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Following the cue of four steady taps on the snare, glaringly hot lights hit the stage. And that, itself, was a cue, and the dark concert hall was suddenly illuminated by sounds of the audience and the stage was illuminated by four stars. Instrumentals competed to overtake the wave of cheers fighting back until the sounds were woven in naturally as if they belonged together. There was a kind of harmony between the performers and the audience, a melody forming between the rhythmic and the chaotic. Sweat mingled with their screams, limitless energy pulsating with each beat. The loudness of it all was calming, evoking emotions that surpassed passion. Describing the feeling with words could do little to portray what it was like to perform in front of such an engaging crowd. But, if the feeling was something that could be described with words, it would only mean that San had chosen the wrong career path.
It was a moment like this that San lived for, the moment he yearned for since he first met it in a dream, and the moment he continued to strive for. He was a musician and an artist. He was a guy whose biggest wish was for his name to be screamed loudly enough for the very sound of it to be engraved into his soul. In the largest venue, filled to the brim with an audience as desperate to be there as he was, the only thing left that he was greedy for was to hear his name. The very thought of it being chanted again and again without wavering had his brain sending shivers down his skin, but in a way that he couldn't help but crave.
He realizes much later in his career that sometimes a single voice could hold more power over his heart than the chorus of thousands.
~~
Seonghwa rocked back and forth on his toes and heels, hands knit together and teeth grappled on his lips, obviously unsure of what to do or how he got here. Under the cloudless blue sky that was just about as exposed as he felt, he stood in front of some building he wasn’t even sure was the one he was looking for. His GPS marked the spot, but he couldn't even be sure this was the right address. All he knew was that he came to see a concert, and the building he was looking at was doing a poor job of convincing him that he was where he wanted to be. Though, he couldn't even really say that he wanted to be there. He wasn't quite forced to come since no one was dragging him by the ear to the very spot, but he would have been in an awkward situation if he hadn’t. His boss had been heckling him for the past three weeks to go watch the concert in support of a friend. Apparently, his good friend was a manager of a budding new band, but despite their talent, their lack of promotional funds meant that they had to rely on word of mouth to gather more support. Majesta, they were called. A name Seonghwa should make an effort to remember , said his boss. Seonghwa would be a fool if he didn’t go to the free showing while they weren’t well-known , a nagging voice rang in his thoughts.
Seonghwa wondered if he was more of a fool for being there, taking his boss’s words too seriously, but there he was, having been dragged there by something between obligation and curiosity, climbing up the stairs to this building that didn’t even have the courtesy to have elevators , and wondering with every step if he should turn back. His indecisiveness ultimately left him trucking on with no willpower to change the direction of his momentum. And as he reached the third floor, he could hear commotion beyond the walls. His determination wavered as he climbed another two floors and the sound of the drums undoubtedly came from the room he faced, which finally confirmed that he had the address right and wasn't completely wasting his time. He let his hand rest on the door handle, the bronzed metal cool against his palm. There was still time to turn back, especially when he knew concerts weren't his thing. He could save himself from the embarrassment of coming in late, because only at this point did he become aware of how small the venue was. He couldn’t even call it a venue. He realized now that it was a practice room. He repeated it to himself again, that he could still turn back. It wasn't too late.
He slowly pulled the handle, a truckload of instrumentals and vocals immediately blasting his eardrums, and in a small and dimly lit practice room with every wall being a mirror, he met a rock band.
In that instant, he looked at Seonghwa.
With dripping wet locks swaying with a turn of his head, small silver hoops and studs outlining his left ear, and a black lace choker, the keyboardist glared intensely. A warning. With black bangles dancing on his wrist and silver rings snug on every knuckle, his hands ran along the keyboard, bouncing up and down with passion. He had on a loosely fitted navy blazer with a graphic tee underneath, tight black pants, and a studded belt that was purely for decoration and no support which served as a show of weapons with every sway of his hips. An extra accent. An extra edge that was an attack that was aimed directly at the soul. He integrated a low growl into the melody he was riding, and just like that, Seonghwa was trapped.
All four members of the band looked at Seonghwa as soon as he came in, but that was reasonable since he walked in the middle of their performance for an audience much, much smaller than he had anticipated, but Seonghwa instantly looked at him, the keyboardist , and no one else, and felt something stir inside him. It wasn’t the feeling of falling head-over-heels in love, or anything, though, in retrospect, it was something very close. A more accurate way to describe it was a mix of fear and curiosity. Fear, because he could feel in that short moment something like imaginary daggers being thrown at him from the keyboardist’s direction, and curiosity because of the small smirk on the keyboardist’s face a half-second later. With no reason beyond that, he felt some sort of gravitation toward the keyboardist. He had a sudden desire to know more.
With a hand to his heart, Seonghwa took a breath, struggling to take it in when the keyboardist kept taking it away with every sly sway of his head. Seonghwa found himself unable to take a step away from the door (he at least had the decency to let it shut) and unable to take his eyes away from the keyboardist. He could feel the beat of the drums orchestrating a new rhythm in his chest, and the whole body shook from vibrations as he leaned his back against the door. Everything was loud, louder than he thought his ears would have been able to perceive, but the volume, as uncomfortable as it might have been under normal circumstances, wrapped itself around Seonghwa like a warm blanket. The tempo of the song was surprisingly slow, but that might have been only in comparison to the rushing rhythm of his heart.
The music was loud, but he found his heart to be louder.
~~
Even after being exposed to a generous hour and a half of spotlights, the backstage room seemed blindingly bright. San fanned himself with a relaxed hand as he lounged on the couch, closing his eyes and throwing his head back when the white walls made him dizzy. He replayed their performances in his head, again and again, the corners of his lips turning upward at the fresh memory. His fingertips remembered their motions and the smooth surface of the keyboard, his throat was parched from singing only a few levels below screaming, and his ears were ringing from the loudness of it all, but he loved every sensation that their humble stage had to offer. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since he waved goodbye to his dear fans, yet he missed them already. Another performance was finished like the conclusion of another chapter and all he had to do was to wait for the climax of the next.
