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“Dylan is doing what ?” Jun stared first at Pepper, then at Nano.
Pepper sighed. “I just told you. He’s coaching GUMP. Rap.”
Jun, his face a mixture of confusion and consternation, sank into the scruffy chair in the corner of the dressing room the remnants of MARS had adopted as their personal lair in the Oner buildings. “Does someone have a death wish ? Who on earth would choose Dylan to coach vulnerable young trainees ? Or are they trying to destroy another t-pop group before it even gets going ?”
“But he’s very good at rap,” Nano protested, as he sat in front of the mirror, applying eyeliner. “Why shouldn’t he help GUMP ?”
“Nano ? Have you lost your mind ? This is Dylan we are talking about. The master of darkness himself. Him with the cutting wit and the sharpest tongue in the business. He’ll reduce those delicate babies to nervous wrecks before the day’s out. And then there will be more people sobbing in staircases…”
Pepper shifted uneasily in his chair, self-consciously aware of his recent tears after breaking it all off with P’Gan. “It could be seen as a good thing. That Oner is actually planning to use us after all this comes to an end.”
“Use us ? As what ? They’ll get me writing songs for Ice to ruin ? Are you management material ? I can just picture you in a suit, striding around the top floor, ruining the life of people like me.”
At least I could be a manager with a girlfriend, Pepper thought to himself, hit anew with a sudden yearning for P’Gan, a physical longing, his body remembering how her slim figure nestled so well into his… he shook himself, trying to clear his mind. “Anyway,” he said, taking deep breath after deep breath, wishing he’d followed up on the meditation course he’d once started. “Anyway, I think it will do Dylan good. Get him out of his room. He’s moping again, you know.” He glared at Jun. “I don’t know what it is between you two, but somewhere along our journey, your relationship has really got messed up.”
What relationship, Jun thought to himself. Those quickly abandoned fumbles as raw rookies, when teenage hormones and a sudden attraction had led them to a furtive kiss in the locker room, passion flaring, blood surging, that rush of overwhelming emotions which sent them tumbling into bed together ? Those moments he tried to forget, to erase from his mind, to pretend it had never, ever happened. Those amazing, fleeting hours spent together, Dylan’s pale but surprisingly muscular frame wrapped around his body, the way his mouth… Jun shut down the memories with almost an audible snap, the locks he had put on his mind, so necessary for his survival, had become an automatic gesture over the years. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t remember. For his sanity, for his heart, for his mind.
How could something that had only lasted a matter of days still have such a hold on him years later, he wondered idly, as he glared into the make-up mirror in the corner of their self-imposed prison in the Oner building. That brief passion had been swiftly followed by a triple blow of disillusion. First, a new batch of trainees had their class, with new rivals that included the supremely talented Nano. Then they received a revised contract had included a new, longer section with clear restrictions on dating. Both bad, but rules had never really bothered him, and he was, until then, quietly confident in his ability to succeed with whatever he set his mind to, and to ignore what didn’t suit him.
But the nail in the coffin of their relationship had been the bad review from their main coach. The words - inattention, lack of focus, laziness - had stung him to the core. And the faint hint that he might lose his place in the elite group…. That night, pacing round the room, he’d broken it off once and for all. “We’re not doing this any more,” he remembered saying to Dylan. His voice must have sounded cold, icy even, but, inside he’d struggled to keep his voice from shaking. “I can’t let this take me away from my dreams. I have to make it.” And he’d turned his back on the stunned Dylan, asked for a change of position in class so he no longer had to look at the silver head, huge dark eyes and almost delicate features. Shortly after the groups had been rearranged and for over a year he had barely seen Dylan, right up until MARS had been put together.
It was strange, Jun thought, as he left the room without a word to Pepper or Nano, his mind elsewhere. There were moments when he thought that Dylan had actually forgotten him and their brief relationship. Of course, their paths had crossed in group numbers and songs during the remainder of his trainee period, but Jun had clung to Thame, who had become his safe house, his refuge, and had steadfastly ignored the rapper who had previously made his heart soar. It must have worked, because when the five of them were announced as the successful group members, and brought together in a big TV spectacular, Dylan had acted as if they were virtual strangers. They had even shaken hands, a strange, unfamiliar greeting on a gaudy stage set. And living together in the MARS house, he’d grown accustomed to having Dylan there, a constant, brooding, silent presence, only coming alive on stage or when he was presenting a new song to the group.
