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“You’re late.”
Jae-u grits his teeth. He knows—he has ears—Su-in doesn’t need to tell him. All Jae-u does is nod and hope they’ll continue with practice, no questions asked.
Only, when they start again, Minu misses notes he hit every other time.
Na-eun narrows her eyes. “What happened there?”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” he exclaims, pulling his bass to his chest.
“You’re distracted,” Su-in states. “What were you thinking?”
He fidgets.
“Well?” Na-eun urges.
Yujin wonders, “Do you normally play like this?”
“Maybe the tempo is too high,” he worries. “Maybe, if we got a little slower, sunbae will find it easier?” He glances at Jae-u.
He shakes his head. “The arrangement is fine as is. I’ll do better.” His jaw is tight.
Minu flinches, obviously not intending to make his sunbae feel bad about this.
“We should keep it,” Su-in agrees. “He can handle it.”
Jae-u frowns.
“He’s played more technically challenging pieces than this. He can keep up just fine.” Then, Su-in resumes practice like nothing’s happened.
He hadn’t looked his way even once, but Jae-u knows he’s being goaded. Manipulated, in a way—in a way that Su-in’s cleverness manages so easily. But Jae-u doesn’t think about that as his fingers find his guitar’s frets once again. Instead, his mind wanders, as it has frequently, to the image of Su-in collapsed.
Su-in’s eyes stick to Jae-u’s back after the end of that lackluster rehearsal. Jae-u only keeps his head down, offering clipped replies when Na-eun pesters him about this or that. He’s the first to leave, silently justifying his hasty exit with an exam at the end of the week that needs his attention.
Jae-u doesn’t get very far with that. Mostly, he knows the content, and reviewing the material would be more bothersome than helpful. But, nagging in the back of his head is a profound feeling of restlessness. Each time he finishes a math problem, he glances to the side. No, before he’s even halfway through a problem, his eyes have found his phone. It isn’t as though he anticipates or expects someone to contact his ever-idle phone, but what if someone does?
The thought sticks with him through his sleep, when he eats breakfast—frowning at the soup that is hot and fresh from a housekeeper whom he never sees but who surely exists—as he commutes rushedly to school, and as he stands before the school gates catching students with ties undone or wearing egregious piercings.
Su-in, never one to be distracted, walks straight through the gates, right past Jae-u, without any pause or evidence of recognition.
For an unknowable reason, Jae-u thinks to speak to him. Only, there’s no need to—there’s nothing pressing about the band to concern them during school hours, and his uniform is appropriate. Sure, his studs are in his ears, but that’s perfectly compliant with school uniform policies.
So, Jae-u just lets him walk by.
For a second, equally unfathomable reason, a car rushes past on the street, and Jae-u questions how Su-in got here. To school. By foot, probably. Lots of students walk to school. Past buses and cars on busy roads. As unprotected pedestrians.
Jae-u twitches. His heart starts to beat distinctly, over the roaring murmur of students entering the school. Maybe having that coffee this morning was a bad idea.
The arrhythmia passes, and Jae-u continues with school. Sure, he’s a musician, but failing grades are failures, so he stays awake during trite lessons and repetitive lectures. In another world, he’d be an honor student who would have found his passion in science or the humanities. Instead, he's a musician by nature and nurture, moonlighting as something of an A student.
He does his best not to dwell on what could be. As much as he’d like guarantees in life, life is simply too uncertain. So, he keeps his head up and takes his notes—attentive, practical, responsible.
Then, Na-eun tells him he has a stick up his ass.
It isn’t an uncommon sentiment, he knows. Most would never say it to him, but, as Jae-u starts rushing in his solo practice at break, she stops and comments.
“What are you doing?” she asks in the doorway.
Jae-u sighs, hands falling from his strings with deep impressions. “Practicing.”
“Your rhythm is off.” She pushes herself off the doorframe, eyes wandering the practice studio. “Have you been here since lunch began?”
“Don’t you have something to do now?” he retorts. “Someone’s waiting for you, aren’t they?”
She shrugs. “I left them to use the bathroom. Not my fault you left the door open.”
His eyes narrow as he fact-checks Na-eun.
“Besides, I’m not the one to worry about—you’re working too hard,” she declares.