“You know what sounds really nice right now?” San sat up and made sure all attention was on him as he held a curved hand to his mouth and pivoted his wrist, tipping his head back with the motion. Drinking after a show wasn’t always a given, but it was always welcome.
Yunho gave a half-lidded smile as he fiddled with the strings of his bass guitar. Its metallic ring sounded shy when it wasn’t plugged in but that didn’t stop him from running through a confident melody, adding stylistic flares to complicate the fingering pattern. A common quirk of a show-off. “The usual place?”
San scrunched his face as he imagined the healing sensation of sweet icy watermelon soju warming him up as it ran down his body. “You know it,” he said with a nod.
Without a word, Mingi gave San a knowing look and a low-five, and the two were already making bets on who would last the longest without passing out. San always won, but Mingi wasn’t the type to give up. They raised their bet from last time and San almost felt bad about taking money from him, again. Almost.
Jongho was the only one protesting, reminding them of rehearsal the next day, but no one minded what he had to say since the rehearsal was scheduled in the evening. Even if they were all hungover, they would be fine by the time evening rolled around, Yunho insisted. Jongho gave in, only promising to have a single drink with them.
Being a man of his word, Jongho really only had one shot of plum-flavored soju before taking off. But, of course, he didn't leave before footing the bill. The others only realized it when San and Yunho went up to the register to try to pay, but by then Jongho was long gone and probably sleeping in their dorm, too long too late for them to protest it or thank him. They wouldn't forget to thank him the next time they saw each other.
The rest of the members shared an order of watermelon soju—it was half a watermelon blended with plain soju, the mixture poured into the shell of the watermelon and then topped off with fruity pebbles and pop-rocks. It was an entire half watermelon. If they didn’t share, their stomachs and wallets would have grown mouths to curse them out—and San and Mingi took turns chugging it straight from the shell.
“What if,” Mingi blabbered, well beyond tipsy and bordering the edge of wasted, “we did something that would make us super popular overnight. Like super duper popular. There’s just so much competition these days… We need an edge. Something that would give us a “wow” factor, you know? Something like a fresh face, or a head-to-toe makeover or… something.”
San chewed on a piece of dried squid, simultaneously chewing on the idea that Mingi threw out but probably wouldn’t even remember the next day. Would a new look really help them gain popularity? He looked at Yunho, their most popular member, who had on a plain white dress shirt buttoned up save for the top three buttons, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a navy-faced watch with a silver metal band, and an expression fit for a boss. Orange sunglasses were perched on his head while his elbow was perched on the bartop, fingers delicately curved to hold his shot-glass on its rim. When he took the shot, it was like he was filming a commercial. Out of the four of them, he definitely had the best sense of fashion, and only then, in his peak genius drunken state of mind, was San considering the correlation.
Yunho raised his brows at San and San responded by raising his glass to his new drinking partner for the remainder of the night. Mingi was already falling asleep and San was looking forward to extra pocket change that he could use toward a new suit.
~~
Seonghwa didn’t feel like himself. He rubbed a leaf of the mini bamboo plant that decorated his desktop in an attempt to distract himself, wondering if the thoughts he had were normal. Ever since the mini-concert—it couldn’t really be called a concert, but it was a little more than just a practice performance—he couldn’t help but think about that keyboardist. There was something entrancing about the way that he moved with the music, swaying his hips when it was his turn to sing the melody, and pumping his hand in the air when it was free. Seonghwa had never felt so excited during a performance. He reminisced about the event that was just a short time ago, remembering as he nodded his head along with the beat and his chest feeling tight with the need to experience more. He wanted to take in as much of the performance as he could, only wishing it were as easy as taking a breath.
He thought about him again. That keyboardist. As if replaying the past event over and over again wasn’t enough to satisfy Seonghwa’s mind, he started to fantasize. Closing his eyes, he imagined what it might be like if it were just he and the keyboardist in that practice room.
He forced out an exhale, stopping himself from proceeding too far into his unrealistic imagination. Opening his drawer, he pulled out a gray bundle of felt, a needle, and foam block, and began repeatedly stabbing into the felt, letting the needle catch into the foam block.
A collection of felt cats on his shelf was an audience to his hobby, as they waited for their newest member to be completed. Seonghwa was going for a Russian Blue, this time. Simple and cute. He put any other thoughts away to focus on his creation at hand, but he realized he should have tried a harder project when he finished much sooner than anticipated. It hadn’t been long enough of a distraction to keep his unwanted thoughts at bay.
There was nothing he could do but cave in. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled it around once to get his blood flow going, and was soon hunched over his desk, scribbling on his sketch pad. What else should he do in a tailor shop than to design a suit? One that would surely emphasize a nice body-line as that keyboardist had. One that would allow for a generous movement was vital for a musician. He found himself highly amused with his ideas that the small ache forming in his neck wasn’t much of a bother. He would have rather finished the sketch than to continue making the other suits queued up in his studio, but seeing as he was still on track to finish early, he was more than happy to save that work for another day.
He made a few notes on the perimeter of his outline: Peaked lapels, a single vent in the back, single-breasted, shoulders not padded. Usually, he would follow the desires of his clients, leaving his creativity blank for his client’s ideas to fill in. For the first time, he wanted to create something for someone else, though that someone else was a complete stranger. He wanted to make the perfect suit and could only hope that the imaginary keyboardist in his head would love it as much as he did.
He tapped his pencil on his paper, his sketch complete but something seemed like it was missing. He put his pencil down and went to get a feel for the fabrics he had in stock, sliding his hand against the cotton, cashmere, silk. If only that keyboardist could get a feel for these fabrics. If only that keyboardist could discuss with Seonghwa how to make the perfect combination. Seonghwa sighed, slouching against his precious fabrics, not sure what he was feeling besides false hope.
