Work Text:
“Jihoonie!”
Were he not used to his friends, Jihoon would probably have jumped at the clap of hands on his shoulders in the middle of his assignment. As it stands, Jihoon is very used to his friends. A quick glance at his phone shows that oh, yeah, Seungcheol did actually text to say he’d be swinging by with Soonyoung to work on assignments in the studio with him.
Naturally, they would’ve shown up whether Jihoon responded to the text. He digresses; they’re here, and they’re not going away. It doesn’t even matter if the forecast correctly predicted the biggest snowstorm of the season today, or if everyone’s in crunch time because it’s the second week of December and everyone’s assignments are due. They will show up, and they will cause chaos.
With the most long-suffering sigh he can muster, Jihoon slips his headphones down around his neck and swivels around in his chair, away from his monitor. He’s also not surprised to find himself face-to-face with Soonyoung, who as always has no regard for personal space, least of all Jihoon’s. Seungcheol’s already settled on the ratty old couch, almost falling off when he tries to climb over the armchair to plug his laptop in.
“Sure, make yourselves at home. Don't clean up after yourselves. The usual.” Jihoon sighs. The smile on Soonyoung’s face isn’t a good sign. “I’ll just be here, writing your solo out of this arrangement and giving it to Seungkwan instead.”
“Oh fuck yeah, Boobear deserves it. But let me at least give you a proper reason to hate me, my love, the apple of my eye, my sweetie pie.”
Jihoon peeks over at Seungcheol. Seungcheol blows a kiss at him. (He should really expect that the last person who’ll try and control Soonyoung is his boyfriend.) He readies himself for a long day of hearing a mess accumulate as he’s trying to work. Maybe Seungcheol will surprise him and cause more property damage while he’s not looking, on top of the light fixture in the university’s studio that he still hasn’t fixed.
(How the fuck did Seungcheol break the light just walking, anyway? Isn’t he, like, the fourth shortest person in Sebongie Jazz?)
“You mean you’re giving me more of a reason than just breathing?” Jihoon’s eyes dart behind Soonyoung, where Seungcheol is watching him instead of working on assignments. “What are you doing here?”
“Watching,” Seungcheol answers. “And corroborating.”
“Corroborating what.” He doesn’t even bother making it like a question.
Soonyoung gasps so hard he almost chokes. He hopes he does. “He will corroborate my extremely accurate observation that our Jihoonie, our precious Jihoonie, our co-leader-in-training of Sebongie and our genius composer”—he regrets everything ever as Soonyoung leans closer with each word—“has been pining!”
Jihoon stares at him in the silence that follows, completely unimpressed. In his peripheral, he sees Seungcheol nod. He tips his head back with laughter. “You”—he points to Soonyoung—“are not getting a solo part. And you”—he points to Seungcheol—“are going to get an extended rest. Actually, I’m just gonna write a note for Chan to stop playing trombone, get up, and take your spot in front of the kit.”
That’s some real bullshit for them to interrupt his work with. It’s useless to respond in any way, although the threats are at least fun; no matter what, his friends will double down and take it as proof. As they start complaining, he shrugs and turns back around to face his monitor. Serves them right for making things up.
As is customary, the last rehearsal of the semester for Sebongie Jazz Ensemble is optional. Some of the students are busy, and others are done but can’t quite go home yet, so Seungcheol makes it an open invitation to destress with each other and take a peek at next semester’s music. More often than not, regardless of other pressing responsibilities, all of Sebongie shows up. Jihoon chalks it up to them all having the same work ethic; Soonyoung says that everyone’s a masochist; Seungcheol’s just happy to have them all here.
Seungkwan’s early to rehearsal today, which is rare. He’s usually always running late with an empty drink in his hand to toss in one of the recycling bins at the entrance of their rehearsal room, gargling water in a desperate attempt to wash the sugar out of his mouth. Something about a presentation in a different building—it doesn’t matter to Jihoon. What matters is that he’s here early for once.
Seungcheol and Soonyoung are setting up the rest of the chairs and stands as Jihoon leafs through the new arrangement, giving Seungkwan his part personally with a grin that he thinks is friendly, so he doesn’t get why Seungkwan suddenly pales. “Music for the next semester,” Jihoon explains. “As usual, we’re gonna give it a look-see for anyone that decides to show up today.”
