Chapter Text
Beomgyu loves wired earbuds. They make him feel special because everyone else uses wireless earbuds these days; he doesn't because there’s something a little futuristic about them that makes him uncomfortable.
But he does own wireless ones, and, perhaps a little hypocritically, they’re what he actually uses most of the time. The criss-crossing of the wires with his backpack straps when he puts them on in the wrong order drives him nuts. And the way they get yanked out of his ears when he’s not careful enough? Disastrous. When they clatter to the floor and get dirty? Preposterous. And the embarrassing process of untangling the wires from his spiral bound notebooks has definitely made him late to class before. Humiliating and absolutely humbling.
But, if he’s just on a walk in the park, or strolling to the next errand, no interruptions in sight and just himself to worry about, then he goes for the wired earbuds. When he has them on, he feels niche. Mysterious. Someone a stranger could fall in love with at first sight.
Right now, however, he is waking up to a small but distinct pressure on his windpipe, and when he turns on his side, the pressure increases. Beomgyu snaps awake, heart pounding. But it’s just his wires criss-crossing over him, tangled and tightened from getting jumbled in his sleep. He should have slept with his Bluetooth earbuds instead. He tugs at the wires groggily until they’re off, and he lets them plop to the floor by his bed.
Distantly, Beomgyu registers the light coming in through the cracks between his blinds. It’s warm and a little too bright in the way the world tends to be in March, while life is still waking up from winter. The sun is out. The day is probably late. His phone screen blinds him as he checks the time. It’s almost noon. He has class very soon.
He scrolls through his notifications. As of right now, he has:
- 4 messages from his mom, 2 of which seem to be cowritten by his dad,
- 3 messages from his brother,
- 5 messages from Soobin, 2 from 1 a.m. and 3 from a suspicious 4 a.m.,
- 10 messages from Kai, all of which came exactly at midnight,
- and 1 message from Taehyun, 7 a.m., sweet and simple.
Beomgyu responds to precisely none of them. He can deal with it later, perhaps after class. Right now an emotion is crawling up his throat too fast for coherency, and he needs to get dressed and face the sunlight before he can face the people who love him.
Leaving his blinds closed, he pats around his blankets for the softest thing he can reach, a pair of tan sweatpants that are oversized, fluffy, and safe. The hoodie he fell asleep in is also soft and safe. He leaves it on. In the restroom, he brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face. A cursory glance around the apartment confirms that Taehyun has already left for the day, as per usual. He is probably off doing Taehyun-ish things, like building a rocket or something. Whatever it is physics majors do for extracurriculars.
Beomgyu used to have Taehyun’s activities committed to memory without even trying, but Beomgyu has not been able to keep up this time around.
The clock is ticking. He needs to hurry to catch the shuttle, but he can’t help but feel that he’s missing something from his backpack. He has his music theory book, his composition books, his lyric book, his laptop, his headphones; what else could he need? Ah, his phone. And his jacket, of course. It may be March, but it isn’t warm enough to go without a jacket yet. Snow still lingers in gross little piles of grey slush on the city streets, sitting next to bus stops, lining campus paths.
Beomgyu gets on the bus and winces at the hum of people conversing with each other. He feels like everyone is looking at him even though he knows that’s not true. He puts on his wireless earbuds and turns the volume up on a song about snow and rain, doing his best to forget that, today, against all odds, he is turning 22.
Kai and Soobin catch him in the dining hall after class. At some point, they’d memorized his schedule even though Beomgyu is still struggling to remember what classes they’re taking.
“Ah, hyung! Happy birthday!” Kai plops his tray down in front of Beomgyu. Beomgyu jumps a little at the clatter.
“Thank you,” he says with a soft, well-prepared smile.
“You didn’t respond to my texts, jerk. How does it feel to be finally 22?” Soobin says as he slides into the seat next to Beomgyu. His tone is gloating and thoroughly punchable.
Beomgyu glances at him, unimpressed. “You’ve only been 22 for four months. Calm down.”
“That’s still four months more than you,” he sing-songs. “A whole third of the year.”