~~
A small building stood a little way from the city, but not quite far enough to be in the woods. It looked like a house that would be in a fairy-tale, only aged. It’s pale yellow paint was chipping as vines climbed their way up the walls, framing the small windows that were installed at eye-level. San passed the door to opt to look through the window, worried that he would have to commit to entering if someone spotted him peeking through the door. While the internet told him that this was the place to get a suit, San was skeptical, especially when there was no crowd. As far as he knew, he was the only one there. Was the place even open? It was so quiet that he could hear birds chirping above him. It was so quiet that he could hear a car honking from half a mile away. It was so quiet that he could almost hear his own thoughts as if they were speaking to him, and at that moment, they were trying to convince him that he got the address wrong, even though he could clearly read the sign that told him otherwise, a cozy “Bespoke Suits” written plainly on a wooden sign hanging right above the door.
The place felt so unfamiliar that he almost turned back to return home, but something pulled him forward and compelled him to turn the knob. A bell chimed above him as he entered, and he was greeted with a face he couldn’t help but feel like he knew. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses as he locked eyes with the young man in front of him and wondered if they met before, or if he was just that relieved to see another human being in a place that seemed so isolated from the rest of the world. Then again, the place was still a business, he reminded himself. It was only normal for there to be another person around.
He swore, though, that he saw the man’s eyes waver for a split second. Was it from the same sense of recognition that San had?
“Welcome. How can I help you?”
San didn’t know what he wanted, exactly, and all he could offer was a look of uncertainty. Apparently, the man in charge knew how to deal with that. Before he knew it, San was seated in an office telling Seonghwa—introductions were done in the beginning and San already found himself feeling a sense of familiarity with the guy, like they really had known each other from before, somewhere—everything he was looking for in his new suit.
And for some reason, the voice in his head was telling him that Seonghwa was everything he was looking for in a person.
It was a stray thought, one that didn’t have any real meaning, but there San was, contemplating the thought once it popped into his mind. He wondered if that familiarity had something to do with it. Were they lovers in a past life? A parallel universe?
San shook his head. He wasn’t one to believe in such things. That voice in his head was still buzzed from the night before but San didn’t know how to shut it up, and all he could do was to speak more, to explain to Seonghwa in more detail about how he wanted the perfect person, no, suit. The perfect suit for his perfect makeover that would instantly boost his popularity.
“Measurements?” San asked, an echo to Seonghwa’s question as to whether he wanted measurements taken that day.
Things were somehow progressing more quickly than he imagined, and as he stood straight he wondered when it would be a good time to let Seonghwa know he was ticklish.
He swallowed as the tension started building in his shoulders and his pride told him to just let the measuring tape glide across his skin—he was then regretting his choice to wear a tank top that day but at least he had showered—and let Seonghwa’s eyes sweep across his limbs. It was a strangely intimate interaction between strangers, San noted. He couldn’t help but let his eyes travel with Seonghwa’s movements, watching as Seonghwa made circles around him. This was normal, Seonghwa assured. The purpose was for Seonghwa to get a feel for San’s body shape.
The closer Seonghwa stepped, the more weary San was of the heat in his ears. He was used to being watched from every angle. He was a performer, it was a given. But something about how Seonghwa looked at him so intensely gave him shivers. He wasn’t just being watched. Every detail was being scrutinized.
Seonghwa began with the measurements, starting broad. San made use of the body-length mirror to his side when Seonghwa was behind him, watching Seonghwa when the tailor wasn’t looking. He had to remind himself that it was okay for him to look and that Seonghwa was probably used to it. San, though, was prone to nervousness from being in such a new situation, and a fluttery feeling active in his stomach proved it.
When Seonghwa measured the width of his shoulders, San noticed his senses had been heightened. As Seonghwa ran the tape along his arm, San could feel a hot, tingling sensation where Seonghwa’s fingers kissed his bare skin. When Seonghwa wrapped his tape around San’s torso, San realized how close Seonghwa was. He can hear Seonghwa softly humming and he started to notice that Seonghwa was actually quite pretty. San’s glasses were sliding off, but Seonghwa was close enough that San could see how long his eyelashes were. He could see how the small soft hairs on Seonghwa’s cheek glowed in the generous sunlight. He could see how smooth and taut Seonghwa’s skin was around his jawline. He could see how he gingerly held the measuring tape with his bony hands, and he could see the small veins traversing Seonghwa’s arms. He could see that Seonghwa’s eyes seemed to hold something a little deeper than the universe, and by then, San wondered if that parallel universe (the one that might have held their presumed past lives) was somewhere in there.
~~
San tilted his mug toward himself, letting his coffee reach the rim before setting the mug upright again, following up with the same mindless motion. A small strip of foam would stick to the walls of the mug as he set the mug upright, then returned to the body of the coffee once he tilted it again. He kept his vision focused on the foam, but his mind was elsewhere, not really registering his repetitive motion.
“That’s not a magic-8 ball, San, it’s just plain coffee,” Jongho said as he scooped a dollop of whipped cream from his iced caramel latte onto his straw, plopping it into his mouth. He licked the excess from his lips. “It’s not going to give you any answers.”
San sighed as he brought the mug to his lips, letting the steam tease his skin before deciding that his drink was still too hot to drink. He glanced at Jongho, who seemed to pay him little mind, but the drummer had a talent for being there in times of need. His attention to detail was impeccable, even when San tried to act relatively normal.
“Say, do you believe in reincarnated lovers?”
“As a person of science, I’m going to have to say no, I don’t.”
It was almost disheartening how lightning-fast that answer was, but San wasn't one to give up his thoughts so easily.
“But that isn’t an absolutely definite ‘no,’ right?”
Without missing a beat, Jongho replied, “It’s a pretty positive ‘no’ since reincarnation in itself isn’t a supported claim.”
Another rally. “It isn’t not supported either. There’s a fifty-fifty chance it could be a real thing.”
Another rebuttal. “That’s a generous statistic that I find extremely skewed in your favor.”
“But you can’t prove that it’s wrong.”