Biting down on his lip, Seungkwan says, “Hyung, why is the solo part specifically marked with my name?”
“Because Soonyoung doesn’t deserve it,” he says, putting his hand on Seungkwan’s shoulder. Seungkwan’s by no means a new trumpet player, and he’s got more than enough skill to meet Jihoon’s expectations. Although he might still be a bit scared of Jihoon, which everyone thinks is kind of hilarious. “If anyone deserves the chance, it’s you.”
“Oh. Um. Thanks?” He looks like he’s either going to vomit or start singing out of stress.
“No pressure,” Jihoon says, because that’s a fact. There isn’t any pressure.
“Jihoon!” Seungcheol yells from across the room. “That’s the opposite of what you tell people when you don’t want them to worry.”
“Yeah!” Soonyoung joins in the conversation, which never means that the conversation’s going to progress in any good way. “Like how, if we didn’t want you to think about it. we would say, ‘don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone how sweet you are on one of our new members’.”
Jihoon sighs and shakes his head. “I have dozens of works in progress I could write you both out of, you know,” he drawls out, leafing through his folder sheet music for the piano part. “Anyway, since you’re here early, I can comp for you before the rest of Sebongie shows up, if you felt like it.”
When he lifts his head, Seungkwan suddenly looks the very opposite of scared. In fact, he has the same look as Seungcheol and Soonyoung did a few days prior, the one that always tells Jihoon that his friends are up to no good. He shoots Seungkwan a wary look. “What’s with your face?”
“Nothing,” Seungkwan is quick to say, raising his hands, but he’s way worse at keeping a straight face than all of his other friends. Almost like he wants Jihoon to know that he’s laughing at him. He clears his throat and pinches his lips together, like he’s trying to go back to the hardworking Seungkwan that Jihoon entrusted this solo to. “Just gimme a moment to warm up and then I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, trying to sound more grumpy than bewildered in the change of tone.
He more or less forgets the incident once he’s behind the keys for Seungkwan, more focused on how he plays the written solo before improvising. He’s really got an amazing sense for anything on the fly, and it was a good thing Jihoon had a vendetta against Soonyoung. He was going to give Seungkwan something like this at some point, anyway, after Hansol’s idea wormed his way into his mind.
By the time Seungkwan waves a hand to take a break, rolling his lips, most of Sebongie has already rolled into the rehearsal room. They’ve got a long three hours ahead of them, and as good as Seungkwan is, he’s not about to burn out one of their best trumpet players this close to the end of a semester.
“So,” Seungkwan starts after gulping down water. He saunters over to the grand, sitting on the bench next to Jihoon and poking out the chords from the solo. “Sweet on a new kid, huh?”
Jihoon snorts in his face, but he makes room for Seungkwan, poking out a melody in the higher register. “Believing what Soonyoung has to say? I thought you were smarter than that,” he says with a grin.
“Denial, I see. Is it me?” When Jihoon looks over, he’s batting his eyelashes. It startles him into laughing. “You can be honest. I’m new here, but I’m sure I’ve got at least one secret admirer. If it’s you, Jihoon-hyung…”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow at him. Seungkwan makes a face like he’s trying to hold back a scream out of embarrassment. “Please tell me to stop.”
“No. Live with the consequences of your mistakes,” Jihoon says, just as another voice interrupts their conversation.
Hansol greets them all with Jun in tow. Jihoon stands up to set up his double bass, leaving Jun to the keys for the rest of practice.
Conversation floats behind him. “You’re early, Seungkwan-ah?” Hansol asks, beelining straight for Seungkwan.
Behind him, Seungkwan huffs. “I know how to be on time,” he shouts back.
With Minghao coming through the double doors, all of Sebongie is here. Like any of the leaders here expected anything less. The room is soon full with the sounds of everyone warming up, chatter and complaints of the final week of exams, and as chaotic as it is trying to tune in this environment, he really wouldn’t have anything else.
Under an three-way honking battle between Seokmin, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan (what happened to resting before rehearsal?), Hansol comes up to him. “Hyung,” he starts, and Jihoon’s already grinning before he’s done asking his question. “I picked up my part, but I was wondering I could look at the score?”