Jae-u furrows his brow. “It’s fine. I have it under control. We need to be well prepared. Hanul will be scheming.”
Arms crossed, she mumbles, “Oh, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” Then, she scoffs. “Whatever. We need to be in good shape, no matter who we’re up against. We don’t want you overworking and collapsing like Su-in, do we?”
Lightly, his stomach squeezes. If he thinks about it, it’s a little tighter than it has been. He wrinkles his face as Na-eun continues.
“Come on! Put down the guitar and go eat. It’s lunchtime, for God’s sake!”
Jae-u shakes his head.
“What is it?” she asks, obviously exasperated.
“I ate already,” he lies, appetite thoroughly dispelled by the twisting of his intestines.
She rolls her eyes, offering him a half-sarcastic well-wish before leaving for the bathroom.
His hands settle back on his fretboard, and on and on he plays.
Later, he stands in front of a vending machine before band rehearsals begin. In this small row of stocked machines, he gravitates to the drinks, pressing a button for a hot, strong coffee.
As he turns around, he sees Su-in. “What?” he asks as mildly as he can manage.
“It looked like you were getting an energy drink.”
He just cracks open his coffee.
“Why do you need coffee midday anyway?”
He shrugs. “I stayed up studying.” It isn’t a lie, but it’s not much of a truth. There’s a tugging feeling that he should eat or drink something, but he lacks the fortitude of stomach to feel good about that. He had thought about getting an energy drink for the caffeine and electrolytes, but the sugar would dry out his mouth, and the flavoring would slash through his stomach.
Regardless, Su-in’s perpetually neutral face turns slightly expressive, almost as though he’s uncertain of what Jae-u said.
Really, that’s a nonsensical, unreasonable thing to not believe someone about. It doesn’t matter. Jae-u’s longer legs easily carry him to their rehearsal space, far in front of Su-in, and he gulps down his hot drink.
Minu hesitates. “Are you okay, sunbae?”
Jae-u turns, hiding his tongue as he hisses from the scalding sensation. “Fine. It’s fine.”
“Then, let’s start,” Su-in declares as he closes the door behind him. He takes up his position at the keys and nods at Minu. “Ready, frontman?”
Minu jumps and stands beside Na-eun on the drums. “Ready!” he squeaks. He smiles reticently at their drummer, asking, “If you’ll count us in, sunbae?”
Jae-u’s performance is… lacking. Of course, it is. He’s running on too little sleep. Luckily, neither Minu nor Na-eun mention it; Yujin’s only comment about his inconsistency is quick and under her breath, and Su-in just offers his impassively derisive gaze.
Maybe because of his underwhelming showing this day, Jae-u glances around as though unsettled with rehearsal. He’s distracted as he packs away his guitar, attention always half-focused on the red in the corner of the room.
A thought flickers in his mind. Not long ago, Su-in had collapsed from overwork—Na-eun had made sure Jae-u remembered this. But, given how recently this was, maybe he still feels weak or fatigued. Jae-u hopes that isn’t the case, but Su-in isn’t the kind to express worries or make his status known. Maybe… Maybe Jae-u should ask…
Then, Su-in leaves. Jae-u had that thought in his mind for half a second before Su-in up and leaves. Where to? Jae-u can only assume back home—like he himself does after rehearsals—but maybe not. What if he doesn’t go home? Or, rather, what if he doesn’t get home? Safely and all…
Jae-u packs his bag as he remembers that he could easily swing by his apartment to check if he arrived home safely. As Minu awkwardly inquires about the rhythmic flow of the bridge, Jae-u chides himself for being so unreasonable; he smothers the very feasible choice he could make.
Instead, he goes to his own home to study or… eat. He looks at the kitchen island—clean and glittering—with food left out. A brief hover of his hand, and he knows it was made within the hour. It seems he narrowly missed the housekeepers and chefs again. If he had come home earlier to see these elusive people, maybe he would have told them to spare themselves the effort because—still—he isn’t all that hungry. He only fills a glass with water and disappears into his room, the shut door separating him from a ghost town of a home.
For the most part, his attention is better. He works with absolutely no sound in his bedroom as he tears through weeks of material for the review. He drinks his water, takes breaks to stretch and return blood flow, and, all things considered, he feels good.
