big governments and royal families and stuff are not actually living things on Earth (laughs). It's not so much that they are actually people, but that forces we don't know about are controlling their thoughts. People at the top are always targeted and manipulated by these mysterious forces. I don't know if it's true or not, and I know it sounds stupid, but it happens sometimes. It's like you're being controlled by an uncontrollable force, or a creature, or something.」

Hmm (laughs). In our last interview, you mentioned that you sang a song in which you put yourself in the position of a young mother. Have you finished that? 「Yes, but it hasn't been recorded yet. It's just guitar and vocals at the moment, and I'm thinking about how to incorporate the band into it. I think I'll use a very quiet, acoustic guitar, and maybe a harp…… or some kind of tuned percussion. I'd like to make a sound that somehow conveys a sense of childhood happiness. But I haven't really settled on a concrete idea yet.」

Do you have any other thematic trends for the new songs? 「There are two or three songs, and the lyrics are about someone who I really love and want to love because of their personality, but at the same time I feel envious and jealous because the ideals they have are so pure…… I've got a song that goes something like this. I think the songs on the next album are very meaningful to me when I sing them now. But I also felt that way about the songs on the first album when I wrote them. So, well, I think it's normal for my feelings about songs to change over time.」

Is that feeling of envy for the ideal of perfection in others something that's been on your mind recently? 「Hehe…… For example, I think there are people who listen to Muse's music and get a sense of pleasure, but there are also people who find it painful and unbearable to listen to. So…… Hmmm (laughs)…… I think that's true. For example, if you didn't know what human sex is, you might think it's very painful to hear the voices and noises, right? But it's not like that, it's just a pure expression of humanity. But I think for some people it's too graphic or unacceptable or something like that…… Um…… Well, that's a matter of course (laughs). Well, what I was trying to say about ideals is that sometimes you meet people who aren't broken at all, right? They believe in certain things even when they grow up. It can be something very simple, like family ties. My parents divorced when I was 13 and I think that's the way it is, but some people don't know what it's like because they haven't been through it themselves. You're talking to someone and their reaction is that they don't know about it and they don't want to know about it. They don't want to hear about it. Well, that can't be helped. I think that if you don't have to see everything through in reality, that would be the best thing. Sometimes it's better to be able to believe in something like a dream.」

When you come into contact with something so pure and innocent, do you admire it and want to be like it? Or can't help wanting to destroy it? 「Oh yes…… I admire them and want to be one too. Probably. I think on the first album I was more of a person who wanted to destroy it (laughs). But on the next album, I'm going in the opposite direction.」

I always feel that way. I feel that you have a duality or two extremes in you, and that you just can't seem to separate the two. 「Yeah. Yeah, that's true. There's a part of me that always sees both sides of things.」

On the one hand, you want to believe in something really pure and good, but on the other hand, your experiences have made you feel that you can't? 「Another example of this ideal is religion. Something unscientific. I really think how nice it would be if, when you die, you could believe that you're going towards something. I wish there was something like that. Maybe there is, I don't know. But I can't believe in anything that isn't true, no matter how I try…… hehe…… But I wish I could. And maybe I can make myself believe that.」

It feels like that frustration and irritation is transforming into the extraordinary heightening of Muse's music. 「(laughs)…… It's like that for everything. It's also about life itself. Like love. I just can't believe that you love someone and you think it's going to last forever. For anyone.」

"Right now I'm choosing to do caricatures of rock. I think I'm still trying to figure out whether that's a creative situation or not."

I was struck by the fact that you said that your ideal gig experience would be one where you could experience imaginary death on stage, the ultimate ecstasy… 「I mean, I'd like to do more of a theatrical performance. But I still don't know how to incorporate that element and put on a good show. One possible way would be to go out on stage and change costumes and scenes to suit the mood of the songs, so that each song is a theatrical experience. Then each song would be closer to an extreme experience, and there would even be an experience of death in it (laughs). I'd like to do some theatrical performances, not just rock geek stuff.」

Even today, is there a certain amount of drama and theatricality in Muse's performances? 「Yes, that's what I'm trying to bring out. Sometimes it works, sometimes it's a mess. Because sometimes you get into one character and you try to change into a different one, but it doesn't work. That's why I take a lot of time to decide on the setlist. Sometimes it determines the success or failure of the stage. Sometimes, depending on how the songs are arranged, I can't change the mood right away.」

How was last night, by the way? 「Hahaha…… Hmmm. Well, I think the middle part went well, very well. But the beginning and the end, I don't know, maybe it was a bit muddled. The middle part was focused and went as intended, and I think I was able to express what I was feeling about the song really well. Especially "Falling Down" and "Unintended".」

Ah, that ballad spot. Actually, something changed there, or rather, it became easier to understand what you were trying to do. After that, when you went into the storm again, it felt like you could see the flow. 「Oh, really? For us, it was totally the same. Especially with "Unintended", there was a feeling that you don't get very often. Most shows we're like, we slowly build up and get intense, then drop off and get intense again, but last night it started out intense, dropped in the middle, and then built up again at the end. So from the beginning I was in a whirlpool where I didn't know what was going on, and when it finally got quiet in the middle, I was able to calm down and grasp the situation, and I was able to return to that state.」

I see. You play with such tremendous energy that sometimes you get sucked into it and can't quite get yourself out of it. 「Hehehe…… Yeah.」

Are you at all worried that what you're doing might be perceived as a caricature of rock? 「……No, I don't think so.」

And what do you think spares you guys from being seen as caricatures? 「That's…… The fact that I know and have allowed myself to look that way, you know. It's something I've wanted to do. Yes, I think I've deliberately gone that way at some gigs and stuff. But I also know that I can always do something completely different. Other than just playing rock music. I can go in any direction at any time. But right now I'm choosing to do something like a caricature of rock. Because I want to try it. I want to know if it's really a creative situation. I think I'm still trying to figure out if it's a good thing or not.」

Destroying instruments, running around the stage, that sort of thing? 「That was probably the last time I did that, last night.」

Hmm. I've heard that before. 「What, did I say that?」

Not exactly, but something similar. 「Pfft. I see. I might have said that (laughs).」

I'm not criticising you, because even though there are some elements of that cliched tactic, Muse's stage is… 「(interrupting) No, but I agree with you. If I was in the audience, I would feel the same way. But everything I do, I do it because I want to. And I don't really think about whether other people will see it and think it's stupid or not. I do it for my own learning, and I'm still in the learning process. I don't think you can really decide if you want to be that person until you've experienced certain things. Sometimes what you see in people's eyes may not be my true nature, sometimes it's just something I'm doing on a trial basis. Sometimes, when I want to do something like this, I apply the idea to my surroundings and experience the situation. And it's something that, as I said before, you can stop at any time and move on to a different situation.」

Do you really want to stop performing like that, even if it wasn't just last night? 「But right now, I'm riding the acceleration of the first album, so it's hard to stop. We've done a tremendous amount of touring up to this point, and no matter how you do it, you have to become a caricature of rock ‘n’ roll. Life on tour has an effect on both the mind and the body. It's difficult until you cut it off somewhere. I'm trying to do that in November, when this tour is over.」

While you've written a whole new set of songs, you've also been re-experiencing the B-sides of your first and previous singles almost every night on stage. How do you feel about those songs that were released over a year ago? 「I still think they're good. But they've developed into something very different from the album version. It's changed so much over the course of the tour that it's become very extreme. But actually, most of the songs can be played just acoustically. Not for the next album, but at some point in the future, I'd like to release an album based on acoustics without using any electronics at all. Really, my main goal is to try different approaches. Our first album is about youthful rock taken to its limits…」

(laughs). 「There's always the temptation to want to know what life is like at least once. And then to experience it yourself, to experience touring this hard, including all the stereotypical aspects of band life. I've done that too, and thanks to that I've reached a point now where I don't want to know what's going to happen if I keep going like this…… ahaha……」

"As musicians of the same generation as our audience, we are shining a light on the extreme emotions of living in these times. I think that means how to accept yourself as you are."

(laughs). If you're done with the extreme rock of your youth, can you give us a preview of the tone of your next album? 「Everyone keeps asking about the new album—」

Everyone wants to know. 「Yeah, I know. No, I mean it's hard to predict the future, because if you try to force it, you get accused of being different in the end.」

What would you like it to be, in your opinion? 「Hmmm…… Music always reflects how I'm feeling at the time when I'm making it. So I'm sure it will be an honest reflection of how I've been feeling over the past year or two. What I care about more than anything else is honesty. I want it to be as honest as possible about what I'm feeling and what I want to say. I can't really say what that's going to be like until the moment the album is finished.」

You said that since you started writing again, you've lost all sense of who you thought you knew completely before, the path you were on, etc. Does that feeling still persist? 「I've recorded two songs and I've calmed down a lot (laughs). I'm still writing songs, but two or three months ago I was working so hard on them that I didn't know what was going to happen. But once we started recording and rehearsing and playing a few shows, I knew where I was going. I was able to explain "Plug in Baby" a little bit, like I did before. But I didn't really know what the hell I was talking about until I recorded it. I also want to do the artwork for the next album myself, and I've got some ideas for that now. So I'm thinking that after this tour, which goes from Japan to Australia to Scandinavia to Dublin, I'm going to go to the countryside for a couple of weeks in November, where I won't see anyone, to chill out a bit and really think about what I want to do and how I want to do it.」

When you say you don't know where you're going when you're writing, does that mean you don't know where you're going in life itself? 「Yes, it can be like that. You know, when you're writing a song, you just let your feelings out, it's a totally subjective state. I don't try to be objective about myself at all. But in general I try to be objective, most of the time. I keep my distance and think about what I'm doing. The only time I don't do that is when I'm writing songs. That's the only time I go inwards and get closer to myself.」

In a way, it's time to allow yourself to do that. 「Yes, yes, that's right. And in the process, you can't explain your own behaviour. In interviews, you probably try to interpret them as someone else's work, to understand the meaning and background, just like you do.」

Hmmm. Does the act of looking at your own work and creative activities objectively in this way help you? 「Yes, I think so. Trying to be objective…… I mean, I don't think it's good for the mind to be in a position like mine and be subjective all the time. This job can turn even good people into bad people.」

From that point of view, I sense a mysterious duality within you, or rather a sense of balance. 「(laughs) Well, I try to be as careful as possible to be like that.」

You look like you're on the verge of jumping off a cliff, but at the same time you seem to have learnt from history and have the good sense not to do anything really reckless. 「……There were some bad moments. I think. I did some things that I'd like to pretend later that they didn't happen. I mean, mistakes, you know. But basically, that wasn't my intention. Because, after all…… I don't want to die, haha…….」

You mentioned last time that you would ideally like to change the producer of the new album with each song, but how is it progressing in reality? 「Yes, that's reality, hahaha. I've finished two songs with Dave Botterill, who worked with Tool and Deus, and we've got two more to record. That's as far as I've got with him. Then we're going into sessions with John Leckie as well. For the first album, Paul Reeve recorded a lot of the demos and Leckie re-recorded them, but this time we're going to do a session with Leckie alone and record five or six songs. If that goes well, we'll probably continue and do the whole rest of the album with him. But Paul Reeve is not much older than us, and he's very innovative in his ideas and approach. Last time, I asked Leckie to join because he was still inexperienced, but I'd like to record a whole album with Paul someday. Maybe I could be a co-producer then.」

You're already used to playing to every size crowd imaginable, from clubs to festivals, but do you have any set goals for future success, such as how big a venue you want to play at? 「Well, for the next album we'd like to take it to a bit bigger level than what we're doing now. At least in Europe/USA we want to aim for 3-4,000 people. Then we'll do a show based on some kind of concept and see how it goes. But after that, I'd like to keep the audience size small again. I'd also like to be a bit more selective with our festival appearances.」

I heard that you played at 48 festivals this summer alone? 「I heard so (laughs). That's what I've been trying to figure out about the future, whether it's going to work out that way or not.

When I saw you guys on stage in Reading and at the gig yesterday, I thought that there is an overwhelmingly Muse generation audience. It's different from both the Radiohead generation and the Oasis generation. So what do you think your music speaks to and gives to these people? 「Yeah…… I think…… I think that artists of that generation, be they musicians, film directors or whatever, are reflecting back to them what they see around them. It's a reflection of the times. That's why I also…… (laughs) I'm shining a light on the ultimate emotions of living in this era. In other words, I think it's about how we accept ourselves as we are.」

Translator's Note: I actually like what I've scanned so far with this issue. I mean, Matt's blue eyes with his fading blue-dyed hair? Cute 💕

Please do support me on my Ko-fi! ☕

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Conference Call: Jeff Buckley interviews Esquivel

Barney Hoskyns, MOJO, Summer 1996

Take a ride on the mood music elevator as MOJO’s favourite young lion Jeff Buckley enjoys a transcontinental chinwag with space-age septuagenarian Esquivel.

Jeff Buckley: Senor Esquivel, when was the first time you discovered what you could do in a studio — like the xylophone that you put through a echo chamber and swung from side to side in the mix?

Esquivel: Well, you see, all this is the result of many hours of rehearsing with my Mexican band, some forty or fifty years ago. I was approached by a very successful Mexican comedian who came to me and told me, Juan, I want you to write music for my programme. I told him I didn’t have time to write the music for his scripts, and so he said, "That’s good, because I don’t have the time to write my scripts!" What I propose is this, he said: Why don’t we go to the sponsor of the show and we’ll ask him to give you 12 hours of rehearsal, and that way you’ll be able to write and rehearse the music at the same time. I said sure, wonderful.

So as you heard the music in your head you gave it to the band and they wrote it down?

Yes. I gave each one of the musicians a piece of paper and a pencil and an eraser. And I made notations. I ask the trombonist, can you make this shape? And he says, no I can’t, because I would have to go from the seventh position to the second, which is practically impossible -

So he had to change his mouth, play more wildly -

Yes. And then I went to the trumpets and the saxophones and the guitars. At that time in Mexico I had an orchestra of 40 musicians.

Tell me about the steel guitarist you had.

At that time I didn’t have a steel guitarist, I had just a regular guitar. But I had built a kind of Hawaiian-American guitar that had to be played with a metal bar -

Like an acoustic lap-steel –

Yes. And I remember the guy who played this guitar was so nervous. He sweat a lot.

Do you sweat a lot?

No, because I just wrote the arrangements. But this particular guy, it took him about three months to learn one album.

How long did you live in Hollywood?

Let me see, from 1957 all the way to 1978.

When you got called to Hollywood, who called you?

I got first approached by RCA, and they asked me how long it would take me to write twelve arrangements. I said twelve months, because in Mexico the musicians didn’t have the ability that they have nowadays. Each arrangement I had to rehearse with the voices one by one.

Your attention to detail is considerable, and it keeps the mind guessing.

Well, I have to thank the Mexican orchestra for that, because that was how I learned to arrange. Working with them for twelve hours a day, I learned what effects worked and what effects didn’t work. The result was that finally I was contacted by RCA, and I went to make my first recording in Hollywood. I had five hours and a half to rehearse and record twelve arrangements, but I had the thing so well rehearsed and mastered that I did the first album in just three and a half hours. They were flabbergasted! This was Other Worlds, Other Sounds.

So you had to be very much in control of everything.

I was very lucky that I had the best musicians in Hollywood at my disposal - five trumpets, four trombones, five saxophones. We had some time left over at the session, so I dismissed the whole orchestra and just kept the flute and a guitar and the rhythm section. And in two and a half hours I made the whole arrangement for the album that we called Four Corners Of The World.