Jongho plucked the maraschino cherry that was sitting on the whipped cream and popped it into his mouth, chewing for longer than necessary and dampening the momentum that San had going. It was probably on purpose.
“What is this really about, Choi San? I know you’re not going to sprout out some nonsense about how we’re lovers from a different time or something like that, but you can’t expect me to sit and listen to this horribly roundabout way of getting to the point.”
San took a sip from his mug, only to hiss when the coffee was still too hot. Operation ‘drink to avoid speaking’ was a miss. He had no plan B, and all he had left was to tell the truth. He had already formulated a persuasive speech on how San and the tailor guy were lovers in a past life, but as he gave his speech, he realized that it didn’t sound so persuasive out loud. His logic sounded so off that he was even convincing himself that it was all dumb and in his head, but Jongho’s calm demeanor almost made him want to keep explaining, to continue running past his shaky conclusion for a mile before slowing down to silence.
The entire time, Jongho sipped his drink, silently listening and nodding along, making eye contact every so often to indicate that he was still paying attention, and that was what made San truly glad to have Jongho to confide in. No matter how ridiculous his troubles seemed, Jongho always thought thoroughly before offering advice.
“Hey, have you ever thought that this guy might have a common face?”
But sometimes, Jongho’s advice wasn’t very sound.
“No way, this guy was super good-looking. Like a one-of-a-kind handsome. You wouldn’t forget his face if you saw it once. That good-looking.”
“Then maybe you’ve seen him before?”
San shook his head furiously. “No, no, no, if I did, I would have remembered and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. He looks so familiar but I swear I’ve never seen this guy in my life. Isn’t that weird?”
Jongho hummed.
“Ever consider that maybe you saw him without your glasses?”
A small yet audible gasp escaped from San’s mouth, his eyes widening at the new possibility that was just presented to him, and considering he chose to forgo wearing his glasses more often than not, it was a very reasonable possibility. He stared at his coffee as if he wanted confirmation from his drink that maybe he did see him without his glasses.
Hollow slurping sounds echoed from Jongho’s plastic cup as he finished the last of his latte.
~~
“What’s wrong, San? That’s the sixth time you messed up on that run. As in one more than five. On a spot you normally don’t have trouble with.”
From San’s point of view, a fluffy peach-colored stuffed alpaca stared into his eyes as it said this to him. For a doll, its innocent eyes seemed to hold an abundant amount of knowledge.
San held out his hands and the alpaca was tossed to him. He stroked its head, its neck swaying with each pull. He couldn’t help but feel like maybe he was harboring a secret, and while it wasn’t so heavy, the weight of it was enough to affect his performance. He pressed the keys a little too hard and a little too fast on his runs, and his voice kept cracking during his high-notes. It might have been because he hadn’t had a good night of sleep in a few days, or, more likely, it was because he couldn’t quiet down his curiosity for Seonghwa. If he were to be honest, he was attracted to Seonghwa, and he didn’t know what to do with that acknowledgment.
San turned to Mingi, frowning. Mingi was on the floor with a family of three alpacas of assorted colors on his lap, his guitar thrown on the bed. San switched off his keyboard, accepting the fact that their casual practice had been abandoned.
“When did you know that you wanted to date Jongho?
Mingi grinned, eyebrows jumping up from the sudden question. They had started dating in high school and even though from an outside perspective, it looked one-sided with Mingi on the falling end, San knew the feelings were reciprocated. Mingi was always loud about his feelings for Jongho, but Jongho had his own ways of showing his affection.
The question was how they were able to get to that point.
Mingi hummed. “When I first saw him, I just knew? I don’t really know how to describe it. Something like love at first sight except much milder. I just really liked him when I saw him, you know? Instantly. Cupid hit me, and it was game over. I couldn’t see anyone else from then on. I wanted to get close to him from then on, but I didn’t really know how to. I mean, there was no way he would ever notice me, especially not when our friend groups were so different, no offense to you or anything.”
San lifted his hands. “None taken.”
He thought about his first encounter with Seonghwa. That sense of familiarity, had it been Cupid’s doing? He felt something strange stirring in his chest for sure.
“When I finally talked to him, it might have been my wishful thinking, but he didn’t seem turned off by me. And then the more I talked to him, the more I wanted to see him. I was really happy when he would find time for me. That’s really the best way for me to say it. He made me feel happy. Sure, my heart would flutter tons, too, like the stereotypical love-stricken teen.”
Heart fluttering. Yep, San felt that, too. Definitely. Even though it’s been some time since he’d graduated college.
“I enjoyed thinking that he might have wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him. And I didn’t want to bring my hopes up, but I didn’t want to be left in the dark, either. So I kept inviting him out to cafes and movies, and then lunch and dinner. And at some point, I realized that this guy must like me back, because why else would he say yes to accompany me out every single time I asked?”
San carefully put Mingi’s guitar back on its rack and took its place on the bed, cross-legged.
“Yeah, I remember you always ditched me for him.”
Mingi frowned, snatching back the peach alpaca from San’s hands. “Just to be clear, I did not ditch you. We never made plans.”
San pouted dramatically.
“We never had to make plans because we always hung out together anyway, dummy. But that’s not the point. When did attraction turn into liking him? How did you know it was more than just a crush?”
Mingi leaned back in his chair and hoisted his feet onto the bed. He scratched the back of his head a couple of times, scrunching his brows in deep thought. “Hmm. I can’t say. It just happened so naturally that I didn’t really notice. I just knew one day like fate slapped me upside the head.”
“It just happened?” San squeezed his alpaca. The plush was now being used as a stress ball. San squeezed and then he released, trying to get his blood flowing, hoping that maybe it would help him think. He held the alpaca up, hoping its eyes could tell him something. “Fate, huh? I guess that could be it, too.”
Mingi waved his hand in front of San's face. “Hey, don't stress the little guy out. He doesn't know any better.”
San finally put down his hostage and let out a breath.
