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“Hey, Sunwoo. Earth to Sunwoo? Sunwoo!” Changmin’s voice cuts through the haze of directionless thoughts that swarm Sunwoo’s mind. It’s like a knife slicing through a curtain of honey, Changmin’s high pitch tone like a beacon of light for Sunwoo as he blinks. The dark karaoke room is dim with neon lights, the remnants of enough snacks to feed an army lying on the tables as Sunwoo watches Jaehyun and Kevin belt out the final notes of some Beyonce song Kevin queued up hours ago. There’s a small part of Sunwoo’s brain that registers the empty queue list and Changmin’s outstretched hand with the remote. Sunwoo blinks through his burgundy fringe, cocking his head in confusion. Changmin gives him a sympathetic smile.
“If you’re refusing to get drunk, at least pour it out somehow, Sunwoo,” Changmin says gently, handing him a microphone. Sunwoo glances back to his other friends sitting around the karaoke room’s pastel couches, staring at him expectantly. Sunwoo’s eyes wavered for a moment, hesitating before something hits the back of his head. Under normal circumstances, Sunwoo would probably turn around and threaten physical violence (in a teasing manner, of course) and make Ju Haknyeon regret his every life decision that led to the thrown bag of chips. Now, Sunwoo can’t find it in himself to care. The room is suffocating after the failed attempt to break the mood.
“Have you ever seen that video of those boys harmonizing you were beautiful while staring at their exes?” Chanhee suddenly breaks the silence, holding up his phone for the room to see. They all chorus their acknowledgements, while Sunwoo even rolls his eyes a little. Of course, they have. Chanhee sends it to their group chat whenever he’s drunk and missing his ex. Sunwoo never thought he’d one day relate to the one and only Choi Chanhee, but here he is.
“What about it?” Sunwoo asks back. Chanhee grins.
“Don’t you think it’s a crime we haven’t done this as the club of broken hearts?” Chanhee drawls, a hint of suggestion in his tone. He’s a dedicated MyDay, Sunwoo will give him that. Before he can refute or even think about the offer, Changmin’s extended hand retracts, and the soft beeps of the pad fill the room instead. The first few strums of the guitar echo in the room, yet Sunwoo can’t do anything but stare at the mic in front of him.
Breakups.
Sunwoo sighs.
“What I’m saying right now doesn’t mean that we’re starting up again,” a soft, gentle voice rings through the air. Sunwoo looks up, meeting Jaehyun’s eyes. Always the first in their group, that Jaehyun. The first to get into college, the first relationship, the first kiss.
And, of course, the first breakup.
“I’m just bringing back the remaining memories of you,” Jaehyun continues, a sad undertone to his voice carefully patched up after nights puking out his guts at the back of the bar they frequented. Sunwoo thinks back to the very boy that started it all, Changmin’s cute dance partner who was too innocent for his own good. Sunwoo can’t even recall how Juyeon got Jaehyun’s number, but their relationship was a sweet one while it lasted. Like blooming tulips in the spring, colouring the landscape in bright shades of red and yellow. They loved like fire, Sunwoo thinks to himself, and they ran out of fuel too fast. Sunwoo doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jaehyun step foot in the dance building ever again. There’s a part of him that wonders if they could’ve last, had they’d just talked about their problems for once. Jaehyun claims to be better now, but Sunwoo isn’t blind. The stares are there. The longing in his eyes when they drag him to Changmin’s showcases with the rest of his team. The fact that Jaehyun spends 90% of his time locked in a practice room belting out sad ballads one after another. He’s built back up some of the sunshine he used to be, devillike mischief never able to be gone for long, but Sunwoo can’t help but wonder what could’ve been.
“Without missing a single day, you told me that you love me,” Jaehyun continues, leaning against the mic stand now as he starts blinking furiously. Sunwoo glances at the others, watching their dumbfounded reactions. They’ve always been like this towards Jaehyun. He’s just so confusing to be friends with, Sunwoo can’t help but wonder how Juyeon must’ve felt. Jaehyun’s the type to speak his entire train of thoughts, but never open up his heart. Kevin described him like a butterfly once, something everyone watches in awe and wonder, but never truly knows.