“Congratulations, Soobin-hyung,” says Kai while stuffing his face with rice. “You can do math…”
Soobin glares at Kai. “Of course I can. I’m a man of the sciences…”
Kai rolls his eyes. “Hyung, you’re a psych major. How much math are you really doing?”
Soobin waves his chopsticks. “A lot more than you think, you bully. I don’t sacrifice all my extra time in a lab to do absolutely nothing. And you’re one to speak. How much math do you do?”
“We’ve been over this so many times,” says Beomgyu.
“You and your silly, silly prejudices,” Kai says at the same time. “Stop discriminating against us music majors! Being a musician is literally like being a mathematician, except we don’t count in tens. Actually, if you’re going to be talking about thirds, then thirds and fourths are our domain. Right, hyung?” He directs his gaze to Beomgyu, who has been pushing around the same piece of kimchi for the past minute. Beomgyu nods.
“Ugh, whatever,” says Soobin. “Anyway… Gyu. Are you listening? Hey. Gyu.”
“Beomgyu-hyunggg,” Kai whines when Beomgyu still doesn’t respond.
Soobin, firmly, “Beoms.”
Kai, imploring, “Hyung!”
Soobin, simpering, “Beomie bear…”
Kai, mischievously, “Gyu…”
“Hey. Watch it,” says Beomgyu at last. “I still demand respect.”
“Heh. No, you don’t… You still love me, hyung.”
Beomgyu sighs.
“So, Gyu… Any plans for your birthday?”
Beomgyu is out of kimchi. He’s finished his soup, too, but there’s rice left. His rice-to-soup ratio is off today. Gently, he spoons the plain rice into the leftover kimchi juice in hopes of getting more flavor.
“Gyu.”
“All right, all right,” Beomgyu concedes. “Do you really need me to say it? Of course I don’t.”
Soobin drums his fingers on the table. “Excellent. That’s what we like to hear.”
“You want me to be a loner?”
“No! Because you have us! Can you promise me that you’ll be in the apartment with Tae tonight? At eight?” Soobin cups his chin in both his hands and flutters his eyelashes at Beomgyu, while Kai does the same. Beomgyu wrinkles his nose. Kai is pretty cute, but Soobin… Beomgyu is fairly certain that this is evidence of Kai rubbing off on Soobin. Actually, he hadn’t even realized that Kai and Soobin have been spending more time together lately. The guilt rolls in his stomach.
“I’ll try,” he finally responds.
“You mean you will. Tae tells us that you don’t leave your room much anymore,” says Soobin.
Something in Beomgyu stings at that, but he turns it into a pout instead. “Tyun is never even in the apartment because he’s so busy being a physics major. How would he know?”
“Ah, a true man of the sciences,” Kai pipes up, eager to cause chaos. “Tell me, Soobin-hyung, what do you think it’d feel like to be a true man of the sciences?”
“Oh, you’re dead meat—”
The shriek of Kai’s pleased laughter rings through the cafeteria before Soobin slaps a hand over his mouth.
“Quiet, you dog. Hey!” Soobin removes his hand from Kai with a look of disgust.
“You call me a dog, I lick like a dog. Woof, woof, bitch.”
“Respect.”
“Bitch-hyung.”
Soobin sighs at him. “Don’t you need to be going soon?”
Kai’s eyes dart between Soobin and Beomgyu, flashing nervously, then land on Soobin with a warning glare before settling back into a neutral expression. Soobin’s face jumps with surprise, then understanding, then embarrassment. He lowers his head to sip at his soup, but the tips of his ears are noticeably pink.
Beomgyu picks up on this weird exchange and raises an eyebrow at Kai. “Where are you going?”
“Ah…” Kai gives Soobin another nervous glance. “It’s a board meeting for… the music club…”
Beomgyu was… expecting this, actually. The tension that settled so fast and heavy at the table was hint enough. That’s why his response, “Oh, exciting! How are you enjoying presidency?” is as calculatingly casual as he can manage. Because casual is what he needs to be for Kai. And he is casual. He is calm.
It must work because Kai’s face brightens. “It’s so much more work than I imagined, but it’s really fascinating how much goes on behind the scenes. Coordinating with the music department is the most interesting part, by far.” He sighs in contentment. “I feel really connected to the community now, you know?”
“I’m happy for you, Kai. But take it easy when you need to, all right?”