Hansol’s been in Sebongie since the beginning of March, when he, Seungkwan, and Chan first started at this university. The three of them are real good, fitting in nice and neatly where they have weaknesses and bringing their own strengths. Hansol had been a much quieter addition than the other two, but he is to experimentation with rhythm, harmony, and structure as Seungkwan is to experimentation with lyrics and melody, as Chan is with the way the band fits together. It’s December—less than a year since they’ve joined—and Jihoon’s asked Chan for his input on distribution, Seungkwan for melodies, and Hansol for… basically everything else.
Unlike Seungkwan (who seemed to harbor at least some apprehension with Jihoon) and Chan (who took the role of brat maknae too seriously, although Jihoon thinks that with affection), Hansol went straight to him and said, I don’t have any formal musical experience, but I want to see what you’re doing.
What was he supposed to do, say no? He’s more than happy to involve everyone in the process, especially those that ask.
Jihoon looks at the clock. There’s still about ten minutes until rehearsal officially starts, so he says, “Sure, we’ve got time. Come grab a chair.” He shuffles to keep his bass in place just as Hansol drags a chair over.
Hansol’s knee knocks against his as he leans over and grabs the score from his folder. It’s a song that both of them are familiar with, some pop song that’s been on the radio for the sake of random students, faculty, and parents that aren’t total music snobs and want a decent spring concert from a “big” band. The noise of everyone’s chaos fades to a hum as he lets Hansol flip the pages himself, interrupting his concentration only to comment on ideas he thought were interesting, all the things that Hansol suggested.
He doesn’t know where the thought comes from, but it’s a logical one. With no preamble, he says, “Your ideas were really good. You should come over to the studio some time to arrange a song with me for next semester.”
Inviting Hansol actually makes more sense than inviting the other people who can access his studio now, which are all his shit-headed friends that like to fuck about. (He says this in the nicest way possible. Soonyoung and Seungcheol remind him to take breaks and have fun sometimes, but he won’t admit it where they can hear.)
He looks up to see the shock on Hansol’s face, his lips parting, when there’s a sudden clatter and the sound of something dropping on the drum kit. Jihoon whips his head so fast that he nearly hits Hansol as he smacks a hand on the back of his chair and lean over.
Half the room’s already dogpiled into booing Seungcheol, who dropped his brushes on his toms. There’s water fucking everywhere, and a water bottle is dripping from his hand.
Seungcheol’s also looking Jihoon right in the eye, trying not to laugh.
“You’re in for it now, hyung,” Mingyu says with absolute delight, grinning from where he’s tuning his guitar. “Jihoon-hyung’s gonna kill you for ruining expensive equipment.”
“He’s right,” Jihoon says, giving Mingyu the little satisfaction of a proper I-told-you-so at Seungcheol’s expense. But something about Seungcheol’s wide grin and sparkling eyes is deterring him from really ripping him a new one in front of the rest of Sebongie. Like he knows something Jihoon doesn’t. “What,” he yells.
He yells it right into Hansol’s ear, who flinches. Jihoon pats him on the shoulder. Seungcheol’s grin widens. “Oh, I know,” he sings. He stands to find something to wipe the kit off with. “Water going down the wrong pipe and all. It happens.”
As he walks past Jihoon, he pats his head with so much force that it knocks his skull against Hansol’s. When Jihoon turns to complain, he sees the same look on Soonyoung and Seungkwan’s face before Seungcheol blocks his view, stealing the sweater off the back of Soonyoung’s chair.
Playing with Sebongie is always a fun way to destress, especially the “optional” rehearsal. It’s half a casual party and half a really good brainstorming session, and all their ideas get pooled together for semesters to come.
The next day is long. He’s alone in the studio finishing his finals for Composition IV, and Soonyoung and Seungcheol didn’t come until after dinner, bringing food and drinks for a long night of finishing their own finals.
He appreciates it, he really does. As he submits his final project, he swings around in his chair to tell the other two that he’s done and they can get back to their apartment; he doesn’t know if they finished what they needed to do, but he knows from experience that they’ll wait for him most of these nights so that he doesn’t have to go home alone.
Without the sound of his final song to fill his ears, he suddenly realizes that both of them are asleep on the ratty old couch, their laptop screens dimmed, snoring softly. The clock reads almost four in the morning, and with the light Seungcheol still hasn’t paid reparations for, there’s only a soft blue glow over their tired faces.