“Before I went to bed, as soon as I opened my eyes, you told me. I remember so I’m just saying,” Jaehyun sings, clutching the microphone like a desperate man clutching a piece of driftwood in a raging storm. Sunwoo’s heart breaks a little, staring at him. Jaehyun’s always been the quote on quote mom of their little friend group, always taking care of everyone and making sure their worries were heard. Sunwoo always assumed Juyeon had listened to Jaehyun, but that’s not the case now. Maybe the worries and negativity flew away with the soul-crushing ballads Jaehyun seemed to be singing all the time. It’s been nine months, sure, but time doesn’t heal all wounds.
(There’s a part of Sunwoo that thinks of the boy that haunts him like Juyeon haunts Jaehyun. Blond hair that used to smell like summer, flown away like the spring breeze. Jaehyun tells him that’s the downfall of getting attached—they all leave at one point or another. Time is cruel like that.)
“You were pretty, your eyes that looked at me, your voice that called out to me,” a new voice joins in a higher harmony than Jaehyun’s. A broken kind of vulnerability to his voice that sends shivers down Sunwoo’s spine. Even before, Chanhee always had that talent to make anyone who heard him sing lose all sense of rationality. It was manageable when he was still dating Younghoon, that pretty guy from the theatre department who spent his lunches watching Chanhee sing in the practice rooms. Back then, Sunwoo remembers them joking about Chanhee’s sudden favour to sing those sappy idol songs all the time, but Sunwoo honestly prefers those to the ballads lately. Chanhee sings with his heart out in the open, graceful and controlled whilst so open and raw.
“Everything, everything. To me, everything about you. You were pretty,” Chanhee belts, voice trembling as Sunwoo spots the first teardrop collecting at the corner of his eyes. He’s wearing one of Younghoon’s old hoodies, one from the collection of Younghoon’s stuff that’s left at their place because neither can bear to be in the same vicinity as each other. The scathing remarks and dagger-like words had impaled too hard, after all. Sunwoo remembers walking out of his room to find his roommate and Younghoon screaming at each other. Apparently, Chanhee caught Younghoon kissing another girl and wanted to break up. Sunwoo remembers seeing the hurt and betrayal in Chanhee’s eyes that day, like Younhoon had driven a knife through his back, while anger and disbelief coloured Younghoon’s face. He claimed Chanhee was too possessive and paranoid, and that nothing of such had happened, and Sunwoo didn’t know how to break the real story to either of them. Younghoon did cheat, after all, in a drunken state so wasted he forgot all of it. Sunwoo remembers because Younghoon nearly brought her to their place, and that’s when Chanhee saw. Confusion and perspective are cruel like that.
“The feeling of not wanting anything more. Moments that only you gave,” Chanhee belts, almost crying now and Sunwoo’s heart cracks. Jaehyun’s stopped singing, just staring at Chanhee in pity as he took a seat on the couches. Changmin told him the truth after their breakup when Chanhee wouldn’t go crazy anymore, but the damage was done. Even when he tried to explain and apologize, Younghoon wouldn’t listen. He got signed with an agency and became an actor, and the news of Younghoon’s beautiful new girlfriend broke Chanhee like glass. Sunwoo remembers Chanhee getting the offer to sing the OST for some drama Younghoon was in and the waterfall that took over Chanhee when he came home that night.
“Everything, everything, everything has passed, but you were so pretty,” Chanhee sings, voice small as he clutches his handheld microphone. Sunwoo wants to wrap him in a hug, to tell him to move on and not let Younghoon hold him back anymore. One thing can destroy a whole relationship, Chanhee explains to Sunwoo time and time again. It’s why relationships are impossible. No one can be perfect all the time, after all, but relationships don’t allow for mistakes. At least, not Chanhee’s.
(And there’s a part of Sunwoo that wonders what was his mistake? What was the fire that spread through the flower field he had loved so much, only to leave him with ashes? Chanhee tells him the burnt flower field will grow back one day, but would it? If even Choi Chanhee can’t mend his heart, what hope is there for Kim Sunwoo?)
“Memories of me have probably become a thing of the past for you too,” a third voice starts, empty and somewhat emotionless. Sunwoo turns around to meet Haknyeon’s eyes, who stares at the karaoke machine like it’ll somehow magically resemble someone he used to love. Hyunjoon was the cute photography and fashion major with a cat that loved to crash at Haknyeon’s apartment. Sunwoo remembers being the victim of Hwall, Hyunjoon’s cursed cat, once. He nearly lost an eye fighting for his corn chips because of Hyunjoon, but Haknyeon lost so much more. The photos are probably still hanging on the walls in Haknyeon’s apartment, no matter how many times Jaehyun tells them he’s tried to throw them out. Faded polaroids and candid shots of Hyunjoon and Haknyeon doing mundane everyday things that covered up so much pain.
