Chapter Text
“Who is performing later?”
It's only 5 in the afternoon yet the pub is already filled with customers—mainly women, young adults and what Iwol assumes to be teenagers.
It's strange. No matter how known their place is, they only get a packed crowd at peak hours, which is still a few hours later.
Iwol knows there's only one possible reason for this phenomenon.
His senior coworker and bartender, Chaehee, turns to him while mixing a drink. “Have you heard of Daisies?”
Iwol smoothly takes over her job when she finishes, placing all the orders in a tray. “Just the name.”
Chaehee hums as she pats the receipt on the tray. “They're playing with a new drummer today, Choi Jeho. He's quite famous online.”
Iwol just shrugs his shoulders and carries the tray. “This is table 4, right?”
“Uh huh.”
Famous or not, Iwol does not really care. Maybe, he's a little grateful that their guest for tonight is bringing too many customers. As he swiftly delivers trays of food and drinks to tables, Iwol hopes for Manager Yeo Hana to be in a good mood with business booming. A part-timer can wish for tips and a bonus, can't he?
His hopes are easily broken when the band arrives, incomplete. They are escorted to a private room by Min Jukyung, the pub's receptionist and cashier. There is a small ruckus when they arrived through the entrance, with all the girls squealing and calling out for a single name.
Choi Jeho.
When he entered, Iwol was manning the cashier—where Jukyung works so he has to fill up her spot—so he only had a small peek at the band. Despite not knowing his face, Iwol easily recognizes who among the group is Choi Jeho.
He stands out so easily in the crowd, a blessing of his height that even towers Iwol. His physique is even more outstanding. Sporting a black sleeveless top with Green Day printed atop, Iwol notices, and black baggy denim jeans. His muscles, arm muscles, just take the spotlight. No matter how one looks at Choi Jeho, it is undeniable that he is a drummer. If he isn't one with those biceps, then Iwol will gladly tie him down before a drum set and make him one.
The way the pub's warm lights reflect off his tan skin makes it look as if he's shining. Iwol knows there can't be a reflector or any other intense light in the pub. The spotlight for the stage isn't even open, yet Choi Jeho is sparkling with his own charms. His face, specifically, hogs all the attention of the crowd.
He is handsome, Iwol cannot deny that.
An hour before the group takes the stage for soundcheck, Iwol enters the private room as Jukyung told him earlier—to remind her of the time and to switch duties.
“Jukyung-sunbae?”
What greets her is a troubled Jukyung and a horrifyingly upset Manager Yeo Hana. Iwol barely represses a shiver. His possible bonus is becoming even more unlikely. He has to do something not to let things escalate. Should he call Chaehee now for damage control? What even upset his most generous and sweetest manager, who didn't even get mad when Iwol broke three glasses on his first week of the job?
“We can't delay any longer. It's already time for the soundcheck.” Hearing her speak, Iwol finds that Hana is more frustrated than upset.
A man replies, among the band but not the person whom Iwol assumes to be Choi Jeho. “I'm really sorry. Our bassist is stuck in traffic but he's really on his way so if you could give us a few minutes—”
“There are too many people who came here just to see your band perform, people who have been waiting here for hours.”
Just from their conversation, Iwol can piece together the arguments and understand what has occurred in the room. He silently scoots next to Jukyung and whispers.
“Is there anything we can do…?”
Jukyung looks troubled as well. “I don't even know.”
Iwol glances around. It's the private room where he and some coworkers would hang out during their break to chat and rest. Now there are several bags on the floor, guitar cases and boxes of amplifiers.
Choi Jeho is sitting in the farthest chair, almost next to the corner. He looks… disinterested. It's as if he doesn't even belong to this band, as if their matters aren't his to handle.
Does he not care?
Choi Jeho suddenly looks at him—and Iwol is stunned in his place.
The eyes that met Iwol's give the answer to his question: Choi Jeho wants to get out of this place as soon as he can.
The staring, or more like glaring with how intense he looks at Iwol, ends with Choi Jeho rising from the seat. He approaches the other band guy talking to Manager Yeo.
He declares to them, “We'll perform without the bassist.”
“Wait, no!”
“It's either that or I'm going home now.”
Manager Yeo intercepts sharply. “Absolutely not. You have to perform. We all signed a deal. Mister Choi has to perform tonight.”
“Choi Jeho, let's wait a little more, please? Minil is on his way—”
“Bullshit.”
The way Choi Jeho speaks is exactly like his appearance, Iwol thinks—sharp and harsh.
Another band member joins to stop him. “Don't you think it's going to feel empty and lacking if we perform without a bassist?”
“With or without him, it's already lacking. It'll be better if I play alone.”