“Of course, of course.” He smiles. “But honestly, I don’t know how you did this all of last year. It’s only been two weeks into the semester and I already feel so overwhelmed… You made being president look so easy. I was so excited for another year with you at the helm.” Kai trails off. “Are you… Are you sure you don’t want to take the presidency back? It’s not too late — we haven’t done the first general meeting yet.”
“I’m sure, Kai. I just don’t have time anymore. That’s all.”
Kai and Soobin exchange a glance, so brief that Beomgyu almost doesn’t catch it.
Soobin chimes in. “I just never imagined you’d let it go. You always seemed to love this club more than anything. Literally, anything.”
“Ah, well. Life calls, I guess,” says Beomgyu. “Kai, don’t you have a meeting to go to?”
Kai springs up. “Right! I’ll tell Tae you said hi! He’s such a great treasurer; he makes my life so much easier as president. I wish you could have had him as your treasurer too… Ahh… I need to go… Bye guys! And have a happy joyful splendid birthday!”
Soobin’s face is still practically glued to his bowl of tofu stew.
Beomgyu clears his throat.
“So, what is this whole thing about being a man of the sciences?” he asks.
“I’m sorry that we brought it up,” Soobin apologizes in a rush.
Beomgyu scrunches his nose.
“The music club thing, I mean,” Soobin clarifies.
“You’re so funny, Soob. All three of you are in the music club, let alone both Kai and Tae being board members. It would have been impossible to avoid the topic,” says Beomgyu. “And I don’t care either way. I’m happy that I gave the presidency to Kai, and I still stand by my decision.” The look he gives Soobin dares him to talk back. Soobin seems like he wants to say more, but, thankfully, he drops the topic, nodding.
“So… Back to my question. What’s up with being a man of the sciences?” asks Beomgyu.
“Ah, I’ve just been worried lately about being a psych major.” Soobin taps his spoon against the edge of his bowl. “I feel like I would be a more competitive option for grad schools if I were a neuroscience major instead, but it’s too late to pick up the extra requirements for that… I guess I just got it into my head that psych isn’t a real science, and it’s been hard to stay motivated because of that.”
Beomgyu’s heart breaks at this. Soobin, the biggest hater he knows, rarely gets dejected on account of what others say because he would rather trash-talk them into an early grave, so this must have been bothering him a lot. “Oh, Soob… You know you’re incredibly smart. I’m sure that even if your major makes a difference, all the research you’ve done and the papers you’ve submitted more than make up for it. You’ve done so much important work already.”
Soobin laughs. “Thanks, Beoms. You always know what to say. Don’t worry, though, I know. Kai and Taehyunnie have reassured me of the same already.”
“Ah… really?”
“Yeah. Tae’s been surprisingly helpful about this. He’s been sending me resources about grad school apps and, weirdly enough—don’t judge—Reddit threads about similar experiences.” He hums, a vulnerable look entering his eyes. “Not to be so cheesy out of nowhere, but I’ve been a bit stressed about this ever since the semester began. I know it’s only two weeks into the semester, but the fact that we’re in our last year is really starting to hit. So, I’m glad that I have so many supportive friends to help me through these things. Like you. I’m glad that we get to graduate together, Gyu.” Soobin smiles warmly, oblivious to the way Beomgyu’s heart is dropping to his stomach.
Beomgyu laughs, but it sounds wrong to his own ears. “Why am I not surprised that Taehyun is already ahead on this stuff even as a third-year?”
“I know, right! He puts us fourth-years to shame. He was probably more prepared to graduate as a firstie than the two of us are now…”
Beomgyu hums lightly in agreement, letting silence fall at the table, quiet but for the sounds of them eating the rest of their meal.
Soobin, as he finishes off his soup, scoots closer. “Hey, Gyu.”
The hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Soob?”
“I have my next class in half an hour, so I wanted to get this out before I run out of time.” He takes a deep breath. “None of us have seen you very often lately… and you just seem more tired than usual. Is everything all right?” He enunciates his words slowly and clearly as if approaching a nervous animal. Beomgyu unconsciously tightens his grip on his chopsticks.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m just busy. You know. Final year things…”
“Right, right,” says Soobin, nodding in acknowledgment of the conversation they just had. “You’ll tell us if anything is wrong, right?”