“Whatever I saw, to you it will all be something in the past,” Haknyeon sings, voice small as he holds the mic with one hand and leans back on the couch, somewhat dejected. Chanhee drops off too, just like Jaehyun did to let the emotions drown one person. Sunwoo wonders what would have happened to Haknyeon had he’d just done something about his crush. A broken heart doesn’t have to be because of a breakup, after all. Haknyeon’s pieces are scattered from missed opportunities, the remnants of everything he ever gave to Hyunjoon buried and forgotten as Hyunjoon’s boyfriend gives him the biggest smile Sunwoo’s ever seen on Hyunjoon. And just like muffins left in the oven for too long, the feelings that could’ve been a thing of wonder burned to ashes no one could make out. Haknyeon’s been a bit of shell as a result, the smile on his face never quite reaching his eyes anymore.
“Without missing a single moment, you always thought of me first,” Haknyeon continued, still listless as Sunwoo throws Jaehyun a look. Jaehyun was the one who set Hyunjoon and Haknyeon up on the first of many attempts of Operation Baked Cats, but it never quite worked out. Hyunjoon returned the feelings, of course, if the late nights he spent ranting over the phone to Sunwoo are any indication. Sunwoo remembers the one he had last night, something about Hyunjoon moving to New York for a job. His boyfriend’s been with Hyunjoon for nearly a year, but Sunwoo can’t find it in himself to even remember his name. Sunwoo wonders if Hyunjoon even remembers Haknyeon nowadays, the cute neighbour who brought him snacks when the stress of life was drowning him, or the neighbour who took him on an impromptu trip back to Busan one night because he missed his hometown. Sunwoo recalls that Haknyeon hasn’t seen his family for nearly three years, and somehow, it makes the recounted memory even more heartbreaking.
“Even when it wasn’t a big deal, you said I’m sorry, thank you. I remember so I’m just saying,” Haknyeon finally sings with a little more feeling to his words, something akin to regret in his eyes and Sunwoo wishes they had tried a little harder to make Haknyeon spill the words. They say every door only opens once, and no matter how hard you pry, it won’t open again. Find a different door, they’d tell Haknyeon, but he’d always look at Sunwoo with those sad eyes and just smile. Don’t let the door close, Haknyeon always tells Sunwoo. Don’t let him slip away.
(And maybe Sunwoo should’ve listened harder. After all, the paper crane that used to hang from Sunwoo’s ceiling flew away with the closing door, torn and broken at the bottom of his trash bin now. Haknyeon tells him it wasn’t his fault the boy who held the sky up over Sunwoo’s head left, but it’s hard for Sunwoo not to feel it was him who couldn’t hold the burden.)
“You were pretty, your eyes that looked at me, your voice that called out to me,” a sweet voice joined the harmony, a coating of sadness in his tone that was filled with so much longing Sunwoo feels like a train hit him full force. Kevin’s relationship was one they’d never thought would break. He and Jacob were the foreigners lost in Korea, wide-eyed and homesick when they found each other in a cafe like some sappy drama. Their relationship was perfect in every sense, from the picturesque confession Jacob sang to Kevin to the countless anniversaries Kevin made for him. They were always a tad much for Sunwoo’s taste, but Kevin and Jacob were a little louder in their affection than most.
“Everything, everything, everything has passed, but you were so pretty,” Kevin sings, eyes coated with softness and some unknown emotion Jaehyun tells him is acceptance. Acceptance that things just sometimes don’t work out, no matter how hard you try. That’s the problem with being so loud with affection, Sunwoo realizes. A relationship is close and intimate. They lost the spark because of it, like the winds that crushed the flames instead of cradling and caring for it. The split was mutual, Kevin claims. There’s no regret, he says.