Or rather, almost accustomed. Because there were moments when unwelcome memories surged in his mind. Like the time Dylan, behind on the washing, had streaked through the kitchen to the laundry room, the smallest of towels around his nether regions, and his thoughts were invaded by an almost physical recollection of Dylan’s lithe body wrapped around his eager one…. Or that sickening waves of jealousy that had hit him as he’d watched Thame and Dylan bond. He’d quickly put a stop to that…
And then there had been Po. Jun was not even sure himself what he felt about Po. He found the man intensely attractive, that mix of ethereal beauty and a surprisingly muscular body, a swimmer’s body. And he liked working with him, finding him both efficient and imaginative, and with a certain restfulness in his ways. Would he have taken him to bed ? In an instant. Was he ready to fight Thame for him ? Possibly, but it was more for the fun of the fight than with any real ambition. Because he’d eventually seen that his beloved bandmate really loved the video director, that Po had finally awakened the emotions which Thame had seemed to be immune to, all those messy, inopportune things that had hit the rest of them in their teens.
He couldn’t help wondering how Thame was coping, his relationship with Po at an end, forced apart by Miss Pemika and the ONER corporation. But ONER had broken MARS too, forcing them apart. He still didn’t understand exactly why the company was so dismissive of their potential. They had sold millions, their Sphere of fans were devoted, they had sold out their concert in a matter of minutes. So why were they so keen to destroy them ? He could only imagine that this deal with South Korea must be worth more to ONER than a single successful T-pop group, and someone, somewhere, had seen Thame as the golden goose. A goose ready to be plucked, with them as the unfortunate rubbish ready for the trash…
Without taking a conscious decision, Jun realised he had reached the suite of practice rooms reserved for the various artists on ONER’s active roster. He caught sight of Ice, clad only in skin-tight leggings, dancing in front of a huge mirror, and paused to admire the way the man’s muscles moved like silk under his glistening skin. Jun thought he was a vapid idiot, but there was no denying his beauty.
The next room, however, was more interesting. Although it was soundproofed, the narrow window allowed a view inside. Two young men appeared to be glaring at each other across the room. One, silver-haired and sharp features, stood, hands on hips, in one corner. And the other, wavy dark hair and huge eyes, appeared to be crying.
“I knew it, I fucking knew it,” Jun muttered to himself. “You can’t let someone like Dylan work with newbies like FLUMP, or whatever they are called…”. For a moment he debated barging into the room, to rescue whoever the sobbing trainee was, and berate Dylan for terrorising babies. But he realised that it might not have the desired effect. And then he remembered the control centre, up a floor, which gave a view into all the practice rooms, video and audio. He could see exactly what was going on. Not that it was generally open, but there were few places in the ONER building that Jun didn’t have access to.
Sure enough, the control centre door gave way to his keycard, carefully fostered and augmented over the years, giving him privileges that would surprise most of the ONER management. It included a gallery overlooking each of the rooms. “Bingo,” he muttered as he looked down to where two figures glared at each other across a sound stage. He flicked a switch on the control panel, and the room was filled with their voices.
“Stop crying. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Jun was surprised; Dylan didn’t usually sound so … soft.
The trainee - Jun wished he could remember the lad’s name - sniffed loudly, wiped a hand across his eyes, and glared at Dylan, fire suddenly in his eyes. “Then you shouldn’t have said it like that !” he said.
Good for you, newbie, Jun thought. Was this going to be the moment when Dylan stormed out or worse ?