“Of course,” he says again. Not even Beomgyu himself knows if this is a lie. “Let’s clean up,” he says. He grabs his tray and heads toward the dish return pile without checking to see if Soobin is following.
That’s all right. He doesn’t need to be followed. He doesn’t think he wants to be followed.
In his last year of college, overachiever Choi Beomgyu quits all his clubs and part-time jobs, citing the need to devote all his energy towards finding a job after graduation. The thing is, Choi Beomgyu has not been an overachiever in a long, long time. He sits in his bed and gazes out the window at the changing sky, work piling up on his desk, empty cups taking over every surface. His guitar is collecting dust from disuse. He can’t bring himself to put it back in its cover. His friends do not see him for days at a time. The only songs he listens to are love songs about heartbreak, but he himself has never been in love with anything but the dark fantasies that cradle his mind and cushion his senses.
Sometimes, he wonders if anyone will see that there is a problem inside him. Life forms itself around the bubble he has encased himself in.
Most notably, he has quit the music club, the organization to which he devoted three whole years of his life with guts and indomitable passion. The presidency has passed to his friend, Kai, musical genius, piano extraordinaire, the beloved younger brother of the university music department. No one knows what Beomgyu is up to now, not even his own friends.
And especially not at this particular moment. Beomgyu, ever since he was a first year, has had a habit of finding random spots on campus to mope, away from everyone’s eyes. To him, there is something rather pathetic but still romantic about brooding in hidden corners, places he is not meant to be.
When he was especially homesick that first year, he took joy in finding the strangest, most liminal spaces to cry in, alone, because something about the hollowness felt like a deliberate press and dig into the growing bruise that was his desire to go home; the less familiar, the better the pain. These spaces allowed him to imagine teleporting right back into his family's arms. And he liked leaving the impression of his existence on these spaces, the wet of his tears staining the soil, the salt that gets left behind crystallizing into the concrete. One particular favorite was a grove behind the fine arts hall that looked straight out of a European fairy tale. Another was a lounge chair wedged underneath a window between two biochemistry labs in the physical sciences building.
Right now, he is in a random dance studio on campus, one of many in the performing arts center. Usually he likes locking himself up in one of the music practice rooms to cry with the excellent soundproofing, but going to the music wing is too risky these days. He wouldn’t know how to explain himself to any of the members of the music club. More importantly, he doesn’t want to run into Kai or Taehyun. Taehyun may not be a music major, but he and Kai often record covers together to post on their cozy little Youtube channel. It’s adorable, really. But he cannot take another birthday wish right now.
He lays on his side and stares at himself in the mirror. The lights in the studio are off. The more he stares at himself, the more he starts to feel like a word. Like that feeling he gets when he reads a word over and over until it’s less reading and more looking, and the word loses meaning and becomes only a silly little shape to look at. Looking, looking, looking. That’s all he feels right now, staring at himself in the mirror. There is no particular meaning to him. All he is is this, right here, right now. A silly little shape.
The lights flick on. Beomgyu suppresses a gasp and sits up instantly, spinning around to meet eyes with the intruder.
Big mistake. Right now, he is nothing more than a weirdo lying down in a dark dance studio, and it is one thing to make eye contact with some random stranger who wants the room; it is another thing entirely to make eye contact with the most unrealistically handsome stranger Beomgyu has ever seen.
It’s difficult to say if the stranger is more handsome or pretty. Maybe it’s more of an unfair blend of both. Such a sharp jawline… such a pouty mouth… such fluffy hair… such a lithe figure despite being so tall…
“Um, hey. Sorry to interrupt,” the stranger says, scratching the back of his neck as he walks towards the mirrors. “I have the studio reserved for the next couple of hours.”
Beomgyu scrambles up to leave. “Of course. I’m so sorry. I was just. Uh. I’ll get out of your way.” He gathers his jacket and his headphones and gets to the door, speeding past the guy to reach the door.
At the last second, he can’t help but look backwards to steal another glance at the guy. What? Beautiful things should be admired. Or people.
Beomgyu startles to see the stranger staring right back at him. The two of them still.