It just came out of your head?

Yes, I had the music so... so coming off of myself that I felt I could do anything. That’s the way things go. All my life I had the ability of producing sounds and making music, so it was very easy for me. Nevertheless, I regret very much that I did that second album without the full band, because the first album has this wonderful sound, with the brass waiting all over.

When the music was coming out of you, did you go back into memories of your life and have them come out in the arrangements?

Oh, yes. I can tell you that I separate my life into six parts. I’m afraid now that I am in my sixth part, but I have five wonderful passages of my life that I can remember. Right now, with the revival of my music, I’m writing new arrangements - some wonderful things that I hadn’t thought about and using some of the old effects that I thought were good but eliminating all the things I didn’t like before. The first arrangement I’m writing is an arrangement of Mendelssohn’s 'Wedding March'. I hope I won’t be called irreverent.

Not at all. A man who’s been through marriage cannot be irreverent with that music.

Well, I am putting all my good faith into the arrangement, and I hope it will be well-received. The second arrangement I’m writing is an original of mine. Have you heard 'Whatchamacallit' and 'Mucha Muchacha'?

Sure.

Well, this arrangement is going to be called Guacamole.

I’m very happy to hear about it!

Yes, because it’s a mixture of my humour and my Latin experience.

Your music is all very Latin, and it’s also very heavy swing. What influenced you in that respect? My first thought was Duke Ellington, but you’ve hardly mentioned him.

Well, I’m using the full orchestra, but I’m using it my way, so you never can predict what’s going to happen next. I’m starting with the tom-toms, and then suddenly comes the whole orchestra yelling "Guacamole, mole, mole, mole, mole" — and the whole arrangement is going to be based on this effect. In between I’m going to use some excerpts: [sings] Ay-yay-yay... Da-dee-da-dee-da-dee...

[Sings along] Ay-yay-yay... Da-dee-da-clee-cla-dee...

I’m having a lot of fun, and I’m using a very unique instrumentation. Just four voices, two girls and two boys, and just two trumpets, doubled with the flugelhorn, and one bass trombone. And then I’m using the boom-bams, the tuned bongos — 24 sets of bongos tuned chromatically –

Oh wow! So they play melodies –

Yes, from an F4 to an F6. It’s a tot of fun, because I surprise myself laughing. I’m laughing at myself.

I’m wasting time asking you about your musical influences, when really it’s laughter and joy I should be asking you about.

Yes, it just comes out of myself. People sometimes ask me where these sounds come from, but I like them and they sound good, and they’re not used by anyone, so I said why not. That’s another number I’m going to write: 'Why Not'. Another one I’m going to write is called 'The Bed'. All kinds of experiences you can have in bed.

Juan!! I like the sound of that one!

I had the doctor come this morning, and he got me out of bed. Because I have been in bed for almost two years and a half.

You’ve done everything in bed — eaten, watched TV, thought, played chess...

You’re right. But the doctor came, and he put me in my wheelchair. And as soon as I’ve finished these four new arrangements, I’m going to jump into my pool! I’ve been watching my pod for two years and a half, and longing to walk among the trees — I have a beautiful garden with trees and flowers.

How long will it be before you can jump in your pool?

Well, when I end these recordings I’m going to sign with BMG or Capitol, and I’ll see which one suits me the best. Another thing I’m going to do is use MIDI for the first time. Instead of using the regular studio musicians, I’m going to use all the young musicians who have been influenced by my music. I’m going to use the Stereolab, Combustible Edison and Tindersticks musicians, and I’m going to record in MIDI. It’s going to be wonderful. It’s a possibility that I will go to London, it’s a matter of budget. Because of the devaluation of the peso, you can get very good prices. If not, I will go to Los Angeles.

How did you have your accident?

It was such a silly accident. I was kind of in a hurry, looking for a phone to tell my brother that my chauffeur was lost in Cuernavaca. I told the chauffeur to stop, and I got out of the car. And I lost my step and broke my hip and my left wrist. But my new doctor is a kind of chiropractor, and he’s giving me all kinds of exercises. And just this morning he got me taking a couple of steps. He told me he would get me up and around, and I was so happy.

Are you going to wake up at night and feel like you’ve gotta take a walk?

I would love to. It all depends on what kind of company I keep, because I have two beautiful nurses - one for the daytime and one for the nighttime.

Keep strong, Juan, keep strong!

Oh yes. I’m in a very good mood today.

[alanaplucked]

Sonata

part three

part four| masterlist

Matty assumed he had been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. The silence was beginning to irritate him, a vast comparison to the scenery he was used to.

His mind was stuck on a loop, looking in on one specific emotion; one he tried so hard to overlook. To which he could not deal with anymore.

He soon found himself slinging a sweatshirt over himself and padding down the creaky staircase towards the outdoor studio. Unaware of the faint incandescent light radiating from the upper window.

Love found herself cross legged on the floor with an acoustic in grip. Eyes scanning the various books and papers around her, occasionally bending down to scribble something new down.

Her mind worked wonders in the late hours yet nights like these drained her emotionally, despite the great song material she got. Back facing the door as she intently mustered up potential lyrics in her head.

Her fingers tenderly picked the strings as lyrics just above a whisper fell from her mouth. She knew the song being conjured up wouldn't be heard to anybody but her, it was too impassioned. It could only act cathartically.

Yet the frame leaning against the door said otherwise. His stare acted unnoticed. It was pure and he found himself dazed at the young girl.

A sight so raw and unintentional, a sense of intruding struck over him as the room fell silent following the last strum. He knew he wasn't able to leave without her turning and noticing him followed by an awkward next encounter.

"That was so alluring - sorry I didn't know you would be in here I didn't wanna interrupt" He had added on once she spun around. A small sense of shock on her face.

"Oh god no don't be sorry. I'm the one who's not actually meant to be in here" Love’s cheeks had flushed, she wasn't usually nervous but considering Matty had walked in on such a vulnerable moment. "Let me just grab my stuff, I'll be out of your-"

"No no don't, I mean I don't think I would be able to deal with the silence. That's why I came in here" Matty hadn't recalled deciding to be so honest, though it came naturally.

"yeah it can get like that" Love spoke slowly lowering herself back into her original position. A low silence fell between them. A warm glow saturated the room, lamps were littered upon the studio. She found it comforting and supposed her father had too.

"I couldn't imagine living here" His body was now slouched against the leather couch only a couple metres away from herself. Sincerity radiated from him as his head dropped back against the brown leather. "I need the city noise"

"I try not to most of the time; live here that is" It was true though she hated to admit it. Yet she had imagined Matty had noticed she wasn't here the entire two months they had been recording.

"Do you not then feel like you're taking it for granted" Despite the nature of the question it didn't come across rude or prodding. Now meeting her gaze he could tell she was slightly uncomfortable.

Love was slightly confused, this wasn't the Matty Healy she had googled only a couple hours ago. Leaving the studio that morning led her to be curious of the new face. "yes and no. I feel like it's a small dose kind of thing. you can appreciate it only when it's necessary, plus i've spent my whole life here"

An uncomfortable silence was now lingering, well maybe that feeling was one sided because Love was at peace picking the strings of her guitar, despite her feeling his stare follow her every move.

"I listened to your album, you know, it was very impressive. I mean when I was seventeen I was writing about sex and girls with boyfriends" He was the first to break the silence and a small smirk rose upon her face though she was weary of whether he could see it or not.

"Is that surprising that I liked it?" He had noticed.

Straightening her face and turning to face him "at first, but I don't know any musician that is only subject to their own genre"  Her statement was followed by a low hum on his end.

"So what kind of music do you like?" Matty couldn't help but prod.

"Anything really" Love’s fingers were still picking and Matty wondered if it would lull him to sleep.

"Anything?" His voice echoed her own and she had to stop herself from looking up at him. Keeping an overly disinterested act as though she were far too busy for such a conversation.

"Yeah I guess-" It was true. Love’s father had produced a variety of different genres and his record collection was just about diverse as New York City.

"What so like metal to classical" Matty couldn't imagine this girl listening to anything different to her innocent guitar picking. It was silly of him to imagine that the daughter of one of the best producers in the world only listened to the top 40.

Love was confused to say the least but a small smirk picked up her lips and she scribbled down another lyric. surprised she would still be able to work while holding such a conversation. It helped she couldn't look him in the eye though she was starting to realise he's not as intimidating as he seemed hours ago.

"those are very basic genres, the average normy would listen to those without thought. plus, you can't say you like music if you disregard 99.9% of it"

"the average normy?, what are you implying we are?" Love realised she hadn't heard him laugh and she wished nothing more than to play it on repeat. If she could make him laugh like that again she thought she would be content forever.

"well obviously geniuses, or deities at least"

"ok, so let me get this right you listen to everything offered under the sun except my music" He had simply assumed. And by the look on her face as she got up to swap guitars- he was right, she had no clue as to who he was until she was caught in the studio.

"I actually listened to your album-" Love turned herself around to sit back in her spot that was now occupied by Matty, eyes scanning her lyrics.

"I'm sure you did" His head rose with a smirk; that was until her saw her frozen in the middle of the room, eyes burning on his finger trailing the fourth line of her page.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"yeah you shouldn't have" Love got herself to finally move and pick her journal up when he cowered back.

He sat back in shock at her current change in demeanour and said something he probably shouldn't have. "how'd you make an album if you can't handle someone reading your lyrics"

She felt the gentle tug at the tears gathering in her eyes as she moved to tidy the chaos she had wrought in the studio.

"that wasn't for an album, it wasn't for you, not for anyone" it came out gentle, Matty hated how beautiful he thought she sounded.

"it should be"

"excuse me?"

"that's better than anything you've got out there, truthfully. Are you making another album?" Frankly Matty had been feigning for more after listening to her album all those months ago. She hadn't gone on a tour, done any shows, press, there were no unreleased leaks, no covers on social media; she hadn't even had an account on anything. The most he had found was an old youtube video her father had posted of her singing 'both sides now' when she was twelve.

"not for a long long time" She had calmed herself. She thought as though Matty would 5150 her after reading what she had wrote.

"like Fiona Apple?" He had lit a cigarette now and reclined into the base of the couch, she had been leaning her hands back into the desk.

"Sure, she's great"

[fullofgutsndopamine]

We Could Build A Home (We Could Play Pretend) 3

previous

masterlist

TW: drinking to excess, alcoholism, abusive parents (yours/charlie’s), neglect, description of abuse, cursing, mention of panic attack, angst, charlie is a dick

please message me if you have any questions about certain tw or anything at all, this fic is heavy and i'd love to help in anyway

charlie use to kid (on the rare occurrence that he went more than 24 hours without seeing you) that he knew you were alive just because he heard your father screaming. 

the joke was always said with a nudge to the rib cage, this sad smile that you couldn’t quite place on his face, how he always pulled you closer after he said it, buries his lips into your hair- 

the joke isn’t funny anymore. 

you haven’t seen charlie in three days, and while you heard screaming coming from the house next to yours, it could also very well be his father yelling about a football game, or the cat staring at him wrong, or any plethora of things his father deemed an issue. 

you’re about two seconds away from walking to his mailbox down the road (the one with the flowers painted on the side, your idea) and stealing his mail, just to knock on his door and accuse the mailman of putting his mail in your box. 

you slip your shoes on, mumbling under your breathe that if he’s dead you’re going to bring him back just to kill him again, let the screen door slam behind you-

when you hear him. 

it’s a relief, to say the least. 

“charlie. you fucking asshole-“ you mumble, and you can hear him singing from the mouth of his garage, nonsense, can also hear his best friend, Joey, with an acoustic guitar-(he can’t play, but he’s getting there, charlie would insist)  when you round the corner to his house. 

“Hi, sunshine!” charlie immediately stands up a little straighter seeing you. 

charlie is sporting a shiny black eye. 

it hits you to your gut, seeing it, still fucking hurts after all this time-

it makes you think of those times, after a fight, sporting some injury of some sort, stumbling to his house and him being your safe haven those nights-pulling you close, sitting you on the ledge by the sink, holding a bag of quickly defrosting peas to your face, shaking his head at you the entire time. 

“you should see the other guy?” you’d say gently, and that’s not how the joke goes, but he’d throw you this irritated look, and you’d try to knock his hand down, insist you can hold the damn bag of peas, but he’d shake his head, “Get real, sunshine.” is all he’d say, and you’d give up the fight-

it reminds you him teaching you to fight, those blows to his hands he held up, the “Good.” he’d let out after every hit, but the way his face stayed stoic, you knew he hated every second of this.

you thought it was because it was hard fighting, the black ink of memories of being curled into a ball just waiting for it to be over with-really, it killed him that it got to here, where he was teaching you to throw a punch, like it would do anything, in the thick of the night, knowing damn well if you fought bad you’d be dead.

it eased some of your anxiety, and he saw you going from shaky, checking your surroundings constantly, to your hands not shaking as you brushed his hair away from his face-so if it hurt him but made you happy, he’d do it. you wish you could do the same for him, wish you could take away the pain you know he has to be in-

"charlie, you dick." You huff, "I had no idea you were still alive. I haven't seen you in days."

you feel needy, and you hate it, especially Joey looking down frantically to try and cover a smirk playing on his lips-

"Did you miss me?" He teases, and when he smiles, his black eye looks even worse somehow, pulls at your stomach-

"Well, well, well-"

You stiff up immediately hearing charlie's fathers voice, and you see he does the same as he slinks into charlie's side, throws his arm over his shoulders.

"Long time no see, darlin'" He smirks, and his voice is oily, and you get why charlie always says he wants to shower after speaking to his father-

seeing charlie tense up as his father makes contact with his shoulder, the way he tries to mess with his hair, to keep his hands busy and hide the handy-work he did on his face-

"You too, sir-" You said frantically, something about him makes you want to salute him, the ex-marine energy he gives off is terrifying, always.

"None of that. It's Anthony, remember?" He reaches over to pinch your face, and if he sees how you flinch, trying to play it off, he doesn't pay attention to it. "Here to see our little Charles play some of his silly little songs?"

Charlie's face goes hard, and you swallow the red hot anger. the nights charlie spent on his back in the field with you, whispered voices about these big music plans he had, how he was going to be taken seriously-all deluded down to his 'silly little songs'

charlie's eyes snap up to yours, and as if he could read your mind, he’s begging you not to say anything back about it that could get each of you in trouble-

“Yes sir-“ you shake your head, “Anthony. He’s been talking about a new song. wanted the front row seat.” you throw your chin at the driveway, empty, but you sit cross legged on the hot concrete anyways-

“Well, i’ll leave you two kids to it,” Anthony claps charlie on the shoulder and he flinches, hard, which is difficult to watch- before he leans back into charlie, but he sucks at whispering, so you hear him say: “remember what i said, charles.”

and he nods frantically, “Yes. Yes sir.”

and that satisfies him, a clap on the back, “Have fun.” before he stalks off.

