Chapter Text
Jisung heard a knock at his dorm door.
“Coming! I’m coming! Gimme a sec!”
He hastily shoved the remainder of the messy pile of socks, underwear, and t-shirts over the unopened vodka bottle in the bottom drawer of his dresser.
Jisung had surreptitiously checked and re-checked that it was actually hidden for the past hour. It was probably against his best interest as he wanted to keep it hidden from his tight-laced room mate too.
It was his first room inspection of his freshman year, and he couldn’t get in trouble before classes even started. But he needed that bottle, he was going to a party to ring in the new school year, and there was little chance of him getting another if he got caught.
“Just don’t get too shit-faced,” Chan had said when he handed Jisung the bottle earlier that day.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chan continued, “Call me if you get too drunk to stand, but don’t make me regret this. I’m only doing this because I owe you one for helping me write my final for my composition class last semester.”
“What would your professor have said if she’d known a high schooler wrote the lyrics for you?” Jisung had taunted while shoving the vodka into his backpack.
He was not feeling so confident now. The bottle felt like a ticking bomb as he approached the door to let the RA inside.
Except when he opened the door, the bespectacled, toothy RA was not there. In his place was the most beautiful person Jisung had ever seen in his life.
The boy’s oversized hoodie, cat slippers, and generally frazzled appearance did not distract Jisung from the stranger’s statuesque facial features and strong frame.
“You’re not the RA,” Jisung managed to blurt out.
“No, I’m not,” the boy said blunty. He carefully took off a backpack that Jisung just realized he was wearing and unzipped the biggest pocket about halfway.
“Will you hide my cat from the RA?” the boy said, and opened the bag enough for Jisung to see inside.
“You've got to be kidding me. Am I being hazed?,” Jisung thought incredulously.
But sure enough, there was a small tabby with a white chin and white socks curled unsurely inside the stranger’s backpack.
“He’s very sweet and playful. I just need you to hide him for a few minutes while the RA looks around. Can you? Please?”
Jisung was already filled to the brim with nerves about starting classes tomorrow, his first real party, and his first dorm inspection with a full liter of vodka burning a hole in his dresser drawers. He was not a calm person, by any stretch of the imagination. He would like to think people thought him cool, hip, even swag if you will, if not relaxed and easy-going. Usually this kind of pressure would be enough to crack his already thin veneer of confidence.
However, looking at this boy’s pleading face, Jisung couldn’t imagine saying anything but “yes” to his request.
The boy’s face morphed into a gleaming grin as he shoved the bag into Jisung’s hands and started power walking away.
“Thanks so much. You saved Dori and my ass,” he called over his shoulder.
“Huh?” Jisung responded, wondering who owned what ass.
“Dori. That’s his name.”
“What’s your name?” Jisung called to his back. But, either the boy ignored him or didn’t hear him because he gave no response.
From inside the room behind Jisung, a voice sighed, “That’s Lee Minho. We met at orientation. Did he just give you his fucking cat?”
Jisung sheepishly turned to face his roommate, Seungmin.
“I’m fairly certain he’s coming back.”
Seungmin sighed again and flopped back down onto his top bunk, “If you get busted, I’m claiming no responsibility over this and requesting an immediate room transfer.”
Three months earlier
Jisung was waiting nervously in the audience for his number to be called to take his turn on the stage for entry into the performing arts program.
Everyone auditioning today was a high achiever. They were making them watch each other’s performances to psych them out. Jisung was sure of it. It was working in his case at least.
He had seen at least a dozen performances in his category, vocal, but not one of them had rapped yet. They all had bright musical theater or rich operatic voices. There had been quite a few students who performed their own songs like he was going to (one even funny enough to pull a laugh out of Jisung even in his anxious state) but there had been no performances like his yet. He was beginning to worry that rapping might disqualify him from the scholarship entirely.
The judges had already stopped one boy in the middle of his performance and made another girl cry, so when Jisung’s number was called for the on-deck position his nerves threatened to snap.
He tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths while walking to take his place in the wings. As Jisung took his spot stage left in the dark, the boy who he would later know as Lee Minho was taking his spot center stage in the spotlight.
“Number 242, a dance entry, correct?” one of the judges said.
“Yes,” Minho said, but he was too far away from the microphone for it to pick up his voice.
“Speak into the microphone, dear,” the judge said impatiently.
“Yes,” Minho said again but now the mic was practically inside his mouth. It gave a feedback screech that made Jisung clap his hands over his ears and finally look up from his breathing exercise. Jisung noticed Minho for the first time.
Just like their second meeting, Minho’s disheveled appearance did not hide his handsomeness from Jisung. His hair was pushed back with a headband and was sticking up in weird directions. He was sweating under the stage lights, a V of sweat already beginning to form on the back of his blue t-shirt. Minho’s shirt was tucked into his pants, giving a strange bulk to what Jisung assumed would otherwise be a trim waist. Overall, he seemed a little awkward and a little unsure, but Jisung was too. He just hid it better.
Gracefully ignoring the microphone feedback, the judge said, “I believe your number is different, but I think I remember your face from auditions last year. Is that right?”
”Last year?” Han thought. ”So, he’s trying again? That takes a lot of nerve.”
“Yes,” Minho said for a third time, this time getting the distance correct so that his voice carried properly through the microphone.
“Okay, you’d better impress me. You submitted your track ahead of time. It says that on your sheet. Please take your position and queue the soundbox when you’re ready.”
Minho did not respond verbally this time. He simply moved upstage and took his starting position, which seemed to be kneeling. He nodded to the sound person and moved his gaze to the floor.
The music started. It was a popular song from several years ago. It had been just enough time for it to stop being overplayed and start feeling nostalgic. Jisung thought it was a good choice.