Jihoon sighs to himself. Seungcheol’s graduation is already in less than four months, and this late at night, he lets himself think he’ll miss Seungcheol. He’s been a part of Jihoon’s life since high school and every step of the way in university, and although he’ll still be living with him and Soonyoung, it’ll feel bittersweet once Seungcheol’s teaching full-time. No more late nights like this. No more running into each other at random on campus. He’ll still be in Sebongie, but at least for a semester, he’s left the reins to Soonyoung and Jihoon while he adjusts to working life.
Not to say that he doesn’t feel the same way for Jeonghan and Joshua, but it’s different. Even Soonyoung’s been trying to prepare himself for it; wherever Seungcheol goes, Soonyoung tries, too. It’s a different story when they all live together.
A sudden urge to to compose something for the three of them graduating without their knowledge strikes him until his heart aches with the thought of anything else. Good thing he’s got a whole set of works in progress that he never completed, either due to time or to lack of interest. Better still that he’s got an amazing second eye for composition and arrangement. Jihoon might be graduating next year, but for this upcoming semester and all of next year, there’s someone right behind him now.
He reaches for his phone.
To: Hansol
Wanna help me touch up an old composition for our graduating hyungs
Lowering the brightness of his computer screen, he digs through folders of unfinished works, picking something original that’s mostly finished. It’ll need a lot of tweaking—faster tempo, different instrumentation, putting in a lot of the little tricks he learned over three years in university and collaborating with Sebongie—but this’ll do. This’ll do just fine.
To: Hansol
I already have something in mind
It’s mostly done but needs an overhaul done in uh
Two weeks by the time the new semester starts
Their last
semester
He loads up all the files and makes a face, although it melts into a smile eventually. These ideas are so old that he’s still using the shitty default soundfonts. Despite the late hour, his phone lights up as he listens to his old composition.
From: Hansol
Sounds fun
When he listens to it a second time, he sighs. He should touch it up before he invites Hansol—which is a strange thought, because Jihoon is never embarrassed about anything he’s written. It’s a product of Jihoon from a certain time, space, and frame of mind; there’s nothing to be embarrassed about where he’s come from and how far he’s gone.
Still, with that strange, nagging voice in his mind, he makes a copy of the original score and pastes it into his Working folder, marking the other one as OLD - DON’T TOUCH.
To: Hansol
Show up to the studio tomorrow, then
After texting the room number and the passcode, he glances back to Soonyoung and Seungcheol, fast asleep. They’ll be asleep for a while; if Jihoon ends up doing extra work tweaking this composition before Hansol comes over tomorrow, they won’t be able to tell the difference.
“Where you headed?” Seungcheol asks the next morning, groggy. Neither he nor Soonyoung took well to the fact that Jihoon woke them up at six in the morning just to get them back to the apartment. At that point, he should’ve just slept with them there, but he wanted to clean up before Hansol came, and that would’ve been impossible with the other two still around.
He’s barely had three hours of sleep, but he’s awake and buzzing. He shot Hansol another text saying he’d be there by eleven, and Hansol said he’d be there after lunch at noon. “The studio.”
“Huh? Wasn’t your final assignment yesterday?”
“We have another semester of Sebongie,” Jihoon says. It’s not out of the ordinary, but usually he has a buffer of fourteen hours of sleep after finishing a final assignment before he picks himself back up and starts composing for fun again.
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “So Hansol’s actually coming to the studio?”
This makes Jihoon pause. He’s pretty sure he didn’t mention anything about that part of the plan. “What?”
“Hansol. Chwe Hansol,” he says with a yawn, pouring another cup of water and making a face when he drinks it. “Our cute new tenor sax player? About this tall”—Seungcheol lifts a hand a few inches above his head—“with a deep voice and… what? Good musical sense? That’s what you said, right?”
Jihoon doesn’t remember saying that. “Why are you asking,” he says warily.
“Because only two other people know the passcode to the studio the university let you rent for the last three years, and you’re living with them.” Seungcheol shrugs, but as he turns around to poke through the fridge, Jihoon catches that fucking smile. “The others all have to ping you to get in when you wanna record with them. Not that you gave Hansol the passcode. No way.”
Seungcheol lifts his head up when Jihoon is tactfully silent. “Oh, you actually did? Holy fuck, I was joking—”
“You get access because you whine about it.” And I’ve known you for over ten years, he doesn’t add. They’re bickering for the sake of bickering now, although Jihoon’s rising to his baseless teasing a little too easily. He must be real sleep deprived. “Soonyoung gets access because if he’s not there, you bug me all day.” Also a lie. Jihoon likes the company. He’s not alone, even when he can’t hear them through his headphones.