Well, if he thinks about it a little longer, his stomach still feels a bit unsettled. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t eaten much, or maybe it’s something else. He finds a few slices of fruit in the fridge and sucks on those for the hydration and carbs. Ultimately, he makes his way down to a nearby convenience store for medicine.
So, he braves the week with tummy medicine in his back pocket and, ultimately, a desire not to let everyone down. But, as he walks through the city at night, the world quiet and empty, it’s hard not to feel like he’s missing something. Many things, really. He’d lost enough and is devoid of too much, but this sensation that he’s forgetting something stuck to him—as he sits in class, carries out his student council duties, jams with the band, and falls asleep in a lonely building.
In the studio, they still struggle to focus on a particular arrangement. Usually, they make decisions quicker than this, so maybe this isn’t the best first impression they’re giving their newest member. This fractured front only gets worse when their thick-as-thieves rhythm section starts butting heads. Really, it’s just what they all need—more stress.
Jae-u groans. They need to right this now to keep it from capsizing.
He talks it out with Su-in, tells him that this ship is sinking fast and that it was a bad decision to go about the competition this way. Then, Su-in responds with something he agrees with—that it’s good for the band to manage without Su-in’s influence—but it also leaves a sour taste in Jae-u’s mouth.
But, maybe at this moment, he looks a tad bit like Seung-u hyung—a mere blink of resemblance—and concern bubbles up. Besides the knee-jerk reaction of catching him when he collapsed from overwork, Jae-u doesn’t find it natural to be worried about Su-in. So, as Su-in explains and then begins to leave, a question rolls around in his mind.
At Su-in’s scowl, the best Jae-u can manage is an unrefined, “How is your body?”
Then, Su-in jumps, clicks his tongue, and storms off. Jae-u just has to assume he isn’t upset at his question, but rather at this annoying presence that interrupted.
Sure, Jae-u is sincerely baffled by Su-in, but it’s nothing compared to the intensity of dislike he had for Cheon Eun-ho. Beyond physically assaulting Su-in in a public waiting area of the competition, he’s simply way too unpredictable to be safe or reasonable. Forget stopping a ship from sinking—all bets are off with those people.
Besides, it’s just another case of more needless stress.
So, Jae-u exhales and excuses himself.
He walks home and considers the cars rushing past. One speeds through a red light, scaring a salaryman who has been looking down at his phone for only half a second. It’s a wonder that the man makes it out unscathed but, passing by on the other side of the street, Jae-u feels the fear equally as strongly.
Jae-u isn’t empathetic, but he sees the man startle, fly backwards, and grip his heart with wild eyes that scan the scene. Jae-u winces, somehow already imagining what would have happened if the car hadn’t been close but…
Going home, his heart stutters with that residual anxiety of a near-miss. At some point, trying to drink water, it clenches awfully, forcing his hand to brace the table. He breathes and finds it comforting that the feeling dissipates. Though his stomach feels odd now…
On another day, when maybe Jae-u has some hope that the band will be able to perform at a caliber they’ve already established, he walks to the studio. Unfortunately, Su-in is walking there too. Seeing as they’re walking from roughly the same direction, there’s no way to go about this without adding more unnecessary tension to the band. So, with Jae-u half a step faster than Su-in, they walk side by side to rehearsal in complete silence.
In actuality, silence; but mentally, so, so loud for Jae-u.
There’s a deafening, terrible sound in his ears, like tires skidding and people shouting. He wonders if he’s ever heard Su-in shout. Hell, the guy didn’t even cry in the hospital when he learned his hyung died. But Jae-u did. He yelled and sobbed for someone who wasn’t even blood-related.
He wants to be upset at Su-in for how callously he treated Seongu hyung, but another feeling, one far deeper and pressing, is that Jae-u doesn’t want to go through that again. All the shock, peril, and emergency services, only to end in slaughter and heartache.
Down the street, an entire block away, a car stops suddenly and resumes again without any fanfare. Still, Jae-u thinks about what other tragically incompetent drivers there are out on the roads and how helpless a meager pedestrian is.
Heart pattering and hands dampening, Jae-u’s feet stop. He glances at the road, only centimeters below the pavement they walk upon, and he creeps toward it. He takes up a spot beside Su-in once again.
For a fraction of a second, Su-in looks at Jae-u—just as Jae-u looks at Su-in.