Though he appreciated Jongho’s willingness to give him advice, talking to Mingi, who was more on his level mentally, was always a little easier. Even if San spared a lot of details, or really didn’t give him any details at all, it was comforting to just talk to Mingi. It made him feel like he wasn't so alone with his thoughts, even if he was the only one who knew them. He chuckled a little when he realized that Mingi had been so enamored with his own story that he seemed to have forgotten that they had been there to practice. That San’s incompetence with him playing was what had brought them to this point. But, no matter, San was feeling much better now. He could probably do the run perfectly by now. Or, as perfectly as he could get it. He went to his keyboard to turn it back on.
“Let's pick it up from the second page, yeah?”
Mingi lined his alpacas on his bed with great care before reclaiming his guitar, showing off his signature killer smile.
“Ready when you are.”
~~
Something about the way the bell chimed as the door opened made San nervous. It was exposing his presence and he didn’t quite like it, even though that was the exact purpose of the bell. His appointment to the shop was too early for him to spend the morning mulling over his own curious imaginations about fate and whatnot, but he still wasn’t able to forget his past-life lovers theory when he heard Seonghwa call his name.
The low voice sparked his heart to beat so rapidly that one might have thought his heart had been dead before then.
San waved shyly, knowing he was unlike himself and almost wanting to slap himself back to normal. He mouthed a silent mantra to calm his heart, in hopes that Seonghwa wouldn’t notice anything off about him, but when they were practically strangers, what was there to notice?
“Welcome back,” Seonghwa said with a relieving smile that simultaneously melted San’s worries away while making him more nervous. Meeting Seonghwa like this, knowing that they were strangers but feeling that they were somehow more acquainted, was a strange paradox that San still couldn’t quite understand but was not at all opposed to. He wanted to know more.
There was only so much San could do as a simple client of Seonghwa’s business. How could he make their encounters last?
Touch was a sense that was so natural and almost mundane, considering the many things that a person touches on the daily. So many touches throughout the day and only a few were ever remembered.
Seonghwa’s touches were different.
San held his breath as Seonghwa’s hands trailed lightly down his arms, across his back, down his sides, by his collarbones . When there was fabric between his skin and Seonghwa’s, and when the fabric was absent, every touch lingered. Worsted wool, measuring tapes, and worsted wool again, no matter what had been placed on his shoulders and his waist, he couldn’t let go of the sensations. He felt fire running through his veins as Seonghwa’s gaze was fixated on him , on all the places he touched. If San let out his breath, surely, he would explode. He was all too aware of every movement and every graze, his senses heightened tenfold from being all too aware of his attraction to Seonghwa. He swallowed his spit, trying to douse the embers rising up his throat.
So many touches were forgettable, but not these touches. These were touches that San would have to try very hard to forget, and even then he didn’t know if he could.
~~
“I’m in a band,” San blurted out in the middle of the final fitting.
Seonghwa had been disappointed that the two of them wouldn’t have had much of a chance to meet after the suit was completed, but when San was the one offering a topic of conversation, Seonghwa was more than happy to bite the bait.
He hadn’t prompted San with a question, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond when he was already aware that San was in a band. Prior to this, he had only been informed that the purpose of San’s new suit was primarily to look cool, and secondarily to look cool while playing an instrument. When they had only barely introduced themselves, Seonghwa didn’t further question the reasons. Being of his trade, he was used to hearing that kind of response every so often from his clients, and his natural response was always to accept and move onto the desired style and price range.
Seonghwa hoped San hadn’t noticed him jolting when he finally registered the implication of the spontaneous statement. San was starting to share details about himself, which could only mean that they had gotten a tiny step closer.
However, Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat when he realized he was too shy to admit that he had already known the fact since he did attend one of their performances. It was a shame San didn’t seem to recognize him from that time, considering how few people were a part of the audience, but then again, it was a blessing that San had decided to step inside his store.
“Yeah?” Seonghwa ended up replying, barely catching himself from choking it out. “That sounds like fun. What do you play?” He wondered if feigning ignorance was the right choice. Probably not, he realized after he had already let go of the reins of his question.
“Keyboard. And I do some vocals, too. My voice might not seem like much now, but trust me, I can get really loud.”
It wasn’t hard to imagine, but Seonghwa humored him.“Is that so?”
San’s expression visibly brightened, and it was then that Seonghwa thought that feigning ignorance had not been a bad idea if it meant that San would open himself up more to him. It wasn’t a sneaky move, was it? Seonghwa wanted to know more anyway, and if this was the way for San to open up, then it would be okay, right?
“I don’t know if you’ve heard of us, but we’re called Majesta,” San beamed, “Ah, the meaning might not be clear, but it’s a shortened form of Majestic Alpaca.”
Seonghwa almost pricked himself with a needle as he carefully removed San’s suit-in-progress. He wasn’t sure he heard it quite right. “Alpaca, you said?”
“Majestic Alpaca. The Majestic is important,” San almost huffed, offering a playful smirk along with the jest.
“My apologies, Majestic Alpaca. Can I ask how you came up with the name, or is that a secret?”
San grinned. “It doesn’t have a deep meaning to it or anything of the sort. It was a simple process figuring it out, actually. The main vocalist, his name is Mingi, by the way, and he has god-given vocals, I swear by it, his talent is endless. But anyway, he loves alpacas because, well, because they’re majestic. And he wanted it to be our mascot, and no one was against the name, so we stuck with it. But Majestic Alpaca can be a bit of a mouthful for a band name, so we shortened it to Majesta. So that’s who we are now. We might not be super famous now, but one day, you’ll hear our name on the streets everywhere. We just have to make a final push.”
Cute. The story of the animal-loving guy naming their band was cute, sure, but to Seonghwa, what was even cuter was the way San became animated when he explained. San was the cute one. Seonghwa was enamored. He could feel himself flush, but he wanted to hear more.
“How did you guys end up together?” Seonghwa asked after thinking about it for a few seconds.
San raised his brows like it was a long story, and it was, but Seonghwa had nowhere else to be and nowhere else he wanted to be but in that moment.