“Then what about Seungkwan? Didn’t you say he’s got a good musical sense too?”
“Everyone in Sebongie does, but I don’t need a studio to work with Seungkwan.”
Seungcheol drinks the last of the milk straight out of the container. Jihoon makes a face. At least he empties it and Jihoon can take joy in the fact that he’s gonna be regretting the dairy choice later. “Okay. Enjoy your little date,” he says, shuffling out of the kitchen and ruining Jihoon’s hair by rustling it again before going back to his bedroom.
The December cold is even worse when Jihoon hasn’t slept properly. He likes the winter, but the tiredness makes his skin feel brittle as he shuffles from the apartment down to the subway and out to the university. He feels like he might fall over by the time he punches in the passcode for the Music building, closed after all final examinations but still open for faculty and upper year music students.
He sees other small studios lit up as being occupied, but not very many. There won’t be a lot of heat in the building today, then.
Hansol’s thankfully on time, with a text that says he’s coming up; a few minutes later, there’s a beep at the door and a shuffling of feet. “I took my boots off at the entrance,” Hansol says. The cough he lets out as he sets down his sax case is a bit worrying. “It’s okay for me to be here? It’s so quiet.”
“You get used to it. I wouldn’t have invited you if it wasn’t okay. Do mind the mess, and make sure to complain to Seungcheol-hyung and Soonyoung about it,” he says, pulling up a second chair to the work station.
Hansol shucks his coat and puts it on a coat rack that hasn’t seen use from anyone but Jihoon, and he takes a picture and sends it to Seungcheol. Why can’t YOU hang your shit, he types as a caption before putting his phone on silent and face down on the desk. Once he’s in the studio, his full attention is always on composing, and even more so with a guest.
Hansol shakes the last of the unmelted snowflakes from his hair and sits down, looking with his wide eyes up at the screen. “I brought my sax too, just in case,” he says, jabbing a thumb behind him, “but wow.”
Jihoon feels a swell of pride that he quickly files away for later. “This your first time seeing a program like this?” he asks, gesturing to the screen.
“Totally,” he says. “Sort of. Composition’s got us on pencil and paper—”
“For the first year, right. Don’t kill your hands,” he says, reaching one of his own out to take Hansol’s. He frowns at how red they are, even under the low blue lights of the studio. He wraps his fingers around his wrist gently and holds it against light of the screen to see it better. “Did you not wear gloves? It’s cold outside. Scratch that, you’re already wrecking your hands.” He frowns. “Wear a scarf, too. Your cheeks are red.”
Hansol takes his hand back from his grip and rubs his face. “Every single—single friend since I’ve gotten into university just nags at me.” He stutters, which is strange enough for him to note, even though he’s only known Hansol for the better part of nine months. He isn’t really the type, more likely to talk slowly and take his time with what he has to say. He seems eager, though, so he waves it off. It’s finals week, after all. They’re all tired.
“We can’t help it. No matter how much attention you pay to the rest of us, you always forget about yourself.” With a yawn, Jihoon stretches his hands over his head. “Let’s get started?”
Hansol nods. It gets Jihoon pumped up, too. It’s been a while since he could talk more technically about his compositions and arrangements, and Hansol is a perfect learner, always fast to catch on and ever diligent.
The song he picked last night to send Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua off is an old one, one of the first ones he composed and arranged in his first year for fun. The instrumentation is completely different now, something Sebongie can’t pull off—but it’d be even better once they do work on this together and create something that only this year’s group can play.
At the same time, Jihoon tells him a little more about the history of Sebongie, how it’s really only friends and friends of friends, how this year is the biggest it’s ever been and the biggest it’ll probably ever be with the core founders graduating. “Since we’re all students, campus begrudgingly lets us fill out the necessary forms to use rooms in the Music building for practices. Next year’s gonna be weird, but I think the faculty likes us enough to bend the rules.”
“All twenty of the staff and all seventy of the students?”
Jihoon laughs. “Now you’re getting it.”