But instead, Dylan took a step forward and put a hand on the trainee’s shoulder. “Listen, Yos,” he said, in a voice quite unlike his usual sarcastic drawl. “I wasn’t making fun of your feelings when I criticised your lyrics. Yes, you have to dredge up those emotions, use the way you feel to shape the words, to blend it into the rhythm so that you make the audience feel, feel something deep inside. Take those raw feelings, but adapt, change, blend them. I don’t want to hear the actual love story, I want you to surround it with layers and give me that whole package. Do you get me ?”
Above in the viewing gallery, Jun listened, transfixed by the way Dylan was talking, by the mastery he was showing, and he found himself nodding, as if the words were meant for him as well.
“I - I think so,” Jun heard the trainee reply, his voice breaking slightly, the trace of tears on his cheeks. He remembered the name now, it was Payos, known as Yos. Cute. A really good dancer.
“Look, Nong,” Dylan spoke again, and Jun was amazed at the almost tenderness in his voice. “We’ve all been through it, as trainees. They do everything they can to break us. Throw us together then tear us apart. They want to form groups that love each other, but they don’t want us to form friendships, let alone fall in love. It’s cruel, it’s almost inhuman, I even feel it must breach some human rights. But it’s what we have to do if we want to reach our goals. And I presume that’s what you want.”
“I only really started this because Tae wanted it so desperately,” Yos said in a low voice. “And then it caught me in its vices, and I realised I was actually good at it, and I wanted to succeed. But Tae hardly speaks to me any more, and Moo… he’s just a singing, dancing doll since he had to break up with P’Kang. I am beginning to wonder if it was all worth it.” He stared at Dylan. “You’re part of MARS. Tell me, is it worth it ?”
Dylan gave a short, characteristic, almost bitter laugh. “It definitely has its moments. You’ll see. Fame isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be, and there are times when I’ve had my doubts, I’but I’m glad I got there. There is just nothing quite like performing on a giant stage with thousands of screaming fans, just watching you. Just knowing you are reaching people. I definitely won’t be doing this for the rest of my life, but it’s setting me up in the industry so that, eventually, I can do exactly what I want.”
“Did - did you have to give anyone up ?” Yos asked in a wavering. “When you were a trainee, I mean.”
And Jun found he was holding his breath as Dylan took a step backwards, towards the corner of the room, as if he was protecting himself. “I - I did,” Dylan said eventually in a low voice. “But even if love has to turn to hate to get you through it, you do eventually come out the other side, and you find you are still alive. And that sort of experience shapes your work, your words. You use it, you grow, you survive.”
“Do - do you still have feelings for them ?” Yos asked after a pause.
“That’s private, Nong. But let’s say, some things never change. You just learn to live with them. I did. You will too.”
Yos nodded. “Thank you, Phi. That helps.”
Dylan gave a brief nod. “Then try again, and take your pain and make me _feel_ those words.”
Soundlessly, Jun flipped the switch off, and moved away from the viewing gallery. But instead of leaving, he sat in the darkness at the back of the control room, his mind in a whirl as he replayed Dylan’s words in a loop. Some things never change.
That was so true.
There was no point trying to rewind time. Given the same situation, he would have taken the same decision. Gone through the same pain. It was the sort of break that had to be done in one go, like pulling a plaster off. But deep down, everything that had caused him to pull Dylan into his arms all those years ago, was still exactly the same. And given the right circumstances, if he could ever get past the prickly carapace the rapper had built up over the years, he’d do it again. And this time, to hell with the consequences.
Things were changing. He could feel it. Thame, Pepper, the end of MARS, even this new group - MUMP ? JUMP - it all seemed to be moving inexorably in one direction. As if there just needed to be a catalyst somewhere along the line to make it all explode…
He got up, and glanced down at the studio opposite, where Ice was still dancing, his back glistening with sweat. He started as a figure he recognised walked into the studio. Mick. And because Jun was still Jun, revelations or not, he took a step forward and opened the audio mike again.
“Right, all the plans are in place,” Mick was saying. “It’s a university fair, and they want you there early for the sound check. It’s nothing too special, but they always have a big crowd. And by the way, I’m sending Po along to get some footage, so do your best.”
Jun flicked the switch back. Boring.
Little did he know …