As soon as he started moving, Minho’s awkwardness and uncertainty vanished. His steps were smooth and sure, practiced and easy. It looked like he was born to dance this routine. Minho seemed to have slid into a flow state where nothing but the routine could touch him. Jisung didn’t think himself much of a dancer but he was familiar with that feeling only a performance could provide.
When Minho was done, he stood with his shoulders rolled back and his face to the sky. From his vantage point in the wings, Jisung could see his adam's apple bob from breaths of exertion. It sent a shock through him for reasons he didn’t understand. Maybe he was just shocked at the quality of number 242’s performance.
“You can relax now. You did a good job,” the judge said to Minho with a smile in her voice. “Much better than last year. You can go when you’re ready.”
Minho gave a soft smile and a small bow before he humbly left the stage.
That was more praise than Jisung heard any of the judges give all day. If he could get into the same flow state would the judges not care about his unconventional audition choices?
“Number 244 on deck! Number 243, you’re up!” a stage hand called.
Jisung could feel his stomach start to rise up his throat, but he pushed them down again. He was going to be great. Amazing even. He had even helped write the song he was going to audition with. Chan and Changbin and him were a good trio. He just had to perform like that dancer before him. He knew how that felt. Jisung could do this.
“Number 243. You are a vocal entry.” A different judge seemed disinterested and looked at their papers.
“Yes, I am. Can I take the mic out of the stand?” Jisung said. He had to reach a bit up on his toes to reach where the mic had been set, which felt a little undignified.
The judge looked up blinking from their papers. No other student had taken the mic out of the stand. “I can’t imagine that would be a problem. Would it?” The question was directed at the sound guy. He gave a thumbs up, so Jisung took that as his sign.
“Queue when you’re ready.”
Jisung nodded at the sound guy and took a deep breath.
As soon as the music started, the performance felt automatic and natural to him. He liked this song especially. The lyrics were singsong-y rap followed by an upbeat, swinging chorus. It showcased his speed and diction as well as his range. He didn’t choreograph per say but he had performed this song countless times the same way in front of a mirror.
This feeling is what got him hooked on performance. It was like a rush of confidence kicked in to replace his usual anxieties. It was calming and exhilarating at the same time.
Jisung was suddenly done with his song in a whirl. He stood onstage reeling.
“An interesting choice,” one of the judges commented. “We’ve had a few other students audition with rap but not many. I also think I might recognize the name of the artist of your song, but I’m not sure.”
“Artists,” Jisung blurted, emphasizing the “s”.
“Sir,” he added this time, “It’s a three person group. I’m part of it.”
“Oh, I remember now,” a different judge said, “I had one of them in my composition class. The other two are already students here, correct?”
“Yes, they are.”
“You do realize that your place is not guaranteed just because they are already enrolled, understand?”
Jisung’s stomach threatened to leave his body through his mouth again.
“However, you gave a very good performance, so I don’t think we will need to worry about any kind of nepotism argument.”
Jisung’s stomach dropped back to its proper place and his heart soared.
Did he hear her correctly? Did that mean what he thought it meant?
He texted Chan and Changbin about the audition immediately after he was dismissed. He told them all about his performance and what the judges said and how he gained confidence after watching that dancer.
He thought and over thought every single event of the audition that week until he got an email titled “SCHOLARSHIP RESULTS”.
Jisung hastily called Chan and, by extension, Changbin. They had an apartment together.
“I cannot open this email alone,” Jisung said. “What if I didn’t get in? What if I’m a failure and a fraud and not even good enough for your stupid school?”
“S’not stupid!” Jisung heard Changbin’s muffled yell in the background.
“You wouldn’t say that if you were studying for the finals we’re studying for. They’re definitely not for the faint of heart,” Chan agreed with Changbin. He sounded tired. But, honestly, when did he not sound tired these days? He had plunged head first into college, attempting to get a double major in music composition and music business.
“I know they’re not stupid,” Jisung relented. He sighed, “I really, really, really want to do those crazy hard finals. You guys are learning so much! I need to be able to keep up with you guys when we produce together.”
“You keep up just fine-” Chan tried to comfort before Changbin butted in, closer to the phone this time.
“Jisung’s right, Channie. If he doesn’t get in we’re gonna become geniuses and leave you in the dust. So open the damn email, and find out if you’re gonna become a genius with us.”
Jisung could barely hear Chan’s spluttered negations over his own groan of frustration.
“I just really need to have support right now. Please? It’s only like a 20 minute bus ride over to my place.”
“I would love to but I still need to write lyrics for this piece. It’s due tomorrow at 9am. It’s giving me trouble.”
“Make Jisung write them. He’s asking you to leave your beloved computer cave.” Changbin said. He wasn’t actually serious, but Jisung was ready to do anything to get his friends over to support him.
“If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it,” Jisung said.
There was a pause. “You really meant it?” Chan asked.
“Cross my heart and swear to die,” Jisung said sincerely.
Another pause. “We’ll be there in twenty-five.” Chan said, and hung up.
Jisung waited with baited breath until he heard his mom invite them into their house.
He opened the email, and of course, he was accepted. They both cheered for him, and patted him too forcefully on the back in their praise. Jisung wrote with lyrics in half an hour, which Chan bemoaned would have taken him all night.
Chan and Changbin passed their exams. The summer passed in a blur. Jisung moved into his first year dorm. He met his Christian boy with a guitar type roommate. He met a few interesting performance majors at orientation that invited him to a beginning of the year party. Chan got him a bottle of vodka as a favor for those lyrics that helped him pass to take to that party.
And, now, Jisung was standing in his bedroom holding a bag with a meowing cat in a slightly ratty backpack and enough alcohol in his dorm to get him expelled from his dream school a few minutes before his RA was supposed to search his dorm.
And, Jisung was pretty sure it was all because of Lee Minho.