Hearing the history serves to make Hansol even more excited. With a second person inside the studio, animated and moving, Jihoon is pleasantly warm. It helps that Hansol’s sitting right next to him; the university’s studios have everything the need, but they’re small, and more often than not they’re bumping shoulders and legs and basically everything in between.
He doesn’t mind physical contact as much as he used to. Either he makes a big deal out of it or he lives with the fact that every single person in Sebongie likes physical contact, so it’s without a second thought that he dives right into his other ideas for the composition. It doesn’t take too long for it to surface that Hansol can play guitar; it becomes a necessity to break out their instruments once they start working on refining ideas.
Jihoon hands him his acoustic, and Hansol looks at him in the same doe-eyed manner he looks at basically everything. “You’ll just let me play?”
Huh. I guess I will. “Usually, it takes Seungcheol-hyung a lot of whining and promises to be careful whenever he wants to touch any of my instruments, but I trust you.”
His level of playing isn’t too high, but it’s more than enough to comp for Jihoon instead, who plunks away at the keys. He doesn’t know how it happens, but at some point, it turns into a regular jam session, only vaguely linked to the original ideas of the song he means to compose for the upcoming grads. He doesn’t mind this change in plans; Bumzu’s been busy lately, so he hasn’t been able to mess around and jam with someone else for a while. Even if Hansol’s melodies on guitar are fairly simple (if he can play them at all), it’s still enough that they can pass off phrases left and right, or at least laugh when a set of notes comes out in the wrong way.
After another failed attempt at picking a melody, Hansol laughs. “Hyung, aren’t we here to work on something? I thought everyone said you had a good work ethic.”
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” Jihoon flashes a grin, and Hansol nudges him with a foot. “As far as I’m concerned, we’ve still made music. But if you insist.” He doesn’t know why he let himself get away with Hansol’s music, either. He chalks it up to missing the exchange of ideas and not to the cozy warmth of the room that comes from having a guest that understands music just as well.
They get away with tossing a few of their ideas from their jam session into the original song. The composition is no jazz standard—nothing that’ll be remembered in five years by anyone except Sebongie—but it’s theirs, for a start.
He doesn’t even realize what time it is until there’s a knock on the studio door. Seungcheol’s voice comes through, muffled but clear with faux annoyance. “Hey, answer your texts. It’s, like, seven in the evening. I’m coming in.”
Jihoon whips around to check his phone, expecting the flood of texts from both him and Soonyoung. He lets out a laugh when he sees that he has one text from Seungcheol, nothing close to the annoying nagging tone implies. Hansol puts his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder, probably curious to read the message.
He’s brought back to the present at the beep of the door, signaling Seungcheol’s entry. He slams the monitor’s power off. No need to ruin a surprise.
It’s not until now that he realizes that was the only light in the studio, and that it’s even darker now that it’s night and the sunlight streaming in the hallway windows has dimmed. “What the hell?” Seungcheol mutters as they both turn to face him. “Have you two just been sitting here in the dark for eight hours? Creative types.” With his grumbling comes a smile and the smell of takeout, three whole bags of it.
Hansol’s eyes go wide. It makes Seungcheol laugh; Jihoon cracks a smile, too, but he realizes that his cheeks already hurt from smiling throughout the entire jam session. “That’s a lot,” Hansol mutters. “Are you eating with us, too?”
Seungcheol takes a second too long to answer, eyes flickering to Jihoon before he shrugs. “Nah, date night with Soonyoung. But I know for a fact that Jihoon eats like a monster after a day in the studio. I’ve only seen you eat once, Hansol, but that’s more than enough to tell me how much food you two need.”
Hansol’s head whips between the bags that Seungcheol sets down onto the table and up to him again. “Holy fuck, how much do I owe you?”
“For you, Sollie? On the house. You’re a growing boy. You must one day grow tall enough to break lighting fixtures in this studio as I have.”
“Which you still owe me for,” Jihoon points out. “Since this is, you know, university property.”
“Oh, is that why there aren’t any lights?” Seungcheol says lightly, as if he had no idea. He flights the light switch and nothing happens. He bursts out laughing, doubling over. “Fine, okay, food’s on the house for me today too, Jihoonie.”
“Buy a replacement light bulb. The only reason the department hasn’t been on my ass about it is because the lack of lighting offsets the rest of the electricity, I bet.”