~~
San was the one who had started everything. It was their final year of college, and San and Mingi had trudged their way through the struggles of the standard university life.. But that was just it. It had been standard. Even when you considered the ups of the parties and the sports events paired with the downs of the all-nighters and the exams, it was all standard. Ordinary. Fun, but not interesting enough. And that was when San decided that he wanted something bigger.
He wanted to move the world with the power of his music.
They had already been in school for music, so realistically, they had their foot in the door to the music world. Though being in school for opera was undoubtedly not a huge help when considering starting a rock band, the common ground of music was all the inspiration San needed to pursue his new ambitious goal. This explanation was somehow reason enough for San to rope Mingi along with his wild ideas, and then they started considering them a little more seriously.
Even if it all failed, San was more than willing to throw away his dreams of a stable career if it meant that he would have excitement and happiness in his life. Besides, all things considered, being a musical performer wasn't exactly stable either. All San needed was a little more spice, and Mingi was all too ready to follow him.
Mingi was the one who convinced Jongho to join, and even at the present, San had no idea what kind of persuasive superpowers he had used to do it. Jongho’s response seemed almost aloof. He would do it because it seemed interesting enough. But San knew that the moment Jongho agreed to their idea, he would churn out every ounce of effort that his body could possibly produce in order to make their band a success. The only condition he threw out was that he would be the one to manage their activities, and that was when San knew that they were in good hands. It was a task San couldn’t imagine a single person being able to do by themselves, but like the many impossible things Jongho seemed to prove himself capable of, this ended up one of them.
San truly considered him lucky that he was able to meet and befriend such an amazing guy.
And then, there was Yunho, the final hurdle to the starting point of their race. Oh, how San almost hated Yunho at that time. Someone who was so gifted at playing the bass guitar had no ambition for anything. Yunho was a guy who ran on and succeeded on pure talent alone. San was the kind of guy who would have to practice every hour of every day to see improvements, but Yunho? All he had to do was rest his pretty little head on a pillow overnight, and suddenly he could perform every run on every new piece. If he had sold his heart to the devil, it would all make sense.
Every time San caught him in the halls, not a minute was wasted approaching him and trying to chip away Yunho’s stubbornness and get him to join their new band. The guy was as close to perfection as a mortal human could be, and San absolutely needed him on board, even if his guts rejected the thought. San wouldn't go down on his knees for anyone, but only for Yunho, who could have been a deity for all he knew, did he finally come to lower his head. The same guts that gritted its teeth at the thought of Yunho knew that Yunho was key for their band’s success. No one else had that star-like aura in their current band of three, and if Yunho joined, he would easily become the face of the group. What band would be complete without the hot bassist?
San remembered being almost flustered when Yunho finally said yes. Without hesitation and without condition, Yunho nonchalantly agreed to be a part of their band on the 74th day they asked (they only kept track because of a bet San and Mingi had going on, and of course, which of the two would be the winner but the one without a losing streak?). When San asked him much later about it, Yunho confessed that he hadn’t planned to say no in the first place, but it was so amusing to see San lose his mind over his adamant refusal. And it was then that San hated him just a little, but also came to love him all the more.
He would have been lying if he said he didn’t admire him in the slightest. After all, Yunho was just too cool to hate.
~~
Seonghwa invited him to tea. Seonghwa invited San to tea. Seonghwa, the tailor, invited San, the customer, to have tea with him, outside of the workplace. Seonghwa invited him on a date.
“That’s what it means, right?” San almost exclaimed to Yunho.
Yunho picked his ear as if trying to find an annoying microscopic bug buzzing inside of it. He looked disappointed when his finger came out clean and instead frowned at San, squinting, as if he might have found the bug he was looking for.
“Typically, yes, that’s what it means. Either that or he has some really stern words he wants to relay to you. Totally different ends of the spectrum, but both possible. But I don’t know what else to tell you without any more context.”
What happened was that they had been talking about Majesta, Seonghwa being much more fascinated than San could have dreamed, when the bell to the shop chimed, interrupting their chat. While San unintentionally let out a whine, Seonghwa hesitated. He suddenly mentioned that he was free that Thursday if San didn’t mind having a chat over tea with him.
“So, that means it’s a date, right?”
Yunho blew on his nails, the black lacquer he just painted still vulnerable to being ruined. He inspected them closely, nodding in satisfaction San hadn’t even noticed the smell of the polish until just then. Had his explanation really been that long?
“I don’t see why it couldn’t be one. Seems like a fair enough assumption.”
San beamed, inching closer to Yunho, who reacted by pulling himself and his hands away. Yunho reprimanded him with a light bop on the head with the palm of his hand, reminding him to be careful because his nails were still wet . San apologized quickly and then asked for advice on what to wear.
And finally, Yunho cracked a smile.
San showed up to the cake shop in a white silk button-up with the top two buttons left purposefully undone. His skinny black pants were something he was used to, and the belt was mostly hidden by the overflow of his shirt, but the boots were something that made him a little cautious. He wasn’t used to wearing them, not when they had a slight heel to them. You have to own them , was what Yunho had told him, but it was very different wearing a statement that bold off-stage . But he supposed that if he wanted to gain a fraction of Yunho’s coolness, he should heed the advice given by the master himself.
San looked around nervously and spotted Seonghwa reading by one of the window seats. Taking a deep breath, he marched toward him.
His steps became weaker the closer he got, and then he stopped. He felt like he was being choked by his choker, the irony . He tugged at it, but his eyes grew wide when it made a small bell jingle because god he had forgotten that the bell was a part of the accessory and that it actually made sounds.
The way Seonghwa tilted his head when he spotted San, then grazed his gaze up and down and up again, was entirely unhealthy for San’s heart. His thoughts told him he was being evaluated. But then Seonghwa smiled, and the clouds must have made way for the sun to shine through the window because it wouldn’t have made sense otherwise how much Seonghwa simply glowed .
San let out his breath, finding himself momentarily breathless and trying to pick up the pieces of himself that he might have left behind him somewhere, and somehow managing to find himself. He was okay. He was going to be okay. He was there and all that could happen next was that they truly meet as people, beyond the realm of business.