“Dick.” you mumble for him, and when you see charlie smirk back, even if he doesn’t say anything, it’s good enough for you two, a shared moment.

you stay briefly, a song or two, charlie's band names are getting increasingly dumb, and you’re starting to wonder if they’re actually serious, or if it’s just to hear you snort and try and cover your face, because the laughing is only encouraging him-

the day wouldn’t be over without a fight with your father.

this is normal, but doesn’t make it less hard for you.

fat, hot tears fall out of your eyes, your hands shaking, as you escape to your room, lock the door behind you, open the window, and slowly climb out the window, carefully, like charlie taught you-

you don’t hear him, which worries you for a second, using the back of your hand to wipe at your nose, waiting for humming, for a acoustic guitar, for the sound of him sanding something-

nothing. crickets chirp in the back, and you faintly hear a speedboat on the lake by your house, but no sound of charlie.

not wanting to believe it, you still make it to his porch, absent, his rocking chair vacant-his house pitch black.

the lightning bugs that usually dance around his house, that you associate the two with-where one is, the other is behind-aren’t even around his house-

his truck gone, you sit in the middle of the field, your knees to your chest, and pray for wilbur to show.

you don’t have a watch with you, but by the time you finally wake up, must’ve cried yourself to sleep-charlie's truck is back in the driveway, and the sun is setting.

and now-you can hear charlie humming, the sound of some tool being used in the back, you finally stumble to his house, still half asleep-you might’ve finally slept, but it wasn’t good sleep-good sleep is when you’re with charlie-

“charlie.” you demand, show at driveway, pull your sweater closer to you, even if it’s already getting humid out.

“Mornin’” he says, and leaves it at that, not a sunshine, not a honey, not even a smile thrown your way, and your yearning for his warm presence, even if anger films you quick, stomp up to him, shove his shoulder-

you talk quickly, to try and avoid how he flinched and how guilty you feel as his eyes follow from your hand to his shoulder, as if he was betrayed.

“charlie, you dick.” you say for the second time, and someone’s yelling and you realize it’s you, quickly, “i looked for you last night. and you weren’t here.”

he snorts, rolls his eyes, but doesn’t speak.

“nothing? you have nothing to say?” you demand, following him around as he walks to the front of the canoe.

“There’s nothing to say,” he insists, “i wasn’t home last night.”

he takes the rag he was using, was running it against the boat, must’ve worked himself up because he isn’t looking at you when he speaks: “I don’t know if you know this, so i’m honored to be able to be the one to tell you this. the world doesn’t revolve around you-“

this is the harshest he’s ever spoken to you, and your eyes pinch, tears threatening to fall, but don’t want him to see this-

“We aren’t anything. i don’t have to explain myself to you. it was one night, i was trying to enjoy myself. is that so bad? one fucking night. god damn-“ he throws the rag on the boat.

“Nice.” you snort without humor, “real nice.”

“Yeah well, someone finally had to say it to you-“ he cuts himself off, venom on the top of his tongue, “you should leave.”

you snort again, without humor, and you regret it instantly, but tears fall down you face immediately, “Fuck you. Really-fuck you. don’t need me, you dick.”

and you storm out, wanting the last word, but still hear him mumble, “never did.”

which somehow hurts more than anything he’s ever said to you-

you cry yourself to sleep that night, and the the next day, try to ignore when you hear his singing outside, how his music or singing or chores gets louder when you and your father argue again, and you use to think that was him looking out for you, like letting you know he was there-but now it just hurts more, ignoring his presence like he isn’t this huge part of your life-

when a new car shows up in his driveway, shiny, new-from this year, new voices you’ve never heard before coming and leaving around the same time his father does-you busy yourself to keep from wondering too much about what it is, what he’s up to-

charlie is history to you, even if it hurts, physically, in a way you didn’t know was possible.

and you think you’re almost over it, can almost breathe again without it getting stuck in your throat-when someone new wanders into your life and your front door.

[swiss-mrs]

Chapter Two: Rebel Tour

Life Eternal Series

eddie munson x rockstar!poc!reader

Chapter Warning: Unnamed OC/Reader's saphic and runaway backstory is delve into.

*Masterlist, Series Warnings, Additional Series/Reader Info, and Posting Schedule.*

Word Count: 3.5K

It’s been 2 months since the band’s stop in Indiana. You’ve called Eddie from every Hotel and Motel you’ve stopped in. Each call lasted no less than an hour. It never seemed like you ran out of things to say. Whether it was updates on your tour, or updates on his dreaded job search, you guys always had something to say to each other.

Your stop in Nashville was how you found out about his first guitar, an acoustic Wayne found at a garage sale for $15. Your stop in Atlanta was when you told him about your first performance, a middle school talent show. You were so nervous that you forgot the lyrics to the song you were performing. You can’t listen to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” the same anymore.

Your stop in Houston was when he shared his first crush, a cheerleader he met in middle school, and when you found out that it took him three tries to graduate. Dallas was where you shared that you dropped out in your freshman year. “I ended up getting my GED once the band had enough money to get comfortable.”

Denver is when you told him about your heart breaker phase as a teenager. “Well, that’s not hard to believe.” He would smile into the phone.

“Yeah, had all the curious chicks crawling to my door.” You’d tease back.

Phoenix was mainly spent talking about the vibe you were going for in the band’s next album. “I want to tell a story, you know? We’re two albums in, now, and I feel like it’s time to come out with something that embodies this current era of my life. I want to listen back on this album in 5 years and know exactly what I was thinking, what I was feeling, hell, what I was eating in these very moments.”

L.A. and Sacramento were spent bouncing off ideas for the next album, coming up with concepts, even sharing quick, off-the-dome lyrics.

Your current stop is Seattle. You were posted up in Washington for a few days. All the band’s family and friends were here, so a point was made to allow time to visit loved ones. Earlier this day, you were able to see Mr and Mrs. Hemming, Marley’s parents. They were always such a loving, open-minded couple. They were the ones who took you in all those years ago. They were big hippies back in the day, huge Hendrix fans, so they never judged you and always made you feel welcome, like you belonged. They were the closest thing you had to a family, a home.

It’s been a good three days since you last talked to Eddie. You've yet to make the call from your Washington hotel room. Most of your time here was spent in bittersweet sentiment. You got to see people who cared and supported you, old faces, but it also brought back lots of unwelcome memories. Right now, you were huddled up in your lonely hotel room. It was fancy, basically a luxury one bedroom apartment. The tour budget had extra money for a nicer room since you were the only one needing to be housed on this stop.

You were laid out on the bed, the TV playing some random sitcom on low volume as background noise. You had been laying like this for at least an hour, staring into the void that is the golden lined ceiling. You let out a big sigh, and prop yourself up on your elbows. You glare at the TV, before caving in and grabbing the corded phone on the nightstand just left of you. You have his number memorized by now.

“Hello?” a raspy voice says.

“Eddie?” you ask a little confused.

“Superstar,” he says a bit more enthusiastically but still a bit groggy, “what’s up? Everything okay? How’s Seattle?” He asks, you can hear some shuffling around in the background. This is the point when you look over to the clock on the bedside table to your right. Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was.” It was midnight, 3AM his time. He chuckles.

“And here I am thinking you just wanted to hear my sexy morning voice.” He teases. For the first time ever, you are so glad you weren’t seeing each other in person. Your face burned. “What’s got you up so late? Were you out partying like an animal?” He asks sarcastically. You scoff.

“Yeah, partying like the world’s ending.” You reply, equally sarcastic. “I’m sorry,” you apologize earnestly, “I just wanted to talk with you, but I should’ve looked at the time before calling. I’ll let you go back to bed. Sorry.” You say, almost hanging up.

“Woah there. Hold on, now. I was just taking a little nap.” He lies, “I’m up. Let’s talk.” He says, more shuffling could be heard, probably him sitting up. “What’s on your mind, princess?” He ask, making your heart jump. You honestly don’t have much energy to tease him over the pet name. You sigh.

“Well, being back here, it's just,” you pause, “It’s bringing back a lot of memories, a lot of emotions I thought I left behind. In all honesty, I’m struggling here a little, Eds.” You admit, a bit shaky. There’s a short pause on his end.

“You want to tell me about it?” He asks gently. You pause, thinking.

“I don’t know. I don’t wanna bore you back to sleep.” You joke, deflecting.

“I’m listening.” He says without missing a beat, stern yet comforting. You sign and lay back down on your back, staring up at the ceiling again. For a few breaths, all that could be heard was staged laughter and shitty sitcom jokes from the TV.

“I’m not originally from Haven.” you start. “Growing up, I bounced around a lot. Home to home, state to state, until I eventually went out completely on my own and just kind of landed in Haven when I was 15… When I got there, I spent an entire year by myself. I found this small, abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It was overgrown and pretty hidden, perfect for a runaway. I lived in the one house that still had most of its furniture and the least pests issues.” You chuckle. “I was getting so used to being by myself until one day I ran into this kid, this little girl with curly hair down to her knees. She didn’t look older than 12 years old, but she had flashy, bedazzled makeup and the cutest little sundress on.” You reminisce on the memory with a smile. “She was riding her bike around her trailer park and stopped when she saw me passing by. Told me her name was Marley, like Bob Marley. Said that her parents told her to always help someone who was in need, and told me that I looked like I needed a friend.” You laugh, hearing her childish voice clear as day in your mind. “Who knew that in that moment, my life would change forever. She would go on to introduce me to her parents, two hippies straight out the 70s, and her neighbor, this dark haired nerdy kid with glasses.” You couldn’t see it, but Eddie was smiling at your recounting of some sweet memories. “Charlie was so short back then. We’re the same age, but he didn’t even look older than Marley at that time. The little dweeb didn’t really hit puberty till we were 17.” You pause, smiling at the past. “Adam joined in after that, being somewhat of Charlie’s mentor and protector during the dork’s freshman year. We met Stacy when she was babysitting one of the other kids in the park. Adam had a crush on her from the start, but he was too shy. She knew, but she was playing hard to get.” You roll your eyes. “Somehow Rick weaseled his way to befriending Charlie, and the rest is history.” You pause, loads of memories of how far you’ve all come flashing in your mind all at once. You shake your head. “These are the memories I never want to forget. We built a family, you know? It's crazy to think about it. They’ve all been so important to me for so long that I forget I had a life before them.” You close your eyes.

“That’s beautiful, hun.” He says, sighing into the receiver.

“Yeah.” you say with a short laugh.

“But that’s not why you called me.” He says softly, knowing you have more to get off your chest.

“Yeah…” you trail.

“I’m here.” He says, trying to comfort best he could over the phone. You take a deep breath.

“Yeah,” you start back up, “good memories are not what I’m struggling with.” You clench your jaw, furrowing your brows in frustration. “Everything was going great after I met the band. We even became a damn near town legend. The satanic teens living out in the ghost town in the woods.” you state dramatically and laugh. “Everything was great, best I ever thought my life would get, until it got better.” A sad smile creeps into your face. “We used to hold ‘concerts’, if you could call them that, out in the woods. We called them ‘seances’, really leaning into the whole antichrist thing we had going on. We did it for three years. Some times we’d perform, other times we just threw parties. One day, Summer of ‘97, we were throwing an ‘End of Summer’ party. I met this girl.” you pause. “She was gorgeous. She had curly, blonde hair, big brown eyes, and this big, bucked tooth smile that lit up the world.” You smile the entire way, thinking back fondly, “She was so short and skinny and innocent looking. You would’ve never guessed she had such a powerful singing voice. She was perfect.” You sigh. “She was a theater kid with a dad who worked for this music production agency based in Seattle. She was insanely smart, and you could tell just by looking at her that she was really going places. That’s what really made her stand out from the hundred other kids there. She wore this oversized, black leather jacket, light wash jeans, and a hot pink top." Your eyes dance around the ceiling as you remember the details of that night. “Me being me. I toyed with her my entire performance. I was desperate to get her to notice me, but I wanted to play it off like she was just another pretty face in the crowd. I was really driving that heartbreaker thing I was going with.” You laugh. “I don’t know how, but my little facade worked. Turns out she had a little sister around Marley’s age, Peyton. Man, that little girl was a riot. She matched Marley’s wild energy perfectly… Somehow the stars aligned for my ratty ass, and I got the girl, against all odds.” you chuckle dryly. Your eyes begin to sadden as you pause, running through the end of that story. “I just… couldn’t keep her…” You feel your eyes begin to burn and your nose tickle. You huff a humorless laugh from your nose, shaking your head, frowning.

“You alright, hun?” Eddie breaks your silence. You breathe in sharply, getting your bad thoughts and pushing them aside.

“Yeah, I just… hm…” you sigh, trying to gather yourself. “Mariana.” You pause again, a name once so familiar, now almost feeling foreign on your tongue. “That was her name… She was someone I thought was going to be my forever person, you know… But things change. People. People… change. I was young and naive. I should’ve known better than anyone that things too good to be true don’t last, at least not for me. I feel so incredibly lucky I’ve even made it this far with the amazing people I have.”

“It’s not luck.” He interjects. “It’s talent. You deserve it.” He brings back, “Remember, that’s what you said to me when we first met.” he pauses, “People… People like us? We don’t get by on luck. We get by because we work for what we deserve. Sometimes, when we get what we’ve been aiming for, it doesn’t feel deserved. It feels like luck, but not this time. You are the reason for your success. You’ve earned it, babe. Don’t sell yourself short for that.” He speaks earnestly. You laugh.

“Maybe one day I’ll believe that, Eds. Things haven’t always been this high. I haven’t always done this well. I’ve fallen, Eddie, hard and flat on my face, and I’ve nearly fucked up everything for everyone else. I don’t know if I can confidently say I’m completely out of the pit, now, but I’m definitely not where I was. I’m glad you didn’t have to see me at my worst.” You confess. There’s a silence between you two. It doesn’t last long, but it lasts long enough for you to get nervous and doubt whether you should've said what you said.

“That don’t change my mind about you, kid.” Eddie’s voice rings through, determined. “You… I… You and I have more in common…” He sighs, trying to find the word. “Look, I get you. I see you. I hear you, and I will never judge you.” He says truthfully. “I’m here for you, always and forever. I hope you understand that.” You smile sadly. “I will always be there. I’m here to support your right and wrongs.” He jokes, bringing a small laugh out of you. “And I promise to be here for you whenever you need, whether that's a shoulder to cry on or an alibi.” He smiles through the phone.

“Oh my god, I didn’t kill anyone.” You interrupt, laughing.

“I’m just sayin’” He laughs back, “I got a shovel and a van whenever you need, babe.” You share a good laugh.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You continue as the laughter dies down, “Thank you, Eddie… really.” You pour out, hoping your sincerity and gratitude come through the phone clearly. He lets ou a soft chuckle.

“I gotchu.” He yawns out, causing you to yawn as well. He chuckles, “I think you should get some rest, superstar.” He says gently. You turn to look at the clock again, its passed 1AM. You sigh.

“Probably.” you yawn again. “I love talking with you, Eddie.” He smiles on the other end of the call.

“Me too. I was starting to get a little nervous there. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. As soon as we got here, we performed, then after that, I went around with the band and saw old friends. Today was the first day I had to myself and it was really getting me down. Sorry, again, to call and wake you with blues.” You pout, he chuckles tiredly.

“No problem. I’m glad you called. Will you be there for much longer?”

“Well, this is our last stop on the tour. Final show is tomorrow… or tonight.” you correct. Eddie scoffs.

“You really need to rest then-”

“Yeah, I know. I know.” You cut in. “Hey, are you gonna be busy in three weeks?” There’s a pause.

“Uh… I don’t think so…?”

“Good, come out to New York to visit me. We can do some proper song writing, finally.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He says. Your brows furrow. “I mean, I’m still job hunting and, you know, I gotta help Wayne out as best as I can, and I don’t know if I can make that trip happen.” He stumbles awkwardly.