“If you say so. Love you too, Hoonie.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. As he unties the bags of takeout, Seungcheol starts rattling off the usual reminders that he’s used to. “Take breaks. Hydrate well. Maybe walk home today? It’s not as cold as this morning, somehow. For the fresh air, not the exercise, since you don’t need it.” He leans over and squeezes Jihoon’s arm with a high-pitched sound effect, and then he ruffles Hansol’s hair.
Then, he’s off, as quickly as he came.
It really is dark without the lights, but with Seungcheol gone, he can turn the monitor back on. It’s still not that much light, though. He lets Hansol open the bags first and take his pick, because he’s got the look on his face that says he’s concentrating and can’t be interrupted. He’s already munching on something by the time Jihoon settles in on the old couch and takes his own pick.
With food in his mouth, Hansol mutters, “That was nice of him.”
“Eh, it just balances out all the other awful things he puts me through.” He grins. Sure, he’ll complain about the mess Seungcheol makes, but it’s easy to be honest with Hansol. “But really, he’s always looking out for his friends. He’s been like that since we were kids.”
Hansol hums. With clear hesitation, he follows up by asking, “You and Seungcheol-hyung…?”
Startled by the implications, Jihoon chokes out a laugh. “Have known each other for twelve years too long,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “We were each other’s first everything, which was weird, but hey. He’s really just like that. You’ve seen him with Soonyoung. I could never.”
He lets out a pleased noise when he opens another container. Seungcheol always knows exactly what to order—although the bar was low to begin with, since he’s starving and didn’t even realize it.
The silence that stretches between them is long, but not uncomfortable. The screen dims, and Jihoon’s too lazy to stand up and jiggle the mouse. “Still, it’s a nice thing to do for just a friend,” Hansol finally murmurs, his tone unreadable.
“Hardly.” Jihoon plasters on a crooked grin as he reaches for another container of food. The monitor turns off; if not for the glow of the PC’s tower and the hallway’s fluorescents leaking through the glass door of the studio, they would be in complete darkness. “Since he still hasn’t paid for damages to university property.”
Hansol covers his mouth with a hand before he can spit out food with his surprised laughter.
It should be more awkward, Jihoon thinks. It should be more awkward that neither he nor Hansol are the type to make conversation in the absence of it; after three long years, he’s used to friends that chatter nonstop, filling in silence whenever they find it. He’s surprised he doesn’t feel the itch to start talking with Hansol around.
The thought of it makes him chuckle, and Hansol’s head whips up from the food to him immediately. “Hm?”
What is so funny? He’s just cute. Somehow, that feels like something he can’t say, even jokingly—and does that mean Jihoon’s serious? He tries not to overthink it. “Try this,” he says instead, holding up a small serving of his meal with his chopsticks and waving it toward Hansol’s mouth, like he’ll actually—
Without questioning it, Hansol leans forward and takes the serving in his mouth, licking his lips as he leans back. His eyes widen with surprise and he hums with clear enjoyment, eyes sparkling as he looks up to Jihoon.
That’s the one moment something shifts. Not that something was misaligned before, but now, things align a little better. And a little worse, he realizes as he stares at Hansol’s happiness, plain on his face. “This takeout’s godly,” Hansol mumbles, long eyelashes fluttering as he closes his eyes, his lips curling into a smile. “Seungcheol-hyung’s the best.”
He rewires his brain before Hansol can open his eyes again. He chokes on his own food, and without looking, Hansol pushes forward a can of soda across the table. Jihoon takes it gratefully. “The best of taking advantage of for food, sure,” he clarifies.
Hansol opens an eye. With a toothy grin that absolutely glows in the darkness, he says, “No, that might still be Mingyu-hyung.”
Seungcheol really outdid himself for some reason. Usually, he only gets this much takeout when Soonyoung’s with him in the studio. Tonight’s meal leaves them both sated, every last morsel of food dutifully eaten. Between the meal and the lack of sleep the night before, Jihoon’s tuckered out. Hansol looks exhausted too, if the way he’s half falling off the couch is any indication. They got a good amount of work done, some good ideas in place, and so Jihoon calls it a night for both of them.
Hansol seems surprised to see Jihoon putting on his own coat and switching everything off. “Everyone said you were normally in the studio until, like, early morning when you really wanted to work on something,” he says once they step out into the hallway.
“You say that like we’re done working. This is a tactical retreat,” he says, biting back a yawn. “Either that, or I’m coming back to the studio after I send you off.”