“You didn’t finish your sentence,” the stranger says.
“H-huh?”
“You said you were just… and then you said something else. What were you just doing?”
Wow, Beomgyu thinks. Even the way he speaks is beautiful. Objectively, there is nothing special about what the stranger is saying. But Beomgyu is starstruck. Was he always this shallow? This weak for a pretty face? That’s pretty fucked, honestly. He’s not happy about it, except he is also very happy about it. Who wouldn’t be happy about seeing something so lovely? Uh…
“I was moping.” Beomgyu cringes at himself. Why would he say that? Why would he reveal such a dumb, useless, cringeworthy detail—
The stranger laughs. “Oh, really? I came here to mope too.”
Beomgyu stills in shock. “You?!”
“Yeah… Wait, why do you sound so surprised?”
“You don’t look like you came here to mope.”
“Oh yeah? Then what do I look like I came here to do?”
Beomgyu flushes at the flirtiness in his tone. “…Dance?”
The way the guy chuckles makes Beomgyu flush even harder. “Yeah… that’s how I mope, actually. Hence why I’m here. I dance for a living, and I dance to mope my feelings out too. Isn’t that lame?” His chuckle at the end had a vulnerable, self-deprecating edge to it. Beomgyu latches on to it immediately. His dad once told him that the difference between a good person and a bad person is what they do with the pieces of another person’s heart; either they kiss it hello and goodbye, or they laugh at it; the choices very closely resemble one another, but the distinction is crucial. He was told that he would spend the entire rest of his life searching for this distinction in every heart he encounters.
“I— I think that’s lovely, actually,” says Beomgyu slowly. “My life is music, but I still use music to mope. For literally everything, actually. Even when I’m moping about music itself.”
“You make music?” He sounds contemplative.
“Yes… What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks. A panic is rising in his chest.
“Nothing, nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been struggling with music lately. It’s affecting my dance. But nevermind.”
At that moment, Beomgyu’s phone rings. The two of them both jump a little, the stranger more so. Is he easily startled? That’s adorable.
When Beomgyu sees the caller ID and the time written on his screen, he freaks out. He’s already ten minutes late to his own birthday celebration, and Taehyun is calling to track him down. Kang Taehyun on a mission is not a man to be trifled with. Soobin and Kai, the weaselly little bastards, are probably hiding behind Taehyun’s stupid muscles to threaten and bully Beomgyu. And it’s working.
Beomgyu jolts and readjusts everything hanging from his arms—his jacket, his scarf, his phone, etc. He yells out an obligatory thank you without knowing what he’s thanking him for before accepting Taehyun’s call and shooting the stranger a smile as a goodbye. Perhaps part of him was too nervous to have a normal goodbye.
But he pays for it later when he realizes that he never even got the stranger’s name.
Beomgyu steps back into his apartment that is suspiciously dark for only a split second before everything explodes into light and color and noise.
“Surprise!” and “Happy birthday!” from all corners. They all have dumb little conical hats on. Kai has streamers in his hair while Soobin has frosting on his nose. Taehyun looks impeccable, as always. They approach him to give him a dumb little conical hat of his own, not forgetting to snap the string on his chin as they do so, ignoring his whine of protest, of course. Beomgyu watches his friends with a painful fondness bubbling inside him even as his shame eats at him. The things they don’t know. The things he wishes they knew. The things he hopes they will never know. He sees the badly strewn yellow banner with "HBD CHOI BEOMS!” scrawled across in bright blue and magenta acrylic paint, folded over the edges of the couch with the cake sitting precariously on top of it to hold it down. He smells the familiar aroma of seaweed soup wafting through the apartment. He misses his mom so badly. When they ask Beomgyu to blow out his candles, he wishes that this single image of them looking all colorful and messy, like children, will stay in his memory forever, clear as day. He wishes that they will never graduate. He wishes for peace. He wishes for solitude. He wishes that the last year had never happened. But it did, and even now, surrounded by so much love, it is impossible to forget because it is not over and it never will be. But he is surrounded by love. It is his birthday. If there were ever an excuse to allow himself some joy, that excuse is today.
He smiles. He blows out his candles. Everything else can come tomorrow.