“Nonsense. Just keep your schedule free, I gotchu.” You say, mimicking his words from earlier. You can’t see it, but his sleepy brain is struggling to pick up what you're putting down. “Get back to sleep, rockstar. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” Right on queue, he yawns. “Stop that!” you yawn back. He laughs.

“Alright, alright. Talk later.” He says with a smile.

“Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, Superstar.”

》》》

Three days pass after your last conversation with Eddie. You had given Eddie a call the morning after your final show before you left your hotel. “Tour’s finally over! I’m flying back out to New York this afternoon.” You would tell him. You would talk for the entire morning until you received a knock on your door to let you know that the car was there to take you to the airport. You promised to call him when you got settled back home.

“You got mail, Ed!” Wayne called out to him from the living room. Eddie hops up from his desk and out of the stiff chair.

“Coming!” He swings open his door and walks down the hall to find Wayne in the kitchen sorting through envelopes.

“From someone named ‘Superstar’?” He says as Eddie grabs the envelope off the counter.

“Thanks, old man.” Eddie grins widely and walks to the living room, plopping down on the squeaky couch. He rips the envelope open with his dull pocket knife, flipping the envelope over and pulling out its contents. He stills in shock.

“Everything alright?” Wayne pipes up, realizing Eddie freezes. He holds up two plane tickets with his name on them and a thick paper check addressed to ‘Wayne Munson’. Wayne’s brows crease, enhancing the wrinkles on his forehead. “What’s that?”

“I gotta make a call.” Eddie says abruptly. He hops up off the couch and runs to his bedroom, half closing the door just as he picks up the phone, he pauses. “Shit!” He says as he realizes you’ve never called him from your house before. He doesn’t have your number. “Shit!”

“What?!” Wayne yells from the kitchen.

“Nothing-” he’s cut off by a ring. Eddie puts the headset down and picks it back up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Rockstar.” Your voice comes through the line. He yells your name. “What? You get your mail, finally?” He yells your name again, causing you to laugh.

“You couldn’t possibly be serious right now!” He yells into the headset, looking down at the mail in his hands.

“Don’t be mad, but I couldn’t just stand by as you and your uncle struggle. Plus, you promised to help me write this album. No take backsies.” Eddie is speechless, yet again. He says your name a bit softer this time.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, just don’t miss your flight, pretty boy.” You say, smile evident in your worlds. He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head.

“It’s already paid for. There’s no going back.” he said.

“Exactly.” You respond.

“Thank you, truly. I can’t thank you enough.”

“No need. I’m here for you just as you are here for me. I’m just grateful to be in a position where I can finally give back to those who give to me.” You say truthfully with a smile. Your smile is contagious through the phone, Eddie’s face breaks out in a huge smile. Wayne leans back curiously to get a glimpse at Eddie down the hall and through his cracked door. He gives Eddie a confused look. Eddie gave him an ‘okay’ sign with a big smile. Wayne nods, leaning back up and busying himself in the kitchen.

“You know, you’re too good to me, princess.” He chuckles. You giggle, blushing on the other end of the line. Eddie can almost see it.

“See you soon, pretty boy.” Eddie’s bright smile grows impossibly wider, hurting his cheeks.

“See you soon.” You both hang up at the same time. As soon as the phone is down, he jumps up and down like a madman, nearly hitting his head on the low ceilings in his room. He runs out of his room, startling his uncle at the burst of energy. Eddie hugs the older man in a big bear hug, grabbing his balding head and plants a kiss on the top of it. Wayne, completely bewildered, looks at Eddie like he’s grown two heads.

“Boy, what is going on?” He asks suspiciously. Eddie holds up the tickets and check for Wayne to get a good look at them. Wayne furrows his brows as he reads what's on the pieces of paper.

“I can’t accept this, Ed.”

“Listen, the angel who sent this to us is more stubborn than me, so you’ll have an easier time just taking the check and using it to pay those.” he points to the growing stack of overdue bills. Wayne looks back at the envelopes adorned with red writing. He sighs, giving in. Eddie hands him the check.

“If she’s as stubborn as you say, good luck.” He takes the check from Eddie’s hand and grabs his coat and keys, “I’ll be back.” He says before heading out. Eddie watches him leave through the screen door. As soon as he’s driven away, Eddie starts jumping up and down again, letting out a gleeful cheer.

“Thank you.” He says, giving a kiss to the plane tickets.

tag list:

@starmilks

@ali-r3n

@madelynraemunson

[theghostpinesmusic]

Surprise "new" album! This is the link to the YouTube playlist, but it's also up on Bandcamp for free/pay-what-you-like. If you want to know more about how it came together, keep reading!

So it's been almost three years now since June of 2021, when I released the four-album cycle of "Wilderness Amen," "Ride," "Maps," and "Fire and Rain," along with a demos collection titled "The Amen Demos" and an early proto-experiment with my looper titled "What Comes Around." It was a lot for one year, but I'd been working on all of those songs since at least 2017, it was just that COVID-19 and all of the disruptions it introduced (weirdly) gave me the time to finally get them all together in one place and finish them to my satisfaction.

I'd always planned to use some of my "off-time" during sabbatical to start working on a follow-up album. In 2022, I even bought a new stratocaster, expecting to use it to experiment with writing songs on an electric guitar for the first time. But, as usual, things didn't work out like I'd planned: life is full of both good and bad surprises, and I guess the most surprising thing of all is how often I have to relearn that particular lesson.

On the good side, I've spent a lot more time this year than I'd expected focusing on nonfiction writing, both related to my sabbatical and also, sometimes, just for fun. On the bad side, my main amp blew out almost two years ago, and I've been struggling since to find someone in the southern Oregon desert who can diagnose and fix it for less money than it would cost to buy a new one. In the meantime, I've been hesitant to start recording a new album with my $100 practice amp I bought twenty years ago, for obvious reasons.

I hadn't planned, then, on making this "new" album at all. About nine months ago, I had the thought to record a "single" featuring two of my favorite cover songs: The Grateful Dead's "Ship of Fools" and Goose's "A Western Sun." I wanted to record the main performance without amps, just me and an acoustic guitar, and then maybe overdub in a second, electric guitar once my amp was fixed. So I mic'd the studio for acoustic and vocals only, got the levels to where I wanted, and then realized I needed to practice both songs a bunch more for them to be satisfying takes/tributes.

With a few hours still left to play around in the studio on that first day, and having already played each of the two cover songs ten or so times, I decided to play through a bunch of my original songs, using the "alternate" arrangments of them I'd been developing over the previous two years or so of Instagram livestream sets. I recorded fifteen songs that way, with the sound in the room dialed in for acoustic guitar better (in my opinion) than I'd ever gotten it before.

It wasn't until months later that I listened back to what I'd recorded that I realized it could be a sort of alternate-universe version of one of the albums I'd released in 2021, and thus maybe worth a release itself. I eventually edited the fifteen songs down to the ten you have here and messed with a few EQ and gain levels, but otherwise these performances are exactly as they were recorded that first day of what was supposed to longer sessions for the "Ship of Fools"/"A Western Sun" single…which will still get finished one of these days, amp repair willing.

I put out my first-ever album in 2006, and it was titled "Not California," after one of the songs on it. Immediately after, in early 2007, I bought my first-ever electric guitar and amplifier (ironically, the one that's currently kaput), and immediately had the idea of redoing the mostly-acoustic "Not California" album as this loud, crashy, electric-guitar thing. I would call it just "California," as a way of emphasizing both its relationship to the original album and also its different, almost opposite tone.

I worked on the idea for a few months (it's where "Acteon's Groove" and "Cassie's Song" came from, among other things), but in the end I was, frankly, not good enough yet at guitar to make it sound like I wanted it to. But you probably get where I'm going with this. Basically, when I realized that this current, all-acoustic alternate-universe set of songs was maybe worth releasing, I thought it might be fun to resurrect the "California" album title. Also, this album starts off with a version of my song "California," so there's that, too.

It's definitely quieter than that original "California" album would have been, but it's a realization of that idea of writing some songs, releasing them, and then going back and playing with them until they turn into something else…and then releasing that, too, because hey, why not? Technically, each track on this album is already available elsewhere in its "original" studio configuration, so in that sense nothing here is truly "new": however, each song is re-arranged here in a way that I've come to really like. These re-arrangments are the result of years of playing these songs live, on livestreams, and in the studio, and in that time finding new facets of my original ideas that I thought were worth exploring. The album's cover, a photo I took of the Trinity Alps from Echo Lake, is meant to visually represent this process of rediscovery, reflection, and recreation: the longer I play these songs, the more reflections I find.

I hope you enjoy listening!

[haveihitanerve]

Reunion Continued

here you go-the rest

Curt sighed, opening the bottle and sitting down at the table. “Roland, id like to apologize. I left. I didn't think about you or the band i just- i just left. Because i was sick of being just the band. I wanted to be, i wanted to be me.” Roland nodded, staring at his glass. “I get that Curt. I do. But you left me.” he finally looked up and locked eyes with the man. Curt swallowed. “You left me. You never called, you never texted. Never even bothered to tell me where the fuck you were going. Or invite me to your wedding. I thought we were friends!” “we are.” Curt said softly. “Really? Because it sure as hell didn't feel like you were. It didn't feel like we walked through fire together. It didn't feel like we were brothers. It felt like you left me to burn alone.” Roland took a swig of his drink and looked away. “You've been gone what? Nine years?” “nine years, two months,” they started to say in unison. “three days, four hours, six minutes and-” they glanced at the clock. “24 seconds.” Curts lips twitched slightly before he sighed. “Rollie. Im sorry. I am. I- i shouldn't have ended it the way i did. But its not just my fault. The band was crumbling. You know it was.” Roland scoffed. “Don't fucking do that Roland. Im right. You know i am.” Roland rolled his eyes, staring at the table, but he couldn't contradict Curt. Wouldn't. Roland was an arrogant bastard. He knew he was. And he also knew he had a reason to be like that. He was a talented musician and really skilled at what he did. It was why he was so arrogant and full of himself. But Curt, curt had always been good. Always been down to earth and since they had been brothers, he had kept roland tethered. Grounded. It was what made him, would always make him, a better person than Roland. But Roland knew his friend didn't think like that. Even if he had called him an arrogant prick on more than one occasion. Roland sighed. “Fine. Yes. You're right.” he sulked. Curt tried to hide his victory grin, but didn't succeed. Roland sent him a withering glare, but it didn't have half as much heat behind it than it would have had with someone else. It never did. “Fukc.’ Roland muttered, standing. Curt shifted, standing as well, and blocked his path. “Roland. You've gone through some things this year. Its tough. I know you have been. Lets,” he shrugged. “Don't push me away. Lets just play something. Yeah?” He grinned. “What do you say Ro. Give me a chance?” Roland snorted, but couldn't help the way his heart lifted ever so slightly at the words. “sure curry.” 

An hour later they found themselves sitting on the couch together, knees touching, each strumming an acoustic guitar as they tried to fall back into the rhythm of old times. Curt sent a glare at Roland as the latters fingers flew across the strings, strumming almost scarily fast and accurate. “Damn showoff.” he muttered. Roland breathed a laugh, a light, easy thing, a sound that had not been rare in the past hour in Curts company. “Careful.” Curt warned, a smile tugging at his lips. “Or you might start loving me again.” Roland chuckled in response, strumming his guitar. He smirked, stopping, and cocked an eyebrow at his old friend. “What ever gave you the impression that I stopped?”

whooo. done. heres the link to the first half if you need it-

hope you enjoyed that.

i just reread it and theres defo stuff i wouldnt put or change now, but i think its okay for a first draft

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Alright so here are ten albums that, by all rights, should have been on the rolling Stone top 500 albums list. In my research I did learn that one of them (Buena Vista Social Club) was in a previous version of the list so why the fuck did they take it off? My first pick is probably a lil contentious but I feel strongly about it, the rest are so obvious that it is insane they aren't on there.

Three 6 Mafia - Mystic Stylez

I feel like I am screaming into the void trying to explain why this album is so good and influential. Despite remaining an underground artist throughout the 90s Three 6 Mafia were one of the pioneers of horrorcore hip hop. But more importantly than that their eerie lofi production and laid back tongue twisting was an obvious forerunner to the trap scene of the 00s and 10s. In fact you can hear them nearly create the trap beat several times in this album. Mystic Styles simply does not sound like it could have come out in 95 to me. It belongs much more alongside artists like Lil Ugly Mane than Wu-Tang Clan.

Beyond the realm of mere influence this is also just an incredibly good album that never deserves the lukewarm response that it got from the mainstream. The beats are so stark and sloppy, with such an emphasis on horror movie style dissonance. The resulting beats are perfect for both slow and lugubrious tongue twisters, and the intense violent horrorcore raps. Overall Mystic Stylez creates atmosphere more effectively than most hip hop artists could ever dream of.

Dizzee Rascal - Boy In Da Corner

UK garage and grime are not genres that American audiences usually pay attention to. Hell they aren't genres that most UK audiences pay attention to. Dizzee Rascal changed that when he released Boy In Da Corner. The frenetic pace of Rascal's rapping and the equally chaotic beats are transfixing. The wild urgency with which every line is delivered lends credibility to the fairly goofy and teenagery lyrics. Dizzee Rascal can be very goofy, but the catchyness of the songs and the sheer energy of it all made grime a hit genre worldwide if only for a moment. Also I love when someone flips a sample so well that you can't hear the original without thinking of the song that sampled it so basically r.i.p. to Billy Squire but Big Beat is just the sample in Fix Up, Look Sharp now.

Iron Maiden - Powerslave

Iron Maiden do two things, rip guitar at one million miles an hour and scream at the top of their lungs. But there's actually a secret third thing and it's that they have some pretty decent lyricism. Iron Maiden are consistently concerned with the horrors of war. The subject is all over their previous singles and is present on both the hits on Powerslave. Aces High portrays a panicked pilot trying to survive a battle in WW2, and the more politically charged Two Minutes To Midnight criticizes the commodification of warfare and the fact that capitalists are bringing the world to the brink of destruction for the sake of profits. It's not all super prescient stuff tho. A lot of Iron Maiden songs are just there to sound cool. And they do. The guitars go fast and squeedly and meedly while the drum and bass are galloping along with the intensity of a freight train.

Metallica - Ride The Lightning

Metallica's first album is good, but the follow up blows nearly every other thrash album out of the water. With just a little music theory knowledge and a willingness to experiment Metallica crafted songs with acoustic intros, actually good bridges and breakdowns and even catchier riffs. All without sacrificing the breakneck speed. In fact Ride The Lightning is probably even faster than their previous efforts. It's not just about speed though, it's pacing. The fact that these songs tend to have slow intros that build into fast paced squeedling helps break up the album so it isn't all on all the time. This would also become a staple of Metallica's sound from this album on. But they never nail their own sound as hard as they do on Ride The Lightning. It's probably my favorite thrash album.

Harry Chapin - Verities & Balderdash

Choosing just one Harry Chapin album was extremely hard because basically all of his albums have at least one of my favorites of his on it. But there was no way to get Taxi, 30,000 pounds of bananas, and Mr. Tanner on one album. So I went for the album that I thought Rolling Stone would be most likely to choose. Verities And Balderdash starts off with Chapin's most well known song, Cats In The Cradle, and then it only gets better from there. Harry Chapin is the greatest lyricist of the 70s adult contemporary scene. Fuck it he's probably the best of the 70s period. Chapin's knack for writing complex and sincere emotions that give a voice to perspectives that don't get enough play in popular music. He gives a voice to people who are typically voiceless. Everymen with humble aspirations that still amount to nothing. The musical arrangements are part of what make this work. Chapin's voice is bolstered by a combination of folk guitar and bombastic strings that make every line about failing marriages and fascist fire departments seem exactly as big as they are to the characters in the songs.