“The feeling of not wanting anything more. Moments that only you gave,” Kevin continues, standing up to sway softly to the beat as he shifts on his feet. Sunwoo knows Kevin doesn’t want to show them the tears he swallows behind bottles of alcohol as he wastes himself into nothing, nor the countless tear-stained sketches he ripped up in an attempt to forget about his angel. But Jacob and Kevin were like the sun and moon. Rarely ever truly in the same sky, but always missing one another. Sunwoo isn’t blind—he knows about the secret moments they managed to spare for each other anyway. The content that couldn’t last for long because they always wanted more. The last straw snapped when Jacob finally debuted under some company and grew too busy for the boyfriend he always sang about. Kevin left too, in a way, burying himself in his art studio and only coming out for the bare necessities. Changmin barely dragged him out today, as not even Kevin Moon could resist a Changmin Pout, yet Sưnoo can’t help but notice how much Kevin yearns to just shut himself off again. Kevin tells him to keep your loved ones close, because, at the end of the day, your loved ones are yours, and no one’s else. Every moment with them is worth a million other mundane moments.
(And Sunwoo can’t help but agree, staring at the airport lights as the words stay stuck in his throat. The split was mutual, he tells himself, but those aren’t necessarily happy. Kevin tells him distance is cruel like that.)
“Everything, everything, everything has passed, but you were so pretty,” Kevin sings, glancing over to meet Sunwoo’s eyes. He’s standing ever so slightly diagonally, an outstretched hand towards Sunwoo like an invitation. Haknyeon’s hand is warm on Sunwoo’s back, pushing him forward and off the couch. Chanhee slides his mic to Sunwoo, rolling it on the table towards Sunwoo as it lays to a stop right in front of his arms. Sunwoo pauses for a moment, missing the beat for a fraction of a second before Jaehyun sighs and shoves him forward altogether. There’s a part of Sunwoo that hesitates, wondering if he’s even allowed to be singing a breakup song a mere two weeks after the split. Changmin rests a hand on his shoulder and smiles.
“I still think of you sometimes, should I call you up?” Sunwoo starts tentatively, realizing how hoarse his voice is. He wonders if his eyes are still just as red and puffy as they were earlier before Changmin burst through his apartment door to drag them singing. He remembers a certain someone who used to do that, hands carrying packs of snacks or tickets for a concert in town to get Sunwoo away from his compositions.
“There were a lot of times I thought that but, baby I know it’s already over,” Sunwoo keeps singing, voice a little louder as he feels the floodgates open. A million memories flood through his mind, from a smile too bright for this world to the most heart-breaking tears he’s ever seen. There’s the memory of a late-night convenience store raid when they were high school sweethearts, carefree and thinking no force in this world could tear them apart. There’s the memory of Sunwoo’s confession, words tumbling haphazardly out of his mouth while his beloved was covered in mud from losing a tug of war, yet still looking like the most beautiful creature he’s ever laid eyes on. There’s the memory of the paper crane that used to hang above Sunwoo’s bed, the first successful piece of origami they made in some course Jaehyun dragged them with to try and flirt with Juyeon. Ridiculous times, but somehow, those are the ones that stay in his memory.
“For the last time, your eyes that looked at me, your voice that said, take care,” Sunwoo sings, feeling emotions take over as the final memory unravelled. The cursed call for a job too far for them to bear. It was his dream, Sunwoo would tell himself, and Sunwoo can’t let himself hold him back like that. They’d never work, the time difference and overwhelming need for hugs and cuddles bound to break them soon. It was a mutual split, Sunwoo tells himself. So they could both be happy. So why did it hurt so much?
“That has already ended, I know,” Sunwoo belts, trying (failing) to reach the high note as the others join him for the final chorus. Changmin is sitting in the corner, waving his arms as if he’s at a concert with a proud smile on his face and Sunwoo can just feel himself break. They say everything will remind you of them in a breakup, and Sunwoo curses himself for being no exception. There’s something about the whole mood, sad and sentimental, that makes Sunwoo want to cry. He wishes he could call his beloved up and just hold him one more time, but that’s too selfish. He’s always too selfish to keep him in Korea for so long when he belonged somewhere else.
“For the last time, your eyes that looked at me, your voice that said, take care,” they sing together, five broken hearts harmonizing in the world’s most pathetic side, a mutual single best friend cheering them on with soft ‘woo’s and tambourine shakes. One’s got a heart that can’t move on because time made him attached. Another couldn’t see past the singular moment, living life by the moments and losing his future because of it. One more let an opportunity slip through his fingers like sand, unwilling to look for another open door. One who forgot that together doesn’t need an audience and that nothing but genuine moments could mend his broken hearts.