San sat himself down and adjusted his chair, feeling apologetic when the legs of the table let out a horrible moan as it scraped against the tile. It was nothing to sweat about, he told himself as he composed himself, adjusting the collar of his shirt when his eyes landed on something small and fluffy on the table.
“Huh? Is that…”
He scooped it up quickly before Seonghwa had a chance to stop him.
A small felt alpaca stared him in the eyes as he held the small handheld-sized creature above him. With its signature long neck and fur-framed face, dainty feet, perky ears, and cute bubbly eyes, San felt like he was looking at a long long friend. In fact, it could have easily been one of Mingi’s, but San had known Mingi’s line-up of alpacas enough to know that this guy wasn’t one of Mingi’s, lost from home. Still, what was it doing there?
Seonghwa’s book was closed hastily and the page he was on was lost. He didn’t seem to mind, though.
“Usually, I make felt kittens over anything else, but I thought I would try my hand at an alpaca after talking to you about your band. I think I get it now, though, what you mean by alpacas being majestic.” Seonghwa laughed like a gentle breeze. “It was my first time, so I don’t know if I got the proportions right, but I looked at a lot of reference pictures. Hopefully it looks okay?”
San’s mouth gaped open, lifting the felt animal just a little higher. “You made this? That’s amazing! It looks just like the ones in our collection! No, it’s even more majestic! It’s magically majestic!”
Seonghwa blushed and lowered his head. “You think so?” he uttered quietly.
A smile started growing on San’s face. He wanted Seonghwa to be proud of his work after creating something that spoke to him so well.
“Yeah! Well, it’s technically Mingi’s collection, but the mascot represents all of us, so it’s really our collection. Hey, do you mind if I take a picture and send it to the boys?”
Seonghwa’s eyebrows raised slightly. He let his hands rest one on top of the other on top of the hardcover book. “Actually, you can bring it to them if you want. I kind of made it for you.”
San’s ears rang in an echo and his mind started running a marathon.
For him. He made it for him. He made it for San. Seonghwa made it for San. Seonghwa made an alpaca for—
“Come see me practice, Seonghwa.”
Without even realizing it, the alpaca he had in his hands were set down on the table and instead, San was firmly grasping onto Seonghwa’s hands, looking into the eyes he had seen the universe in.
“Come to… practice?”
Seonghwa flinched, and San paused for a second to let them go. It was a shame letting go, and it wasn’t until then that he realized that between the touches they had shared, it had always been Seonghwa’s hand laid on him and not the other way around. San felt irrationally giddy, but how could he not, when Seonghwa made a felt alpaca in his free time for him? San had just blurted what was on his mind, but when Seonghwa didn’t answer immediately, he wondered if it was a mistake. Perhaps, Yunho was right and Seonghwa really did have some stern words to tell him. But before Seonghwa could even dream of doing anything of the sort, San pushed out his temporarily brave soul out to the world.
“No, not practice,” San let out.
When Seonghwa’s gaze fell, San realized that what he wanted was for Seonghwa to look at him in the purest, raw form of himself. He wanted Seonghwa to see him at his highest in his absolutely most exposed nature performing on a stage for hundreds. Performing on a stage for hundreds to see, but performing on a stage for one. San held his ground, taking advantage of the momentum of the high he was riding.
“Come see my next concert.”
Seonghwa’s eyes lit up. Ah, the sun, again.
“Concert?”
San tugged on his choker, a small chime ringing weakly, mirroring his confidence but conflicting his determination.
“I want you to come watch me perform. Our next concert is in three weeks, and I want you to be there.” San wanted to look away, but he kept eye contact with his final appeal. “Please.”
Seonghwa smiled. San was enamored.
~~
A heavy-duty clothes cover was pressed between Seonghwa’s arm and his side as he navigated his way through the city with a map on his phone. He had to keep his shoulder raised in order to keep the bottom of it from scraping the floor, so when his arm got tired, he would swivel the cover to his other side. He wouldn't have had to walk all the way if he hadn’t been so distracted that he rode the bus too long and missed his stop. The unintended arm workout was a consequence of his own mistake, though, so he didn’t have much of a right to complain.
An array of neon lights were shining through the dark night, blinding Seonghwa as he squinted trying to read them all. He was in the right area, but finding such a small venue was a bigger task than he had anticipated. Fortunately, he had enough sense to come super early, but unfortunately, it took him much longer to find the backdoor to the venue than he had anticipated. When he burst through the door, he had to squeeze through crowds of fans in order to find the way backstage, and once he found the guards and flashed his business card, they let him through, throwing out a warning that the show would start soon so he had better hurry up. He was barely able to deliver the promised suit to the backroom before he was shoved by sound technicians running last-minute tests.
Feeling entirely out of place, he saw himself out to find a spot in the venue.
Somehow, the concert that night was much, much more populated than the first one Seonghwa went to. Maybe it was partly because it was a Friday night, whereas the first one he went to was held on a Tuesday afternoon. Maybe they had promoted this particular concert better. Maybe, within the short time from when Seonghwa first stepped into their performance until now, they had gained popularity at a terrifyingly rapid rate.
Regardless of the reason, there was only one thought in his head, and it was that it was loud.
He missed being in his quiet little workshop where it was just him and his fabrics. The back of his shirt stuck uncomfortably against his skin as the venue heated up from the crowd. He fanned himself, wondering if he should even be there. His feet slowly took him closer and closer to the backdoor of the venue, though his eyes wouldn’t leave the empty stage. He could have chosen to turn around and leave, give San a pitiful excuse, and leave like he was ready to wake up from a dream. But like the first time, something held him back.
The lights went dim and suddenly the heavy chatter of the crowd fell, and the atmosphere was replaced by a buzz of anticipation. The dark venue provided Seonghwa with the peace he needed to be okay enough to stay, and the bright stage pulled his attention like a flame to a moth. His heart fluttered like wings and his mind went dizzy like the rapid motions the insect would take as it tried to get closer without getting singed. But if San were the sun, Seonghwa didn’t think he would mind if he got burned.