Okay I'm just gonna talk about one song from this album. This song was a hit. The Town That Made America Famous. This is one of the best songs every written. Top ten songs of all time easily. In it the narrator describes his life in a tenement building with a poor family and all the poor families that have given up and don't see any prospects beyond day to day existence. It describes their oppression at the hands of their landlord "The best that we all could afford / But still too fine for the rich landlord / To tear it down" and the local police "The cops would make a point to shadow us around our town". And then when a fire starts in their building the fire department refuse to show up as retaliation for someone drawing a swastika on the firehouse. In the narrative it is made clear that the narrator and friends were the ones that did it, but the fire department doesn't know that. The only person who shows up to fight the fire is a plumber, the only working class member of the fire department. The plumber let's the narrator's family stay at his house and the singer reflects that "It's funny when you get that close, it's kind of hard to hate". This song actually makes my heart race with anxiety whenever I hear it. It is so horrifically real. So basically if you are one of my anarchist friends and you think that some fuck from the 1970s writing folk rock can't be infinitely more woke and prescient than anything coming out today then I've got some news for you. Harry Chapin is a fucking comrade.

Buena Vista Social Club - s/t

By the time this album was made in 1996 many of the musicians featured, Compay Segundo, Ibrahim Ferrer, Rubén Gonzáles, Elíades Ochoa, to name just a handful of the more prominent ones, had been performing for decades. Segundo was already in his 80s. Almost all of them were Havana natives and played the local circuit, but the Cuban trade embargo severely hampered the ability for this music to reach wider audiences. Now there's no obligation to make your music for any audience other than the one right in front of you, but when American blues musician Ry Cooder ran into visa troubles while trying to put together an afro-cuban project he wound up smashing the Cuban musicians he was already working with into a group with several other local artists in the Havana music scene.

Okay history lesson over. The music on this album is so clearly the work of passionate experts with decades of experience under their belt. The delicate and vibrant melodies represent a slowing down of intensity that had become present in the bolero and danzón music of the time. Though many of the songs were newly written for this album, they feel like a return to some comfortable childhood place. A place that can only be kept alive in song. Solo escuchas un álbum de música Cubana escucha de Buena Vista Social Club.

Apex Twin - Selected Ambient Works 85-92

Alright if anyone says IDM imma go feral. This is an ambient techno album. We don't gotta be elitist about this electronic music. In fact I think it is important that this is an ambient techno album because it gave the techno scene more mainstream attention than it ever had gotten in the past and it brought the ambient subgenre of techno more into the foreground.

If there is one thing that Richard D James understands it is texture. Every track on Selected Ambient Works is so much more than just a drum beat and a melody. While the drums have a hint of hip hop and the melodies are more present than other techno music, the real star is the diverse sonic textures that populate each track. From distant wet sounds that sound like the inside of a submarine to dry buzzsaw sounds to fuzzy bass lines there is so much to focus in on. When a new sound enters the mix it changes the entire flavor of the song as it's new texture slots into the sonic palate. And while later Apex Twin releases are just as incredible it is on this debut that Richard D James shows restraint. Any less and the songs would be boring, any more and they would be overwhelming. Selected Ambient Works 85-92 is one of the high points in electronic music.

KLF - The White Room

The KLF are a weird anomaly, they jumped into the electronic music scene in 87 made a handful of incredibly creative releases and then dipped in 92 after firing a machine gun full of blanks into the audience at the BRIT Awards and deleting their entire back catalogue of music.

So uh The White Room is a house album. Kind of. The KLF were not really easily pinned down to a genre. There are aspects of rave, house, dub, hip hop, acid, etc all over this album. It has a grand and mythological sound that would be at home in an underground rave or a huge stadium. The lyrics are mostly spiritual nonsense. I don't mean that in an "Its spiritual so I hate it kind of way" I mean that The KLF are primarily inspired by the satirical Illuminatus! Trilogy and therefore use satirical takes on spiritual aesthetics. Songs like Last Train To Trancentral make a trip to the rundown shack they used as a recording studio sound like a religious pilgrimage.

Avalanches - Since I Left You

There is absolutely no other album like Since I Left You. There are plenty of sampledelica / instrumental hip hop / turntablist / plunderphonics records but no album is as dedicated to being all of those things at once as this one. The Avalanches conceived of this album while looking at all the weird and forgotten albums that populated thrift stores in their native Melbourne. To quote one half of the group Darren Seltman "[t]he more rejected and unwanted the record that a sample comes from, the more appealing it is, I guess it's almost a reaction to rare record finding, but occasionally things like 'Holiday' come up".

The way that samples are used here is unique. The album is made entirely of samples as is the case with plunderphonics, but the sheer number of samples and the dense layering is incredible. A breakdown of any one song on the album will show dozens of samples flitting in and out things making up the entire backbone of the track that you didn't even register was something you might have recognized. Hell even the very obvious samples like the aforementioned Holiday by Madonna is woven into the mix so well that it is fully divorced from its original context.

Now the other thing that Since I Left You has is atmosphere. Instrumental hip hop in this style has a tendency for one aesthetic and only one aesthetic: driving on the highway at 2:00 AM while feeling contemplative. Trust me that isn't overspecific I have listened to a lot of records. Since I left you is the polar opposite of this. The album is a brightly lit tropical dreamscape. A psychedelic reimagining of a cruise vacation. The joy of creativity and sunshine flows through every second of Since I Left You and it is impossible to come out the other end without a smile on your face. This is one of the greatest albums ever made and it definitely makes my top ten.

Yellow Magic Orchestra - Solid State Survivor

The complete and utter lack of any east asian music whatsoever on both rolling stones top 500 albums and the 1001 albums list actually makes me livid. I could make at least a top 100 list of just Japanese music. So I'm gonna do the bare minimum and put on probably the first Japanese albums to hit it big in the west.

YMO have a sound that, while not strictly ahead of their time is still fairly pioneering. There is a lack of the punk/new wave aesthetics of Tubeway Army, but more pop sensibilities than Ktaftwerk. They wind up falling in this unique synth pop place of very sincere bubbliness, but also artistic integrity. Nothing quite sums it up like their cover of The Beatles' Day Tripper. It's a fun off beat cover that retains the poppiness of the original but with a thrumming synth line that almost predicts techno. And techno artists do tend to list Solid State Survivor as an influence.

[purplesurveys]

1693

Put your music library on shuffle (or just pick some random songs) and answer a few questions for each one. by chasingghosts

❀ Song One ❀

What's the song? Like Crazy, Jimin.

When did this song come out? Just this year.

Would you recommend this song to someone? Sure! I’d say it’s even one of the better recos for someone wanting to get into BTS or Jimin as it has an alternate English version, so you can listen to this if you want to understand the lyrics right off the bat. Composition-wise it’s right up my alley too as it has that 80s synth-pop sound that’s been big in pop music these days.

Do you know how to play this song on an instrument? (or would you like to learn?) I don’t play any instruments, so no.

❀ Song Two ❀

What's the song? Take Two, BTS.

Do you remember how you discovered this song? I didn’t discover it per se. It was announced and I waited for it to come out. Thing was, we were out having brunch in Bangkok when it dropped so I had to wait til we got in a Grab like, two hours later, before I could listen to it properly haha.

What genre would you classify this song as? Acoustic pop.

Have you ever been obsessed with or fixated on this song? I’m not particularly obsessed with it, but I listen to it when I’m sad or when I’m missing them. It’s one of those songs that I try to avoid listening to on repeat so that I don’t get sick of it easily.

❀ Song Three ❀

What's the song? Rover, Kai.

Could you dance to this song? I’ve never given this a proper listen actually and I’m not even sure how the song goes (I just set my Spotify to whatever algorithm it feels like playing tonight lol), so I couldn’t tell you right off the bat. I probably could though, cos it’s Kai?

Does this song remind you of anyone? Nobody but my EXO-L cousin that I unfriended months ago because of some unnecessary shade she posted about Jimin.

What’s the tempo of this song? I’m not sure, either.

❀ Song Four ❀

What's the song? Lilith, Halsey and Yoongi.

Have you ever seen this song performed live? I have not. Apparently Halsey’s already done this Diablo version *and* her original version live, but Yoongi hasn’t performed the Diablo version ever.

What is the name of the album this song is on? I’m not sure it has an album, actually. It’s just part of the Diablo IV soundtrack.

Does this song ever get stuck in your head? Occasionally.

❀ Song Five ❀

What's the song? Change pt.2, Namjoon.

Does this song have male or female vocals? Male.

Do you like the lyrics of this song? Yup, big fat yes here. For how short this song is, the lyrics get real and I love that a lot. You gotta admit it – don’t you get it still? Someday a great grief will do come for you, and you’ll know it too; you can’t love someone like I do, that’s all I can say to you.

Does this song remind you of any particular period of your life? It does, very strongly so, yes.

❀ Song Six ❀

What's the song? Haegeum, Yoongi.

Would you say this is one of your favourite songs? I mean it wouldn’t land in my Top 10 of BTS’ entire discography but I find the song great nonetheless. The music video drove me insane and I memorized the entire chorus so I can yell it back in entirety to Yoongi for the concert.

How many instruments are played in this song? Guitar, bass, drums, and the actual haegeum.

When did you first discover this song? Two months ago when it came out.

❀ Song Seven ❀

What's the song? Angel Pt. 1 with Jimin...and honestly, the list of artists in this song is too long I haven’t bothered to memorize the rest, lol.

Is this song a genre you would regularly listen to? Nope. The main rap style that’s like 80% of the song is actually pretty grating to me. I only stream it for Jimin’s part and the female artist who was in the song as well; she sounds amazing.

Has this song ever been in a popular chart like Billboard? Yes.

Is this song on any of your playlists? I don’t make playlists, but I’ve bookmarked a few playlists with this song in them.

❀ Song Eight ❀

What's the song? The Planet, BTS.

Do you like to sing along to this song? Yes. This is a great fun and upbeat song that always makes me a little happier when I listen to it, and I like it a lot that I’ll even mumble through the Korean parts hahaha.

What’s the emotion of this song? Upbeat, optimistic, cheerful.

Have you ever seen this artist perform live? Not as a whole, but I have watched Yoongi in concert.

❀ Song Nine ❀

What's the song? Equal Sign, Hobi.

Does this song have more than one singer? As far as I know it’s just Hobi in it, down to the backing vocals.

Do you know any other songs from the album this song is on? I know all the songs off of Jack in the Box.

Would you play this song at a party? It’s a bit too chill for a party! Maybe when the atmosphere kind of winds down towards the end? that’s the time I’d play it.

❀ Song Ten ❀

What's the song? Loser=Lover, TXT.

Is the artist who performs this song one of your favourites? I wouldn’t say they’re my favorites but I hold a soft spot for them. They’re BTS’ juniors and have so far been super unproblematic, so there’s nothing to dislike.

Do you know all the lyrics to this song? Nah, just the chorus.

Is there a music video for this song, and have you seen it? I actually haven’t checked but it should have one considering it’s a title track. Anyway, I looked it up on YouTube and yes they do have one for it haha. No, I haven’t seen it.

[heartache-onthebigscreen]

the ick - lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: you, having recently gotten out of a long-term relationship, have started going out, partying, and going home with other guys as a coping mechanism. luke, being one of your close friends and roommate, doesn’t quite approve of this behavior.

warnings: cursing, slight angst, mentions of sex, alcohol.

word count: 4.1k+

*not my gif*

Luke leans back into the couch, clutching his acoustic guitar as he anxiously strums the chords. He’s been doing this for at least four hours now, waiting for his best friend, YN, to come home.

There were nights where he’d give up and just go to bed, figuring she’d gone off to sleep over at some guy's house. He knew she would be back in the morning, doing the walk of shame as she steps through the front door, holding her heels with the straps of her dress loosely hanging on her shoulders.

He knew she’d been having a rough time after her recent breakup. She and her ex had been together for almost two years, they even lived together. They had plans to get married, have kids, the whole thing. Luke never really liked him though, he had to refrain from skipping around the house and cheering when she had shown up at his doorstep one night holding an overnight bag.

Luke didn’t like how her ex critiqued YN’s every move. How he would tell her to change because she looked too slutty. How he would constantly undermine her abilities and the job she had. He was a real tool, and Luke is glad that it finally ended. He just hated how it made her feel.

That night she showed up at the doorstep, it was about three AM. It was pouring rain and she was dressed in Luke’s hoodie and a pair of loose sweatpants. She carried a thick backpack on her shoulders and her face was tear-stained and puffy from crying.

Luke took no time letting her in the warmth of his home. He let her cry, drink, whatever helped her feel better. Once she explained what happened, sure, he felt bad for her. But he was dancing on the inside.

She was finally single. He could finally start flirting and showing hints, ultimately leading up to him confessing the heart-wrenching crush he’s had on her for years.

Or so he thought.

Once Luke had let YN move in with him, she started going nuts. Almost manic. She started going out every night, and if she didn’t go out, there was a party at home. She was always at a bar, drinking everything away. She’d end up at clubs, house parties, and any guy she found slightly cute she’d end up going home with.

She’d had too many one-night stands to even count. She’s come home and talked about them, only to conclude that the random guy she’d slept with gave her an “ick.” Meaning, she was generally disgusted by the men and didn’t want to see them again.

One guy’s hair was too greasy. Another claimed to be an alpha male. Too skinny. Long beard. Skinny dick. Short dick. Called his mom after sex. Lived with his mom. The list could go on and on.

Luke hates that she’s coping this way, he’d never planned on saying anything though. He didn’t want to upset his precious YN, she’s going through so much right now. Her entire life just crashed right in front of her, it’s normal to go a little nuts.

He can’t help but be jealous, just a little bit.

Part of him wishes she’d use him, kiss him, have sex with him, whatever she wanted to do to cope and get over her ex-boyfriend. He didn’t care if it would mean nothing to her, he would take what he can get.

But again, every guy YN has been with had ended with her being disgusted. That’s the last thing Luke wanted. He didn’t want to give her an ick.

Luke glances at his phone, the time now reading four AM. He sets his guitar down and picks up his phone, bringing up YN’s contact. He checks her location for what seems like the millionth time tonight.

It wasn’t a controlling thing, he just wanted to make sure she was safe while she was out at night.

The little dot on the map shows that she’s pretty close to home, it gets closer by the second as Luke stares at the screen.

A few moments pass by, and once the dot lands right in front of the house, Luke locks his phone and grabs his guitar, waiting for YN to walk into the house. He didn’t want her to know that he’s been watching her move for the last few minutes.

On cue, YN bursts through the front door, slightly giggling as she stumbles into the open living room. She’s holding her heels, her hair is frizzy and messy from whatever she was doing tonight. Her top sits loosely on her person. She looks like a wreck.

She’s fully aware she looks like an absolute train wreck right now. She wipes under her eyes at the smudged mascara after she drops her heels to the floor. Her eyes scan the, rather blurry room to land on Luke, still holding his guitar as his eyes are trained on her.

“Aw, you’re so sweet!” YN slurs, “you didn’t have to wait for me!”

Luke keeps a straight face, taking in her presence. She’s obviously been making out with someone, her lipstick is smudged and her hair is knotted. And it seemed like she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She was definitely wearing one before she left.