“What?” Su-in inquires ambivalently.
What, Jae-u hardly knows, so he surely can’t say. It just seems like a better decision for Jae-u to walk closer to the road than Su-in. It’s a decision he starts to regret instantly when Su-in is looking at him like he’s grown an extra head. Beyond the judgment, his shoulders are rigid, and his frown seems less perplexed and more displeased. “Did you sleep all right?”
Su-in blinks. “Why are you asking me that?”
Jae-u stutters, “Well, you, uh— You seem tired… I guess.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“Is it about Na-eun and Minu? I heard they had it out the other day.”
He narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”
“Yujin told me.”
“You sure are close, aren’t you…?” he mutters.
Jae-u continues, “Those two will be fine. You don’t need to worry about your band so much.”
He whips his head toward Jae-u. “Who said I’m worried?”
Jae-u sighs. “Forget it. You go first.” He stops at the convenience store, hand on the door.
“What are you doing?”
“I need citron tea.” His stomach tightens. “I’ll meet you there later.”
Su-in’s gaze is watchful as it rests on Jae-u, too long for comfort for either of them. Then, without warning, he walks away to the studio across the street.
Jae-u watches him cross the road until he reaches the other side and enters behind glass doors, growing smaller as he fades into the building. Jae-u exhales and enters the convenience store with great vigor, eager to retrieve his tea and settle his stomach.
Offhandedly, as the band tries to put itself back together, Yujin sits around and reminds him that sometimes it’s necessary to consume more food to alleviate stomach pains.
Grimacing, Jae-u packs away his guitar. “Thanks…” As true as the advice might be, with the mess of the band, the approaching competition date, and these strange, persistent thoughts flickering through Jae-u’s mind, he hesitates to find much hope in her words.
It all starts to accumulate into something that no longer resembles an odd imagination or rogue daydreamings. He can’t even say that it feels like a dream from another life he diligently lived. Instead, they’re tangible, indelible, real memories trapped in his mind and body.
He sits in his room on the eve of their on-stage jam-off—in a house that’s still vacant and soulless, belonging to a family he’s never known to love, with memories that are ready to jump from his stomach, his chest, his hands, his throat—blankly wondering if anyone is there beyond the walls of room: if any of the people he cares about are still alive.
He sits with this feeling for so long that it dissolves past his organs and into his bones. By the time he’s woken up from his long, impromptu sleep, it’s as though there was nowhere else for that fear to go but to become part of his soul.
Then, he wakes up and performs for a competition.
There are some bumps in the road, naturally, because nothing goes easily for him or this band they’ve hodgepodged together. Somehow, they find a replacement drum that can mimic the sound of the bass of their arrangement and pray that it all shapes up.
“We need to rehearse this,” Na-eun sighs, standing up straight to stretch from being crouched by the drum.
“I don’t know if this is going to work,” Minu worries.
Yujin shrugs. “Let’s just find a place to test drive this thing.”
“The practice studios are closed during performances,” Jae-u informs them as he contacts a producer.
Na-eun curses. “Why?”
“Probably to focus on the sound production and engineering for the competition," Su-in figures. “They don’t want sound bleed.”
Jae-u winces.
“And there’s the drama of filming other participants,” Yujin adds. “So…! What’s the plan?”
Su-in turns to Jae-u. “Got it?”
“Got what?” Minu meekly wonders.
Just then, some producers jog down the hallway. They help their band carry all their instruments, equipment, and supplies to an extra, isolated stage on the other side of the building.
They throw themselves into the closest thing to a sprint that they can manage with backs covered in instrument cases and cords looped around their shoulders.
They’re sweating before they’ve even begun. The producers who mill about the dark sound stage are pacing around. They strike their chords, pound the basses, and pluck their strings.
Time is dwindling. It always is.
“It’s time to go!” a producer warns.
Jae-u grits his teeth. He knows. They all know. They know what needs to be done—tear down, run across the building, set up, sound check, get changed, perform. They’re running out of time. They’re late, so, so late…!
“We’re nearly there!” Su-in growls.
It’s true. They’re rushing, but it’s not rushing if it’s across the entire band, is it? The tempo is insane, the result of adrenaline and insufficient breathing room. It’s fine, they’re coming up on the end of the final verse.