Their steps echo in the concrete stairwell. The lights’ flickering is giving him a headache, and he entertains the thought of falling don the stairs just to get to the bottom quicker. More efficiently. Maybe he’ll get Hansol to carry him down or something.
Hansol gives him a look that melts into a small smile. He doesn’t ask to clarify how far Jihoon’s thinking of sending him off, or if Jihoon has a plan at all—he only shrugs and says, “Cool.”
For the record, Seungcheol lied. It’s colder now than it was this morning. Jihoon might look more like a walking bundle of coats and scarves and mittens than a human, but at least he’s warm. Hansol doesn’t seem to care at all, warming his hands up with his breath and shoving them in his pockets.
“At least button up your coat,” Jihoon says, turning to walk backward while Hansol does as he’s told. He looks up with a smile he can’t bite back, and with a sigh, Jihoon takes the scarf from around his own neck and throws it around Hansol’s, tugging him close enough to wrap it around him once and tuck the ends into his now-buttoned coat.
Jihoon deliberately doesn’t look at his wide, toothy grin, a bright streak against the night sky in the same way it was in the studio. “Warm?”
“Very,” Hansol says, shoving his hands back in his pockets after pulling the scarf over his mouth. It doesn’t hide the amusement in his eyes.
Jihoon doesn’t return to the studio after walking Hansol to the subway station. He goes straight home, hoping that by date night Seungcheol meant that he’d taken Soonyoung out somewhere, but it’s just his luck that it’s a movie night at home.
As he’s taking his boots off in the entrance, both Soonyoung and Seungcheol’s heads pop up from behind the couch, trained on him like a pair of meerkats that have sensed danger.
“Whoa, someone’s home early,” Soonyoung chirps, eyes tracking his every move. Soonyoung gets called slow sometimes, but when it comes to more abstract things, he’s far from it. Abstract, of course, can refer to his friends’ moods and the way their social network maps over time and space, and Jihoon’s very upset to realize that he’s perfectly sharp to make this particular observation. “Did Hansol make you go home? Did he realize how hard you worked? Good kid. Good influence. I approve. Bring him home for dinner some time.”
Jihoon looks up and frowns. Before he can even think of something to say, Soonyoung gasps overdramatically and smacks Seungcheol on the chest. Seungcheol starts coughing, dropping down from where he’s looking over the back of the couch. “Jihoonie,” Soonyoung says, “you’ve realized it, haven’t you?”
“I didn’t even say anything.” He plays it cool, but it’s really useless in the face of the two people that know him best.
With a thud, Seungcheol rolls from underneath Soonyoung to land on the floor. He peeks around the side of the couch. “Oh shit, he’s actually figured it out,” he says with a touch of awe. “Sweet guy, isn’t he?”
Jihoon measures his options. He either denies it or gets hounded, or he admits it and gets hounded. But really, what is there to be embarrassed of? He’s really more embarrassed about his friends than whatever he feels for Hansol, he realizes with a jolt. Same idea as him never being embarrassed about his past compositions (although he gets an idea of why he was even a little embarrassed now); it’s still him, with these feelings, in the current time and space. “He is,” Jihoon agrees, surprising himself. Biting back a grin, he continues. “Better than you guys have ever been to me. I didn’t even have to spend an hour cleaning up before leaving the studio.”
“He’s running a fever,” Soonyoung mutters conspiratorially to Seungcheol. “He’s smiling. He admitted it. He’s—where’s your scarf?”
“With Hansol,” he says, hanging his coat in the coat closet, cackling when Soonyoung chokes on his own spit after gasping melodramatically again. His phone vibrates as the two of them mutter to each other.
From: Hansol
What should I do with your scarf?
To: Hansol
Bring it
when
you come over to the studio
tomorrow
From: Hansol
Tomorrow
?
“He’s smiling,” Seungcheol says. “He’s smiling. His phone’s going off—Lee Jihoon, get back here right this instant, don’t you dare type some campy shit back to him.”
He ignores Seungcheol’s demands to poke out a response instead. There are more important matters at hand now.
To: Hansol
What, you think that song’s finished?
For the next two weeks it’s just you, me, and the music
(Besides, he doesn’t know what Seungcheol’s talking about. His words aren’t campy. Jihoon makes a mental note to never help him write lyrics ever again.)