“Had to make sure m’girl was alright,” Luke finally responds. His voice stays low as he keeps his temper neutral.

He loves her. He loves her so much and hates to see her like this. It makes him so angry, angry at her ex for turning her into this mess. Angry at himself for not being able to help her and being so jealous of every man she slept with. And he doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s angry at YN. He loves her so much it makes him angry that she’s treating herself like this.

“You know I’m alright,” YN sighs as she scratches the back of her head, “m’tired. Think I’m gonna just go to bed.” She giggles lightly, still a bit tipsy from the drinking tonight.

“Should shower and take off ya makeup,” Luke comments, knowing she’d probably just go crash in what she was wearing, “don’t wanna feel gross in the morning.”

“Luke,” YN whines. She was much too tired to even begin to actually take care of herself like she should. It’s not like she did when she was at another guys’ house, why should it matter now? She’d just get up in the morning, shower, and start over. “I’m tired.” She repeats.

Luke’s heart flutters at the sound of his name, making him silently curse himself for having such a reaction to a simple thing. “Gotta, YN,” Luke orders her.

“Do it for me?” YN perks her voice up while puckering her bottom lip out, knowing Luke could never say no to her. She knows the effect she has on her best friend, Luke would do just about anything for her.

“I’ll get your makeup off and run you a bath, but I’m not helping you bathe,” Luke rolls his eyes with a light chuckle. He stands up from the couch and sets his guitar on the stand by the couch. He walks over to her as she sways in the doorway. He grabs her hand and leads her upstairs and into her room.

She giggles to herself as Luke leads her. She loves her Luke. Her best friend, he’s been there for her through everything. She couldn’t imagine a life without him.

One of the reasons she actually came home tonight was because she feels shitty for not spending much time with him. But, she got caught up with making out with some dude at the bar. She was about to text Luke to tell him she wouldn’t be home tonight, but then, the bar dude gave her an ick.

He started yelling very loudly at one of the sports games playing on the television.

Gross.

She gave the man an excuse, and got an Uber home to see her best friend.

She was half expecting him to be passed out at the kitchen table or the couch, like he usually is when he waits up for her.

It makes her guilty, knowing he stays up so late for her. She ends up waking him up and taking his sleepy and grumpy body to bed. She’d profusely give him apologies he doesn’t even remember in the morning because he was half asleep.

But, she’s happy that he’s awake tonight. Even if the time spent is short-lived with him.

“Sit,” Luke orders YN to sit down on her bed. He grabs a pack of makeup wipes off her nightstand and stands between her legs. He takes a wipe out of the pack and throws the pack down on the bed. He takes her chin to lift it so he can get a good look at her face.

She’s exhausted. Luke knows she is, though she’d never admit it. Her eyes lack emotion and her dark bags are heavily covered with concealer. Her entire face is puffy and her eyes are bloodshot. Something he had noticed about her whenever she’s tired.

Luke gently wipes the makeup up her face. Starting with her cheeks, knowing to wipe upwards, because she’s fussed at him about it before.

He giggles to himself at the thought, she’d ranted about the importance of skincare after, which ultimately ended up in him putting on a face mask with her.

Luke gently wipes at her eyes, trying his best to remove the mascara and eyeliner. Then her eyebrows, then to her lips.

He lingers as he gets the smudged lipstick off. Silently wishing he was the one who smudged her lipstick. He looks at her soft, plump lips as he wipes the red off of them. Leaving them looking a bit swollen.

So kissable.

Luke shakes the thought and throws the wipe into a nearby trash can.

“I’ll go run ya bath,” Luke tells YN as he reluctantly removes himself from between her legs, disappearing into her bathroom.

Once he’s gone, YN begins to strip. She’s still drunk enough not to care that her best friend will see her naked. She has no shame, she’s comfortable and trusts him.

Once she rids herself of all clothing, she walks into the bathroom, holding her arms across her chest. She sees Luke sitting on the edge of the tub, checking the temperature of the water. He hums to himself as he does so, some random melody she’s sure she’ll hear in one of his songs.

He doesn’t notice her standing in the doorway yet. He’s too focused on finding the right body wash to mix into the bath. He doesn’t remember the name of the scent he likes best on her, so he takes his time smelling each bottle until he finds the right one.

He finally finds it, then squeezes a generous amount into the tub, creating a mountain of bubbles.

He then takes some bath salts and sprinkles them in the tub as well.

YN just continues to watch Luke with a smile on her face, she becomes so entranced with his focused movement.

He just wants to make sure everything is perfect for her, he believes she deserves nothing but the best.

Luke stands up to grab a candle from the sink and light it. He turns around and his eyes finally land on YN, making him drop the candle.

“God- shit! YN!” Luke curses. He shields his eyes from her body as he blindly tries to pick up the candle, which now has a slight crack in it.

YN lets out a drunken cackle, “what? Never seen a naked woman before?” She teases as she walks further into the bathroom. She steps into the tub and submerges herself into the warm water. She uses her foot to turn off the water and Luke continues to curse under his breath as he lights the candle.

He feels his face become warm and red as he thinks about the glimpse of YN’s body he just saw. He lets his mind wander into different scenarios where she would be naked in front of him.

He hates that he thinks about his best friend in such ways.

YN continues to giggle to herself, knowing she’s flustered her best friend.

“A fuckin’ warnin’ next time, hm?” Luke finally laughs with her.

“Sorry,” YN giggles, “you’re just fun to watch. You’re cute,” her drunken state gets the best of her as she compliments her best friend, “you’re really too good to me. You really take care of me, Luke. I feel bad because I’m rarely ever there for you.” She begins to play with the bubbles in her bath.

Luke sits on the edge of the tub, “y’know I love takin’ care of you, YN,” he admits, “you don’t need to feel guilty. I just wish you’d take care of yourself a bit better."

“What do you mean?” YN’s brows furrow as she mulls over the words Luke just said to her.

She thinks she takes care of herself just fine. As long as she’s doing something, or someone, she’s fine.

Just, fine.

“YN, c’mon,” Luke begins to feel the anger he’s been hiding build in his blood. He knows he shouldn’t say anything…but he wants to see a change. “You go out and drink, every single night. Hell, it’s fuckin’ what? Four AM on a Monday and you’re just now getting home? I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat a full meal, or drink water…m’worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Luke.” YN argues, “I don’t need you to tell me-“

“Kay, whatever,” Luke scoffs and stands up. He goes to leave the bathroom, but YN grabs his arm.

Luke closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be around her right now. He can’t argue with her about this. If she doesn’t see that she’s truly not taking care of herself, he can’t do much about that. There’s no use of helping someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

“I wasn’t done,” YN says. “I don’t get why you’re getting so mad at me. I’m alive, I’m in one piece. I’m here with you, what’s the issue?”

“YN, you’re drunk. I’m not talking to you about this when you’re not sober. Which basically means we’ll never fucking talk about it,” Luke mutters under his breath and tries to leave once more, but YN keeps a surprisingly strong grip on his arm.

“Well I’m pretty fucking sober now!” YN snaps, “that was unnecessary.”

“No, YN, what’s unnecessary is-“ Luke tucks his lips in, his kind running in circles while he does his best to not explode in her face.

He feels as he has no right to criticize YN’s actions in her life, he doesn’t want to, because he’d feel like her ex.

But, he’s just looking after her, right?

Meanwhile, YN is fuming. Luke shouldn’t comment on how she decides to live her own life. So what? She’s just letting loose, enjoying her freedom of being single.

Drowning out the pain with alcohol. Sleeping with men, trying to get over the ex that completely shattered her world.

Ignoring her basic body needs, using the physical pain to distract her from her emotional pain.

It’s completely fine.

…Right?

“What’s unnecessary, Luke?” YN narrows her eyes, “the fact that I’m just simply living my life? You’re not my fucking dad, I can do what I want.” She pushes away the thoughts of her unhealthy coping mechanisms, trying to stand her ground.

“Yes, I completely agree with you,” Luke lets out a long breath as he nods. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, “you can do what you want. I’m not stopping you. It’s just…frustrating to see you destroy yourself when you aren’t even realizing what you’re actually doing.”

“I’m not…” YN begins to argue, becoming stubborn. But she can’t find a rebuttal. She knows Luke is right, she just doesn’t want to admit the constant emotional pain she endures.

I mean, it’s been so long since the breakup. She rarely even thinks about her ex anymore. It’s just..the lingering damage. The trauma. She’s lost now.

She should surely be over all that by now, it’d be embarrassing to admit that she’s still struggling.

“I’m okay, really.” YN lies.

“Lovey,” Luke sighs as he scans YN’s face. Her eyes begin to gloss over, against her own will. “It’s okay not to be okay, y’know that?”

Luke’s tense body finally relaxes and YN releases her grip on his arm. He sits back down on the edge of the tub once more. He reaches over to push her slightly damp hair out of her face. He then takes her chin so he’s looking into her eyes.

“I’m tired,” YN finally admits.

“I know,” Luke furrows his brow, “why don’t you just finish your bath and-“

“No, Luke,” YN bursts into tears. Luke is taken aback by this, he hadn’t seen her cry since she first came over here.

She never likes to show her emotions, she thinks she has to seem okay and be strong. The night she came to Luke was a vulnerable time for her, she regrets crying in front of him like that.

But here she is, sobbing so aggressively she feels like she’s going to throw up, “I’m tired,” YN repeats, “I can’t do this anymore! I try so hard to just ignore everything and make it go away! But it doesn’t! It hurts! I’m tired! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” She begins to choke on her sobs as she tries to catch her breath.

Without a word, Luke stands and starts to take off his clothes, he leaves his boxers on and climbs into the tub with YN.

He doesn’t care that she’s naked. He doesn’t care that he’s possibly crossing a boundary. He wants to comfort his YN, now that she’s finally letting her walls down.

He nudges her back up as she continues to cry, he sits behind her so she’s in between his legs. He’s careful not to touch her in the wrong places, so he opts for wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to his back and using his free hand to wipe the tears away as she leans her head back onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” YN sniffles.

“Don’t apologize,” Luke soothes, “it’s okay to feel. You gotta in order to get over something.” He sighs, “is it him? You miss him?” He reluctantly asks.

“No! No! I haven’t even thought about him!” YN wipes her face, “it just fucked me up! Y’know? I don’t know how to explain it, I just…I don’t know.” She pouts as she tried to put her feelings into words.

“Well, good. He’s a piece of shit, you shouldn’t miss him,” Luke giggles, trying to get his YN to laugh, “I mean, the bloke wore sunglasses on the back of his head, you’d think that woulda gave you that ick you’ve been talkin’ about.”

YN giggles as she tries to hold back her cries.

“And I do get it, you’re gonna be a little fucked up for a while, I hate to say it. But you don’t need to make it so much worse, try to drink a little less, be home a little more, for me?” Luke pleads.

YN nods her head, knowing she needs to clean up her act and grow the fuck up. She knows she couldn’t even count the amount of men she’s hooked up with on her fingers.

She sees herself as a bit of a whore, really.

Her mind fills with regret and hatred towards herself. Why did she throw herself around like that? What in her right mind made her think drinking herself into oblivion and fucking anything with a dick was okay?

“God, I’m a slut!” YN’s cries turn into pained laughter, “seriously! How do I not have an STD right now?”

Luke laughs with her, “well, I wasn’t going to say it.”

“Hey!” YN brings her hand out the water to playfully slap Luke’s cheek.

YN suddenly becomes very conscious that she is in fact, naked as Luke holds her. She notes that he has stayed very still, careful not to make her uncomfortable in any way.

She’d usually be so insecure, but Luke has not crossed any boundaries, and he’s doing nothing but comforting her.

She can’t help but tense up a little, though.

“What?” Luke murmurs, “you uncomfortable?” Panic starts to rise in his voice, “I can get out, m’sorry I didn’t-“

“No!” YN quickly protests, “you’re fine. Don’t leave, please.”

Luke relaxes, as does YN.

Butterflies form in Luke’s stomach, he’s so, so aware of every inch in her body. He loves that she feels comfortable with him like this.

It sucks that she only sees this platonically.

A thought crosses YN’s head, one of the thoughts that has crossed her mind many times before. What if she kissed Luke? What if she hooked up with Luke?

She’d always felt drawn to her best friend in one way or another, but this way, she pushed deep, deep down. She’d never want to ruin what they already head, plus, she thinks he only sees this platonically. They’re just super close.

The worst of her clouds her mind though. She releases her stress through sex, a fatal flaw she sees in herself. She didn’t hook up from that guy at the bar, so she feels a bit needy right now.

But she just agreed to stop that to Luke.

But what if Luke was the hookup?

No, no, it’s too awkward.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Luke hums and begins to run his fingers through her hair.

“Sex,” she replies, honestly.

This earns a laugh from Luke, “didn’t get any tonight, eh? Thought by that lipstick you at least gave some head.”

Luke jokes, but on the inside he is fuming with jealousy.

“Nah, he gave me an ick.”

“What was it this time?” Luke asks.

“Yelled at a sports game,” YN giggles, “I left so fast.”

Luke just laughs, he finds it adorable that such little things can turn her off so quickly.

His laughter quickly dies when he suddenly becomes insecure.

“What?” YN tilts her head to actually look at Luke. He looks down at her with his curls falling over his forehead. The blue in his eyes is nearly gone, his pupils are dilated with adoration as he looks at her.

“Do I…” Luke shyly begins to speak, “Do I give you any icks?”

YN turns her head in thought, trying to rack her brain for anything about Luke she finds as a turn off or annoying.

There’s nothing, though.

Absolutely nothing.

“No, you’re perfect,” YN smiles. As she looks at Luke, their faces are extremely close together, breathing in each other’s air.

A faint blush tints Luke’s cheeks as he shows a dimpled grin.

“So, hypothetically,” Luke begins in a low rasp, “if I was one of your flings, you’d call me the next day?”

YN nods her head, “yes, hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically.” Luke agrees.

They stare at each other once more, tension filling the air as their breathing increases.

YN feels her body heat up at the thought of kissing Luke. The way he’s holding her vulnerable, naked body isn’t helping either.

Was the getaway from her issues she was looking for all along, right in front of her?

Luke’s mind is completely blank as his eyes flicker to YN’s lips.

They both suck in a deep breath and crash their lips together. Luke finally moves his arm from around her waist and trails his hand up to her neck to angle her head.

As the kiss heats up, YN turns her body around to straddle Luke in the tub, somehow not breaking contact in the process.

They kiss with so much heat and aggression. There isn’t any time for air. Their hands travel every heated inch of their bodies.

To the both of them, this felt so right. This was meant to be.

This feeling for Luke is quite new to YN, she hadn’t really thought about her attraction to him. It’s no doubt Luke is very attractive and probably the sweetest man she’s ever met. Like she thought before, she’d always been drawn to him, she was just never sure in what exact way.

She knows now.

Luke had been waiting for this moment since the moment he met YN, and he wants nothing more than just her right now.

“It’s,” Luke finally breaks the kiss and pants as YN begins to kiss every part of his face and neck, “late. We should get dried off and go to bed.”

Luke can’t help but let out a whine as YN’s teeth begin to sink into the base of his neck, he grabs her hips and uncontrollably bucks his hips up to meet hers, making her moan at the contact.

“You’re thinkin’ about sleep right now?” YN breathes out.

“Oh, baby,” Luke smirks, “who said we were sleeping?”

[kakejiszka]

Studio Fun

This is my first Jake smut, hope you enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: contains lots of smut, you have been warned.