Jae-u is focused on everyone—where they’re looking, how they’re playing, what they can handle. It’s then, as his attention is away from his instrument, that he notices a light illuminating the floor below them—swaying. Creaking. His eyes fly upward, his feet rushing backward, a rough tug on his sleeve, exclamations crowding the room.
The music dies instantly.
Jae-u sees broken glass near his feet, steel bent out of shape. The smell of burning, shattered filament fills the air. No one breathes, everyone panics.
“Sunbae!” Minu shouts.
“What the hell!” Yujin yells.
Na-eun clambers out from behind her drums, shaking his shoulders. “Are you okay? Who checks these things?” She glowers.
Jae-u peels her hands from his shoulders and stands, dusting himself off. He looks up again. Barely, he made it out in time. Maybe it was the animal instinct to survive, maybe Minu, standing nearby, helped, or maybe it was just too close to think too much of it. He runs a hand down his face and pats off the dirt.
They haven’t even had time to catch their breaths—find it again—when a producer enters from outside. “It’s go-time! Let’s pack it up and head in!” Then, the producer runs off to lead the charge.
After that, the first to move is Jae-u. He checks his guitar. The cord for the amp is stretched, and the bottom of his guitar’s body is scuffed, but it seems fine. He affixes it over his shoulder and against his hip, minding the bruise that might bloom on his back.
“Jae-u.”
He looks up.
Su-in is far too solemn for a competition day.
“We’re fine; that was a good run-through,” he exhales. “Let’s do this.”
“Are you—?” Su-in starts, then he bites his tongue. He nods, and they comply: they do it.
In a flurry, they’re on stage, playing practiced harmonies and working through jazzy melodies without any hesitation. They know it. They’ve worked for it, and it shows.
But they walk off the stage like zombies. Satisfied, content, and shells of people.
Jae-u searches for a drink of water as a producer approaches. With little preface, he—and Su-in, who had apparently been steps behind him—are being chewed out for being unprepared and interfering with the production schedule. Jae-u clenches his jaw and bears it. He has no interest in stoking this flame, lest it spreads or burns him. Su-in nods once, and that’s the end of a huffy producer’s tirade.
He chugs water, taking a lap through the hallways to cool down. Su-in is still behind him, footsteps quiet and traceless.
Finally, Jae-u exhales. His water bottle is empty, and the sweat slicking his skin is slowly receding. He turns. “What is it?”
Breath just regained, the wind is sharply knocked out of him. By the time his eyes have stopped swimming, he notices the hands on his shoulders and hair in his face. “S—Su-in?” he stammers.
Su-in’s arms are tucked awkwardly over Jae-u’s as his cheek is barely, roughly pressed into Jae-u’s chest. Even for a guy who can count the number of times he’s been hugged on one hand, Jae-u knows it’s the most uncomfortable hug possible for both parties. Still, Su-in mutters a small, “‘M glad you’re okay.”
Still frozen, Jae-u understands. But it’s strange. When was the last time the two of them spoke like this? Never, he recalls, but when had they even seen each other like this? Even when their past was unsoiled, they weren’t on speaking terms.
In a moment like this, he’s struck by the crimson hair consuming his vision, and he’s so relieved that it’s his—that red can mean so many things but, right now, it just means he’s alive. Because it’s so much better than accident red and emergency scarlet. So, stiffly, Jae-u moves, hand lightly patting Su-in’s back.
That single touch must have put electricity back into Su-in’s rigid body, static fear shocking him away. His gaze finds the wall instead of Jae-u.
“Thanks,” Jae-u finally replies. “That was too close for comfort…”
Su-in hums. “If you’d moved a little faster—“ His mouth shuts. “Good work today.” And he walks off before Jae-u can say another thing.
It’s true that he didn’t move very quickly when he saw the light fall. Compounded fatigue, stress, and hyper focus would do that to a person. Still, as he follows Su-in back down the hall, Jae-u thinks there was a time—once, very long ago, and distantly—that he’d been a nanosecond too late and spent so much time after that—canceling appointments, hailing a taxi, running through a hospital, endlessly grieving—to make up for that lost time. With the clench of his stomach, he makes up the distance to walk beside Su-in, determined not to make the same mistake twice.