And then, there’s Sunwoo.
“Everything, everything, even that, to me. You were pretty,” they sing, voices blending like the morning sunlight that filters through Sunwooo’s window to cover the boy he loved in a beautiful halo and nothing but regret flows through Sunwoo’s veins. Could they have made it, had Sunwoo given long distance a chance? Could he have been better, had Sunwoo been a little less selfish since the start and let the other go before he could get attached? Could it…
“Even the tears you showed me, moments I had with you.”
Life’s not run by the ‘what if’s, a great man once told Sunwoo. Granted, Changmin was drunk and clutching the toilet bowl, but Ji Changmin doesn’t live based on what his nights could’ve been like.
“Everything, everything, everything has passed.”
Sunwoo’s phone is heavy in his pocket, the very possibility of rekindling that flame burning like a wildfire in his heart. It burns for them all, able to piece the remnants back and finally move on, but perhaps that’s the worst part about a breakup. The unwillingness to do anything.
“But you were so pretty,” Sunwoo finishes, glancing at the four people who appeared so different and Sunwoo wonders if somewhere out there, he was feeling the same too. The final notes of the song fade with nothing but someone’s choked-back tear and Changmin’s enthusiastic clapping. Sunwoo laughs, realizing the tear was his own.
“Feeling better?” Jaehyun breaks the silence, resting a comforting hand over Sunwoo’s shoulder. Sunwoo nods slightly, hands moving up to wipe his tears.
“You’re five steps ahead of the rest of us, then,” Kevin jokes, grabbing the dial pad. There’s a grin on his face as the first notes of some old trot song they used to ruin starts. Sunwoo chokes out a laugh. Haknyeon ruffles his hair, putting a pair of star glasses on Sunwoo’s face and the heaving laugh turns to a full-on sob-cackle.
“I hate this feeling,” Sunwoo mutters. Haknyeon gives him a toothy grin.
“You’re not the only one,” he muses.
(If there is a happy ending to this story, it’s when Changmin locks Jaehyun and Juyeon in a practice room and forces them to talk for the first time in nearly a year. Unspoken thoughts and apologies tumble out like butterflies extracting themselves from their cocoons, finally flying again as Changmin ticks the first box on his quest.)
(If there is a happy ending to this story, it’s when Changmin finds out Younghoon’s had a million girlfriends and never a partner, down in the dumps and down his fifth shot at the bar they used to frequent. He pushes Chanhee and they nearly collide, but Younghoon isn’t forgetting anything this time. Apologies root themselves to the bar counter, hanging in the air like a cloud in a storm and somehow, they find it in themselves to reach for the cloud anyway. Changmin quietly thanks whatever love being is up there for aiding him.)
(If there is a happy ending, it’s when Changmin finds Hyunjoon back in Seoul again, boyfriend nowhere to be seen as he finds his way to Haknyeon’s apartment again by pure muscle memory and collapses. Sure, Changmin had been the one to book that ticket home for Hyunjoon through an old friend, but he likes to think it’s the smell of Haknyeon’s cookies that led Hyunjoon home. The third checkpoint passes without much fanfare.)
(If there is a happy ending, it’s when Changmin convinces Kevin to do merch design for an up-and-coming artist he knows, only to conveniently ask Kevin to look for something in the studio. After all, that’s where Jacob spends most of his time, according to a sunbae Changmin knows in the company. That one had been done with Sangyeon’s help, but Changmin will take a win whenever he can.)
(Of course, this is but a possibility, nowhere in the minds of the club of broken hearts and their pitiful lives. It’s certainly nowhere in the minds of a certain Kim Sunwoo, who wonders if he’ll ever see his best friend and soulmate again. It’s all but rooted in a certain Ji Changmin’s mind as he picks up the phone and dials an old number, more faith in Sunwoo’s ability to rekindle a spark then Sunwoo has in himself.)
“Changmin? Isn’t it like 2 AM for—”
“The studio’s been looking for a new member for our crew, and I was wondering if you wanted to join us? I heard your studio only runs in the winter anyway, and I’m sure Sunwoo wouldn’t mind taking winters off work to enjoy LA’s sun.”
“...You’re kidding me.”
Changmin smiles.
“I may be a thief and a tired chaperone, Eric,” Changmin teases, “but I’m not a liar. Five is a little too many for me.”
(And maybe, this story has a happy ending.)