After changing at least six times, you still hadn't chosen among the three set of clothes that were lying on your bed, surrounded by several other pieces of clothing that together created a mess in your entire room, that smelled like citrus, makeup and despair.

You couldn't help but tremble with anxiety at the sight of yourself in your lingerie in the mirror, after all, the occasion you were dressing for was unprecedented. Should you wear a fancy dress? A slutty short skirt? A rocker leather jacket?

You had hit the jackpot: after a few weeks going out with Jake, he had finally invited you to meet the studio where he and his band rehearsed every week. And furthermore, you would meet his brother Josh and Sam and their friend Danny for the first time. You were nervous, as shit was starting to get serious.

Jake was living rent free in your head. Since the first time you saw him, your standards for men had never been the same, after all, no one could surpass his beauty, talent and charisma. To top it all, he was so romantic: on the three times you went out together, he managed to surprise you even with the simplest things. On your first date, you had coffee together, but he gifted you white roses. On the second date, you two took a walk around the town and he held your hand the entire time. On the third date, where it's socially acceptable to have sex, he took you to a super fancy restaurant with wonderful food. You even wore a beatiful black dress and made sure to wear your best lingerie. But, despite taking you home and kissing you by the door (for the first time), that was it. Maybe he was shy, maybe he wasn't ready, but you couldn't help but feeling a bit disappointed for not spending the night with him.

You chose the skirt. If there was even the smallest chance of you seducing him that day, you were willing to try. You finished the look with a black tank top, which was so tight you didn't feel the need to wear a bra, an oversized jeans jacket and black boots. You applied some eyeliner and mascara.

You called an Uber to the address Jake had texted you and quickly you arrived. Your phone vibrated in your jacket's pocket. "Be there in 15" his text said. You felt your legs tremble during the whole time you spent waiting for him, which seemed like an eternity. Despite all his qualities, it wasn't new to you that Jake Kizka's worst flaw was that he was always late.

You noticed the studio: it was very big and it seemed like a place full of quality equipment. The street where it was located was full of different records and musical instruments stores, what made you realize you were in a part in town where you could find everything that was music-related. As you waited for him, all the thoughts in the world were crossing your mind: what if he's not so into me? What if his brothers don't like me? What am I doing here? What kind of idea was this? Do I still have time to go back home?

"Hey!" you were surprised by a familiar voice behind you.

"Jake!" you said, nervousness resonating in your voice.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, giggling.

"No, I'm okay, it's just that..." you didn't even have to finish what you were saying so that he could understarnd the situation.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, they will love to meet you."

Jake gave you his hand and you held it, now feeling much safer and calmer than before.

You two entered the studio and followed through a long dark hallway. The walls were painted black and were full of band posters and stickers. There were other rooms there and you could hear other bands rehearsing inside them. Jake guided you to the end of the hallway where a small set of stairs took you to the second floor.

For your surprise, there weren't other rooms on the second floor like there were on the first floor. It was a single room entirely, where you could find everything: a big couch, a frigo, technical equipment for recording, vending machines, snooker table, a mini bar, all sorts of things...

A section of the room was isolated by a thick glass wall. Inside it, the walls were covered in acoustic panels and the room was filled with many amplifiers, pedals, instruments and a bunch of other things you didn't know what were called were there.

Lying on the couch were Danny, Sam and Josh, waiting for Jake.

"Goddamnit, finally!" Josh shouted "we waited for like an hour!"

"I was getting ready for her" Jake answered, smirking and pulling you close to him by your waist. You couldn't hide the embarassment on your face.

"What a fancy studio!" you said, trying to change the subject "I didn't know you rehearsed in such a cool place."

"It wasn't always like this, ya know" Josh said while standing up and putting his hands in his pockets "we started playing at our house, but it was starting to get too noisy for miss Karen" he laughed.

"It's true, we had to look for cheap studios, but it was hard to find anything in a small town like Frankenmuth" Sam said.

You all talked a bit and, fortunately, the boys were all very nice. You felt very welcomed by Josh's sense of humor, Sam's big smile and Danny's kindness.

After you got to know them, they entered the acoustic room and started rehearsing. You sat on the couch to watch them and, although you were scared to feel bored, you had a lot of fun with the private show they were performing for you.

You couldn't take your eyes off Jake. What he did to the guitar was phenomenal, sexy and even pornographic. The way he slowly slid his hand over the guitar's neck while sweat drops fell on his forehead were making you cross your legs a bit too hard over the couch.

He noticed you were staring at him and smiled at you through the glass, making you cover your face with your hands out of embarassment. You must have been making a funny face, because he giggled at the sight of you.

After two or three hours of rehearsal, they were done. Although the air-conditioning was making you shiver, they left the room all sweaty. Josh, Sam and Danny went to the frigo to get some beer. Jake went there as well, but he made sure to get one for you too.

"Did you like to watch the rehearsal?" Jake asked, offering you an already open Corona bottle.

"I loved it!" you said, getting the bottle from his hand and taking a sip.

"I was scared you would get bored" he said while he sat by your side on the couch and opened his bottle.

"How could I? I felt very special for watching such an exclusive show!" you said, making him laugh.

For the first time, you noticed what he was wearing: a dark purple silk shirt with the buttons opened showing his chest, as he always wore them. He had tight black cuffed pants and brown boots. On his neck, some long necklaces that reached the middle of his bare chest, and on his wrists a few bracelets. His style was casual and attractive, but goddamn, he looked so fucking hot.

The rest of the day was very fun. You two drank together and talked a lot, what got you even closer to each other. Josh, Sam and Danny played snooker and drank a lot, until they decided to leave.

There were only you and Jake, that were now a bit tipsy and still had a lot to talk about. You noticed that, although you two had already went out before, this was the first time you talked this much. When you realized, you were physically very close: your legs were resting over Jake's left leg and his hand was caressing the back of your head. Your index finger was circling around Jake's bare chest. He looked so great in that shirt.

"Do you wanna see something?" he excitedly asked. You, curious as you were, immediately answered:

"Sure."

Jake stood up and walked towards the platform where there was a panel with a billion different buttons you had no idea were for. After pressing and regulating some of them, he made a sign with his fingers invinting you to join him.

"What does that thing do?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Everything" he playfully answered.

"Everything what?" you asked again, laughing impatiently.

"This is the sound mixer, where we can control everything inside the acoustic room. Bass, treble, autotune, tuning, echo, volume... and so on" while he patiently explained to you, you admired him. He would get so excited when talking about music.

"Wow" you responded, without taking your eyes off his.

"Wanna try it out?" he asked.

"What? Are you serious?" you almost spit the liquid of the forth or fifth beer bottle you were having that day.

"Very serious" he said, looking deep in your eyes.

"Okay then..."

"Put this on" he said, grabbing the two headphones thar were lying on the table over the mixer and handing one over to you.

You did as he said and Jake left you responsible for the sound mixer and ran inside the acoustic room, almost tripping due to his light state of inebriation.

"What is he doing?" you quietly asked yourself.

He shut the door of the acoustic room and got one of the 6 or 7 guitars that were inside. After that, he put on the headphones that he brought with him to the room, turned on the microphone that was resting over a tripod and said:

"Can you hear me?"

The sound came out so loud in your headphones that you got scared and jumped, almost turning deaf. After that, you laughed a lot and so did he.

"How do I turn this thing down?" you asked him, screaming so he could hear you through the glass wall.

"Slide the red button down, on your right. Oh, and you don't have to scream, on your left there's a microphone that's meant for you to talk to me while I'm inside, just hold its button down."

You did as he told you to and laughed at yourself, feeling silly for not knowing how to use those things.

"There. Can I do what I want here?"

"Yeah!" he answered.

Jake started playing a random melody and you played with the sounds, having fun like a child. Distorting, increasing and decreasing the echoes, you two laughing like fools.

When you had enough fun, Jake spoke on the microphone again.

"Did you know this room has an almost perfect acoustic insulation?"

"Almost perfect? Like, no one can hear from the outside?" you said while pressing the mic's button and arching a brow, without believing him.

"Exactly" he said, putting his guitar away "I can scream as loud as I want here, no one will listen. Wanna try it?"

"How do I do that?" you asked, searching for the function among the million buttons on the sound mixer panel.

"Just turn the volume down, all of it."

And so you did. As you turned the volume down, it was getting harder and harder to hear what he said, until you couldn't hear a word. He only realized you couldn't hear him when he saw the surprise on your face, caused by the magic of the acoustic room. You could tell by his facial expression that he was laughing, and you laughed as well.

He made a gesture with his hand, like he asked you if you could hear him. You answered through the mic:

"I can't hear anything! This is amazing!"

He smiled and made another gesture, as if he was inviting you to the acoustic room. You quickly removed your earphones and walked to the door, thinking it would be your turn to stay there as he played with the sound.

When you opened the door, Jake immediately pulled you inside and shut the door with both of you inside. Then, he pressed you against the wall, pinning both of your wrists against it over your head.

You couldn't help but feeling surprised, after all, Jake had never acted like this before. He had always been romantic and careful, so you were pretty curious about his sudden dominating attitude.

He approached his face to yours, whispering close to your ear:

"Wanna test the acoustic of the room's acoustics?"

His tone was everything but innocent. You finally understood where he was getting to, so you decided to play his game.

"How can we test it?" you answered, faking innocence, and he smiled at your acting. So he put his leg in the middle of yours, gently rubbing his thigh against your groin and pressing you even harder agains the foamy wall.

"We can try it the best way possible."

After he said it, he kissed you deeply. His hands let go of your wrists and slowly slid down your arms, all the way to your neck. One of his hands held the back of your head and the other choked you slightly, but strong enough to make breathing a little harder. Your arms, now free of his grip, curled arould his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

The kiss was getting hotter. You felt the hand that held your neck go down to your waist, and the hand on the back of your head gently pull your hair, bringing your head back and making you moan softly. Jake stopped kissing you and smirked, watching your pleasure face.

"They might see us through the glass!" you said, but he didn't pay much attention as he immediately returned to kiss your lips.

"I don't care" he answered, and although it was a bit scary, the fear of getting caught was also thrilling and exciting.

Your neck was completely exposed now, inviting Jake's silky lips which left soft kisses on your skin, making their way to your ear lobes where he gently nibbled. It sent shivers down your spine and goosebumps on your skin, something Jake noticed and made sure to show he enjoyed.

"You like this, huh?" he whispered in your ear. You nodded with a small moan, still a little overwhelmed by the situation, but certainly enjoying it.

Jake went back to kissing your neck, now a little faster. The tiny threads of growing beard on his jaw scratched your face, the sensation was even more arousing. You were so focused on that that only later you realized that his hand wasn't on your waist anymore, but was grabbing your ass.

Your body was warm, but you had chills. The mix of sensations Jake was causing on you gave you so much pleasure, but at the same time it was torturous. It wasn't enough, you wanted more and he knew that, but he wanted to keep you waiting.

Jake put both on his hands on your ass, squeezing it hard and making you moan softly. But after a short period, you felt his hands leave the place, which surprised you. Only then you realized he was taking off your jeans jacket and tossing in on the floor. The black tank top you were wearing left your collarbone and your shoulders exposed, which was exactly what Jake's lips were looking for. But before he went back to what he was doing, he took a good look at your newly exposed body part. His eyes traveled from your face to your breasts and there they stood, what got you a little embarassed.

"You're so hot, did you know that?" he whispered, staring even harder at your cleavage and then at your eyes. You smiled and blushed. The way he said those things made you feel a way no other man had ever managed to do to you. "You don't have to feel ashamed..." he said, smirking at your reaction.

His lips met yours again, but only for a short period of time. They quickly moved to your collarbone. His hands were now were wandering around your whole body, moving from your neck to your shoulders, back, waist and ass, as if he was desperate to feel you. Which was amazing, because you were eager to feel his hands all over you.

You also wanted to feel him, so you did as he did: you took one of your hands to the back of his hand and slightly pulled back some of his long brown hair, what made him moan and smile in response. Your other hand traveled through his chest, gently dragging your nails around the small part of exposed skin. My god, he looked so hot in that purple jacket. The only way he could look hotter than that would be without it.

You started to slowly unbutton the shirt, which made him stop kissing you and look at you with a naughty smirk.

"So much hurry!" he giggled.

"You take mine off, I take yours, that's how it works" you answered, winking at him.

He helped you take off his shirt and toss it on the floor, next to your jacket. You enjoyed the view of his shirtless body, staring at it just like he did to you before, sliding your nails and digging them on his torso. He held your hand over his chest, looking deep into your eyes. you were expecting him to say something nasty, but instead he just went back to kissing you, now even more intensely.

He embraced your waist and pulled you closer to him, as if it were possible. Then, his hands slowly moved upwards, passing through your waist and reaching your breasts. He squeezed them softly, making you moan. Your skin, that was already shivered, got even more chills under his touch. You weren't wearing a bra, which made your nipples appear through your shirt. Jake noticed and liked it, since he touched and tweaked them over the thin cloth. At this moment, you were already wet and impacient, but you were only getting a small portion of Jake's sexual expertise.

"Jake..." you moaned in agony between his kisses, suffering with his touches over your clothes. Although it was very hot, the throbbing sensation in your groin was starting to feel unbearable and painful.

"I know, babe" he answered, resting his forehead on yours, without ceasing to fondle your breasts "you're eager, but I'm only getting started."

Hearing that made the situation of your arousal even worse, to the point where if he decided to just lift your skirt and fuck you at that moment you wouldn't even feel pain, so horny and ready you were. He went back to kissing you, never letting your breasts go. But suddenly, you felt him pull your shirt up and reveal your stomach.

He kept on pulling it, enough that your breasts dropped down from your top, due to how tight it was. He watched that pornographic scene without blinking, dazzled. Rapidly he went back to fondling your breasts, only now he took his lips to one of your nipples.

He sucked it gently, making you let go a pleasurable moan. Glad with your reaction, he kept on sucking it, sometimes licking, nibbling and kissing. He moved to the right breast, but without stopping to give attention to the left one, playing with the nipple with his thumb. The saliva he left on the thin skin of your nipple in contact with the air made you feel a little bit cold, but it gave you pleasure.

Jake took his time there, enjoying the sensation he was causing you. You, on the other hand, dig your nails a bit deeper all over his back, feeling his skin also get goosebumps.

Jake finishing sucking your nipples and went back to kissing your lips. He took off your top with a bit of hurry, tossing it on the floor and then pulling you closer to him by your waist. His hands were now back on your ass, but now he started to lift your skirt.

"This short skirt of yours... I spent the whole day thinking about lifting it and fucking you" he said, holding the cloth with the tip of his fingers and raising it slowly. The fingers that lifted the fabric softly scratched your thighs and your hip, making you shiver.

Jake saying those things made your legs tremble with pleasure. You didn't know how good it felt to hear that dirty-talk until it was Jake whispering it to you.

"I wore it thinking about it" you answered, what made him smile in a sexy and predatory way at the same time.

When he lifted your skirt high enough, he slid his right hand over your thigh. He gently slid back and forth towards your groin, torturing you with the desire of his touch. He looked you deep in the eyes with a serious expression, like he was in control of the situation. When you couldn't stand the teasing anymore, he caressed your pussy over your panties.

"Wow, you're soaking wet... I didn't know it was that easy to make you horny, baby."

You looked at him, almost not believing what you had just heard. After half an hour of teasing, he thought it was easy?