Then, in the spotlight came out all four members, waving as they made their way to their proper positions. Seonghwa’s view was obstructed by wild hands waving back and a few heads bobbing up and down, side to side, each person trying to get a better look.
Seonghwa stayed where he was, frozen in place when he finally saw, even if it was the smallest glimpse of, what San looked like in practicality with the suit that Seonghwa created for him. With hair styled messily for the sole purpose of making San a heartthrob, silver accessories on his neck, wrists, and fingers to spice up his look, that smirk that told the audience that he knew exactly the hearts he was capable of taking, and elegant suit made him look all the more exquisite , Seonghwa almost felt his mouth water from his sudden appetite for more. He watched as San scanned the audience, and when he made eye contact with Seonghwa, he paused for a moment, and his smirk transformed into a smile, eyes softening. San was genuinely glad that Seonghwa was there and that he found him, and he showed it with that lingering gaze. Seonghwa stilled, from his motions to his breath. His surroundings faded into nothingness, and the two things that remained were San and him.
If the world were ending, Seonghwa wouldn’t have noticed. It would have been a grand way to end.
~~
The aftermath of a performance always had San feeling dizzy, but this performance had been more than dizzying. It was electrifying, and the only image burning in San’s mind was the image of Seonghwa standing still, watching only San. He only needed Seonghwa to watch to give his all, to let out the built-up emotions that were crowding in his chest, to release them all and hope they reached his most important audience member, who had been standing at the very back.
He sped through the halls backstage, hearing Mingi utter, “Hey, great job tonight,” when he passed him by, but San wasn’t in his right mind enough to register what was said until it was too late to throw back the support. There was only one goal he was fixated on, and that was to find Seonghwa before he left.
The refreshing night air hit him hard with relief when he barraged outdoors, but he couldn’t be relieved yet. Not until he found him. He ran, tossing a few waves here and there when some lingering fans called his name, but as easy as it was finding Seonghwa in the venue, it seemed almost impossible outside of it. The real world was big, and San was looking for a single person. If it were fate, then it would have been easy. If it were fate, Seonghwa would somehow appear in front of him, searching for him as well. If it were fate.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he was ready to ignore it, but as the crowd eventually dispersed, San realized that Seonghwa wasn’t anywhere to be found. His shoulders dropped when he realized that fate must have just been a myth that let him down. There was nothing more to say and nothing more to do when his goal was lost, so when his phone buzzed again, he picked it up before the fourth ring.
“Your reincarnated lover is backstage, you dingus,” Jongho told him on the line, “he’s the one who came to our last performance halfway through a song, just so you know. That’s probably why he looked so familiar. Mystery solved. Now, get back inside.”
Jongho had hung up the phone before San had a chance to ask questions, and his sense of urgency returned. With his phone still in his hand, he ran back from where he came from, the distance back seeming longer than the original journey out. Maybe it was longer, or maybe time slowed down, but when he finally made it to the room backstage, panting, he was shocked to find that Seonghwa was the only one in the room. He suddenly felt ill-prepared to meet him, even though he had been so eager to prior.
He played with his rings as he carefully closed the door behind him.
“How did you like the concert?” he almost croaked out.
Seonghwa hesitated, and for a moment, San’s heart raced in panic. But then, Seonghwa’s ears turned red as he bashfully replied.
“Really good.”
San stepped closer. “So, uh, Jongho, our drummer, he said that you came to our performance before?”
The redness traveled to Seonghwa’s neck, and goosebumps made his hair stand up there. San was tempted to touch his hairline.
“Ah, yeah, I did. I meant to tell you before, actually. That I knew…”
“You knew? Knew what?”
The redness flowed to Seonghwa’s cheeks, and San realized that his face was quite warm, as well.
“I knew who you were when you came into the shop. Because…”
San swallowed. “Because?”
“Because I couldn’t forget you after seeing you perform. And because I wanted to see you again.”
“Is it okay if I kiss you?”
San had no idea where the sudden boldness came from, but he supposed that he was still in a sort of post-performance high. He sobered up almost immediately after he registered that he asked, though, eyes widened in surprise at himself.
Seonghwa turned his gaze downward as he gripped the hem of his shirt. San’s heart protested the moment of silence. But the answer came more quickly than San would have thought it would.
In a small voice, Seonghwa replied, “Okay.”
San shifted, hands reaching up to either side of Seonghwa’s face, and Seonghwa’s hand found their way to San’s hips. Seonghwa’s eyes still held that same universe that San had seen before but with tenfold the number of stars that could possibly exist in their own universe. Seonghwa’s eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, his eyes slowly closing more with every blink. San took a glance at Seonghwa’s lips, and swiftly, before the last of his courage could flee him, he angled his face up as he pulled Seonghwa’s down to match their lips. There was a familiar fire that rushed through his veins, similar to when Seonghwa had touched him before at the shop, but this fire burned much more intensely and much more brightly. Like the feeling he got on stage, but instead of gaining an abundance of energy from hearing the crowd scream, his surroundings slowed down, becoming molasses as he only focused on the points of contact between him and Seonghwa. Their bodies came closer together and soon he was so dizzy he couldn’t differentiate up from down.
They parted, but every touch became engraved in his memory.
“San.”
San’s entire self was swept with a chill when Seonghwa said his name.
“Yeah?”
Seonghwa let out a soft chuckle, and San was convinced that even if they weren’t reincarnated lovers, fate had indeed brought them together. And if not fate, Cupid. And if not Cupid, it might have been sheer chance. There was no need for an explanation. San liked Seonghwa and Seonghwa liked San and it was as simple as that. San let out a chuckle of his own when he realized that that was all it came down to. He was glad that, whatever the reason, they had such an encounter.
San took Seonghwa’s hand and interlocked their fingers, smiling with all of his heart as he looked up once again to the stars in his universe.