"Jake, please..." you moaned in desperation as he now rubbed your clit over the thin lacy fabric.

"I know, love, I'll give you what you want."

Jake pulled your panties down and slid his index finger between your fold, reaching your clit. You were so wet it was slippery inside you, making his job even easier. He then started to rub your clit in slow and circle motions.

You let go a fairly loud moan and, out of embarassment, you covered your mouth with your hand. He took your hand out of your mouth and pinned it against the wall behind you.

"Moan all you want, no one's gonna hear us. Moan loud for me."

And so you did. The harder he rub your clit, the more pleasure you felt and the more you moaned in his ear. He, who was also feeling pleasure, had his lips parted, watching you squirm against the wall.

Jake increased the speed with which he masturbated you, driving you insane. But you also wanted to torture him. Therefore, catching him by surprise, you took your hand to the huge bulge in his pants. He wasn't expecting that, but he enjoyed it.

You stroked his cock, that was very enhanced outside his pants. You were surprised with its lenght.

"You did this to me" he said, grabbing your hand and rubbing it harder against his dick.

But you didn't last for too long, since Jake's expertise in masturbating you was making your legs shake so you couldn't concentrate in anything but your own pleasure. You kept on moaning ach time louder until your orgasm finally hit. The pulsation made you almost scream.

You couldn't help but feel a little embarassed, but the look on his face comforted you and made you realize there was nothing to be ashamed of, since the man was clearly enjoying it.

He removed his fingers from your pussy and licked them. what made you feel another throb of pleasure. Next, he deeply kissed you.

"Fuck, your moans are so hot" he whispered in your ear. You couldn't answer him, since you were still recovering your breath.

Although you didn't say a word, you went back to stroking his erection. Gladly, he let you masturbate him over his clothes, torturing him as he had done to you.

"It's your turn to suffer" you said, and he smirked in response.

"This is nothing, I've been suffering since I first saw you in those tight clothes, your tits almost bursting out of that small top of yours. It was hard to hide how hard I was" he answered, gently pulling your hair behind your back so he could delight himself again with the sight of your naked breasts.

You rolled your eyes, giggling. He always had an answer on the tip of his tongue. But the fact that he said he got an erection only by looking at your cleavage made you feel powerful and sexy.

You kept masturbating him over the thick fabric of his pants, watching him twitch out of pleasure. After a few minutes, you removed his leather belt, tossing it on the floor together with the rest of your clothes. Next, he unzipped his pants himselft and lowered it a little, just enough so that you could see the bulge on his boxers. You could see the tip of his cock, since it had scaped the prison of its tight black fabric, which was already wet with his precum.

You licked your lips at the sight of his rigid cock. You wanted to suck it, but you would make him wait, just like he did to you. You stroked it over his underwear, which was way thinner and allowed you to move up and down much more easily. Jake was panting, anticipation taking over both of your bodies.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he grabbed your hand and put it inside his underwear, surprising you.

"Couldn't handle it?" you laughed.

"I need to feel you" he murmured, almost out of breath.

So you masturbated him, now inside his underwear. You started off slowly, gently touching the tip of his cock with your thumb. It was wet with eagerness. You then started to move more quickly, but the fabric of his underwear was making the job a little difficult, so you impaciently pulled it down, completely revealing his penis. Now that you could see it completely, you masturbated him even faster.

You looked at his face saw the expression of pure pleasure, small groans escaping from his mouth. You smirked and he smirked back, pleased with how much fun you were having while touching him so intimately. You then looked back at his cock and realized you couldn't take it any longer: you had to suck him off.

When he noticed you were getting down on your knees, his eyes widened up in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen, he helped you take off his pants and underwear and took off his shoes, tossing it all on the floor. Then, he grabbed all of your hair and held it tightly in the back of your head, not letting any strand of it get in the way of you doing your job, but at the same time being able to mildly control your movements.

You slowly licked his entire shaft from the base to the tip, making him shiver and moan. Next, you placed your lips around its head, gently sliding his whole cock inside your mouth. When it reached your throat you gagged, but you kept going. Starting off with slow movements and then increasing the speed, sometimes licking, sometimes kissing, sometimes harder, sometimes easier, sometimes just masturbating it while you gathered some air. With one hand you stimulated it, with the other you grabbed his butt. You looked him in the eyes, knowing he was enjoying it. His pleasure facial expression was incredible, only making you want to suck him even more.

You kept going, so eagerly you reached a very high speed, but it didn't last long. He gently pushed your head away from his cock and pulled you up, asking you to stand up.

"If you keep going like that, I won't stand for long, babygirl..." he murmured, catching some air.

"Sorry, I guess I got carried away..." you said while wiping your lips with your hand, making him giggle.

"Don't ever apologize for giving me the best head I've ever got."

Jake gave you a deep and sloppy kiss. Next, he is the one who went on his knees.

Jake laid kisses on your chin, neck, the middle of your breasts, your tummy and, after taking off your skirt and your boots and throwing them on the floor, he kissed your groin. Your body shivered in anticipation, nervous with what was about to happen.

Jake lifted one of your legs up and laid it over his shoulder, in a way he could be face-to-face to your entrance.

Before he got started, he looked up deep into your eyes, grinned and held your hip firmly with one of his hands, while the other squeezed the thigh that laid on his shoulder so tightly you had marks of it the day after.

Jake touched his tongue gently on your entrance, spreading your lips allowing his to explore your pussy. His hot and wet tongue in contact with your soaking folds sent shivers through your whole body, and several others followed it when he started to lick your clit.

The sensation was even better than the one he caused you with his fingers. Which was surprising, since he was a guitar player, you always thought he would be better with his hands. Turns out Jake Kiszka was god with incredible with string instruments and even more skilled in pleasing a lady.

He kept licking your clit, now harder. You, who were already having trouble standing on one leg while getting your pussy eaten like that, reached a tripod that stood nearby, dropping the microphone from it. Your other hand grabbed his light brown hair tightly between your fingers, trying to hold up to something and not lose grip from reality. You two were making a mess in the studio but you didn't mind, for he continued to go down on you and you kept moaning as loud as you could.

But it didn't stop there.

Jake slowly inserted his index finger inside you. You felt your walls clench around his finger as he moved it up and down, hitting your g-spot so easily you regretted not doing this earlier. The mix of sensations his tongue on your clit and his finger inside you were causing on you combined drove you insane. At this point, you were moaning so loudly you completely forgot where you two were. Your eyes were closed and all you could say was Jake's name between groans and breaths.

Jake inserted another finger and started to estimulate you really rapidly, as fast as he was sucking on your clit. Your pleasure had become unbearable and your second orgasm hit like a tsunami, wetting even more your folds and Jake's tongue. Although you had shown him he could stop so you two could move on, he didn't want to. He didn't stop, never allowing your orgasm to reach its end and making your legs shake uncontrollably.

When he thought he had enough he started to slow his movements down, for your relief. When he finally stopped, he laid a soft kiss on your wet entrance as a demonstration of affection and stood up, immediately kissing your lips making you taste your own bitter juices.

"You taste so delicious" he whispered between your lips "I can't get enough of it."

You two kissed once more, now more romanticaly and tenderly. When you two finally caught some breath, you looked at each other and smiled, excited with what was about to happen next.

He then grabbed your hair very firmly, bringing goosebumps to your skin. Next, he whispered in your ear:

"Are you sure you want it?" he asked, you thought it was sweet of him to ask for verbal consent.

"Yeah" you answered, embarassingly anxious.

"Then ask for it."

As he said it, he turned you over, making you face and lean against the wall, your back completely exposed to him. He still had his hand holding your hair very tightly. You moan at his dominance.

He bent you over in a way your ass was tilted up for him. He enjoyed the sight of it, caressing and squeezing it really hard. Next, he rubbed his hard cock over your entrance. You arched your back even more, feeling exposed like that felt hot and thrilling. The sensation of his entire lenght rubbing against your wet folds was torturous.

"Ask for it" he repeated impaciently.

"F-fuck me" you stuttered, nervously enjoying him telling you what to do.

"I can't hear you" he rubbed his cock against you even harder.

"Fuck me, goddamnit!" you shouted, feeling obligated to put all shame aside to please that wonderful bossy man.

"Good" he said in a husky voice, seeming pleased.

Jake finally put the tip of his cock inside you, slowly so your walls could adjust to his size. It wasn't necessary to wait for too long, since you were so horny and ready that he slipped right in. When his entire lenght slid inside you, you felt chills run from your neck to your back. Finally feeling Jake inside you was incredible.

Jake started to fuck you, increasing the speed bit by bit. You impaciently start to move your hips in his direction, showing him he could go faster.

"Oh, you want more, you slut?" he asked, squeezing and then slapping your ass, what would leave a red mark on the next day.

"Yeah..." you moan.

Jake then did as you asked, increasing the speed. You were now fucking really hard, his cock moving in and out of you at a rapid pace. The pressure of his shaft hitting deep into you gave you so much pleasure your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, and your moans had become screams.

Jake slapped your ass again. The pain was intense but extremely hot. He, looking for more pleasure, pulled your hair back even more while his other hand reached one of your breasts, which shook due to the harsh movements you were making. Jake's groans were low, but vibrant and rough. He moaned your name while gasping for air.

"Your pussy feels so tight, so good."

Then, for your surprise, he got out of you. You turned over to him to see what was going on, but he pulled you to the floor before you could say anything. He lied on the floor and placed you on top of him, then putting his arms under his head and laying down, enjoying the view of your completely naked body on top of his.

"Ride me" he commanded, and you obeyed without question.

You began to ride him, getting used to the position before doing it faster. As soon as you managed to find balance, you started to ride him really quickly. That position hit different a different spot inside you, and you could see by Jake's expression that it hit different for him too.

You were fucking him so hard Jake was cursing between his breaths. He put one of his hands on your butt to guide the movements as he wanted to and the other hand on your right breast, holding it and squeezing it. You two kept that position for a while, looking deep in each other's eyes, chills running through your spines.

Jake wanted to change positions again, laying you under him. For the first time you could feel how harsh the carpet felt under your soft skin, only then remembering the place the two of you were. But that didn't matter. Jake leaned on his knees and pulled one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder and going back to fuck you again.

That position was taking you to heaven, what seemed impossible. To make it even better, Jake began to estimulate your clit with his thumb while he slid his cock in and out of you. At that moment, any drop of sanity that you still had disappeared.

"Yes!" you moaned, biting your lower lip.

"Fuck!" he hissed, sweat running down his beautiful face.

He kept fucking you in that position, which didn't take long to make you come for the third time in a row. Your orgasm made you scream and moan his name for the millionth time that afternoon, and that was driving him insane.

"I'm gonna cum" he said, increasing the speed with which he fucked you, not allowing your orgasm to end. The noise your hips crashing against each other was so loud it filled the room.

Jake reached his limit, letting his fluids fill you up inside. You, still experiencing your multiple orgasms, enjoyed the sensation the hot liquid mixed with the bliss caused you. The two of you began to slow the pace, until you fully stopped. Jake laid over you, without pulling out. You two were dripping in sweat, his hair all messy and glued to his forehead.

The both of you stood there for a while, catching your breath. He caressed your hair and you stroked his back. When you could finally breathe again, Jake looked you in the eye and you both giggled in complicity.

Jake pulled out and lied next to you on the carpet while holding your hand.

"This was..." he said.

"Wow..." you said.

You two laughed for having spoken at the same time. You two stood there for a long time, staring each other in the eyes. His dark brown eyes sparkled with joy and both of you were enjoying the serotonin the intimate moment you two had just shared produced, cuddling.

"I think I'm falling for you" Jake said, breaking the silence.

You couldn't hide your surprise in hearing that declaration, but you gave him a big smile in response.

"Me too" you said, unable to contain the huge smile on your face.

"Phew!" he said, laughing "This means we will be able to do this more often."

"Obviously. But can we do it in a more comfortable place next time? This carpet is so rough!"

"You didn't like the studio? But we can make as much noise as we want in here!" he said, comically offended by your preference of having sex somewhere else.

"It has its advantages, yes, but I bet it can't be better than Egyptian silk sheets on a king-sized bed" you said, convinced you knew better than him.

"Okay, you've got a point. But I can't promise I'll be able to provide the Egyptian silk sheets and a king-sized bed by tonight."

You hit his arm and laughed, glad for having found such an amazing partner.

[gretavanfleetposts]

Josh Proposes to You

Author's Note ⭐: I hope you enjoy! Requests are open!

Content Warnings: none

You and Josh had been dating for four years now. You had been together through thick and thin, highs and lows, happiness and heartache. And you knew you wanted to go through all of it, and more, with him by your side

You figured he would be proposing soon and you couldn't contain your excitement, reading too much into every little thing he did

When it actually happened, however, you had been totally unsuspecting

Josh had suggested the two of you go for a hike after dinner one night to your favorite spot, as you typically did about once a week when he was home

The particular trail you both loved ended atop a large hill with the most beautiful view for miles. It had quickly become a staple in your relationship

That night, the trail, which was usually busy given the magnificent view at the top of the hill, was surprisingly empty save for the two of you, most likely because it was nearing dark although you swore the view was better at night

The two of you hiked, hand-in-hand as you usually did, for about an hour as the sun set around you

At first, everything was cast in a fiery orange light. It bent off the branches, reflected off the leaves, and cast your beautiful boyfriend in a golden hue that made him look all the more ethereal

But as you continued your hike, the sun waned and soon you were using a flashlight to guide your steps

It wasn't a super long trail up but you both wanted to take your time and enjoy the scenery on your way, not caring that you wouldn't beat the darkness to the top

Nearing the top of the abandoned trail, Josh suddenly stopped you, pivoting his body so he was standing between you and the remainder of the trail

"Before we get to the top, I just wanted to tell you how much I love you"

He pulled you in for a quick kiss before taking your hand and leading you the rest of the way

When you finally made it to the top, the scene took your breath away

The trail ended in a cliffside clearing surrounded by trees on two sides, overlooking a large, glistening lake below

But even more of a surprise than the view was the scene that had unfolded in the clearing before you

Instantly, long strands of little twinkling fairy lights strung up above the clearing came glowing to life, draping from across tree branches, probably plugged into a generator hidden somewhere

And there sat Danny, Sam, and Jake on wooden stools at even intervals around the clearing, each with an acoustic guitar in hand

You were practically caught in a trance as you took it all in, only broken from it when you felt Josh pull on your hand and lead you to the middle of the clearing

As he pulled you into his arms, the three boys began to play a soft, acoustic version of Light My Love

Despite the wide smile Josh was wearing, his nerves were now visible, as were yours

You could feel the tears begin to well up in your eyes as Josh dropped to one knee before you

"Y/n, you are the love of my life. You are the reason for my whole being and I can't spend another waking moment without you"

He took your hand in his. His skin was warm and soft. It was like any of the other hundreds of times he had reached for your hand and yet, this time it felt completely different. It seemed to warm your heart in a new way and all you could focus on at that moment was him

With his other hand, he pulled a small ring box out of his pocket and clicked it open

"Will you marry me?" he asked breathlessly

As tears began to roll down your cheeks, you couldn't help but let out a light laugh at both of your nerves

"Yes, Josh, of course," you said as you hastily pulled him to his feet and into a kiss before he even had time to slip the ring onto your finger, earning soft chuckles from the surrounding boys

Eventually you pulled back to let Josh place the ring on your finger, a smile never leaving your face

"I love you so much," he whispered for only you to hear

"I love you too," you whispered back