Choi Jeho stands firmly on his decision. His hand remains clenched on a pair of drumsticks he has been fiddling with since earlier. His impatience paints his face with a deep frown. It makes Iwol wonder how these guys formed a band with Choi Jeho when they don't even get along with him.
Iwol jolts when someone taps his shoulder. He looks back, only to find Chaehee still wearing her apron.
“You guys were taking so long.”
“Well…” he looks at the band, then turns to Chaehee to whisper. “Their bassist is late.”
Chaehee nods to his words, trying to understand the situation with what she knows. She asks more questions until she is satisfied enough to walk to Manager Yeo.
“Hana-unnie,” she calls, “what I'm getting is that we don't have a bassist to play tonight?”
“I told you earlier, Minil is on his way now—”
“Yes, that is correct.” Manager Yeo interrupts again. Iwol can clearly see the metaphorical fuse of a bomb behind her burning shorter every time the band guys open their mouths.
Chaehee then answers, with the lightest tone in the world. “Then, let's just get a substitute.”
As if she believes it is done as easy as said.
The band guy, the one who keeps arguing with Manager Yeo, asks her, visibly annoyed from her suggestion.
“And where would we get a substitute right now? Would we even have time for a rehearsal?”
He has a point that Iwol agrees with. There's less than an hour before the planned performance and they should be doing the soundcheck at this moment. Even if they called someone, the time it'd take for them to arrive would delay the performance even more.
At this point, they should just kneel to the audience, beg for forgiveness, and do whatever they can to put out a song that would make the crowd less upset for the delay and a missing member.
Speaking of, that member is really unprofessional. Iwol has seen too many cases where the performers arrived late and none of them has ever returned here. Manager Yeo has a list of singers and bands blacklisted in the pub and Iwol will keep it to himself that he read it before.
“Iwol.”
He snaps out of his thoughts when Chaehee calls his name. Suddenly, everyone—including Choi Jeho—is looking at him.
“Yes…?”
Chaehee's gaze at him feels scary and suspiciously threatening. She always looks at him in that way before she decides it's time to push him down the cliff, saying it's how tigers raise their cubs through tough love, that people learn through experience.
“You play the bass, don't you?”
Iwol could only purse his lips in response. Won Chaehee has pushed him into the den of lions.
The pub is built with a stage for live bands, a wish Chaehee had shared with Hana when they first started their business. As their pub flourished, they even bought decent instruments to be put on the stage.
When Iwol first saw them, he looked so engrossed that Chaehee ended up asking him if he played instruments.
He plays bass, he said.
When the pub is still closed and they're preparing for opening, Chaehee will sometimes ask Iwol to play some groovy notes for them. She and Jukyung will practically turn him into a music streaming platform that will play whatever they tell him to do—until his savior, Hana, comes to request one song and finally tells him to get off the stage to rest then do his assigned work.
If there's anyone who knows Iwol's bass skills outside his club members, it would be them.
That's why he feels even more betrayed while tuning the bass guitar in the pub. He has played with this one multiple times before, so it doesn't feel unfamiliar in his hands. It's a little heavier than the one his sister bought him, sounds cleaner compared to it—probably because it's a more expensive brand. It's also slimmer than the one he practices with in the club, the one his senior passed to him
The band is doing six songs. The frontman, the guy who pissed off his Manager Yeo so badly earlier, told him he isn't expecting him to play perfectly. They just asked Iwol to play with them until Song Minil, the original bassist, arrives. This time, Iwol believes that he's actually on his way to the pub since the band members were saying that to him.
They give him at least the first three songs for him to listen to. It feels like his brain is about to explode, trying to remember the notes and pick up the bass lines from the songs. Not even his club seniors put him in situations like this. He misses them in times like this because they never make him play by ear. His kind seniors would give him the chords and even teach him, and he knows that if there aren't any chords available, they'll be the one to make them for Iwol.
“Hey.”
Iwol's hand stops, the notes from his bass end but the song continues to play through his earphones hooked to someone's phone. He looks up to Choi Jeho who suddenly appeared before him. Sitting on the couch and looking up to the drummer, Iwol feels so small compared to him.
Still, he tries to be tough. “What?”
“What you're doing is useless.”
“Huh?”
If Iwol is less rational than he is, he would throw a tantrum, hit them with the bass guitar and scream, “you're the one who needs a bassist!” However, since he thinks before he acts, he doesn't do that and just asks him. Because communication is how proper humans resolve issues, he believes.
“What do you mean by that?”
Choi Jeho's brows furrow, seemingly confused with his reaction—except that just confuses Iwol. He should at least be glad that Iwol didn't start throwing a fit.
“It won't do anything unless you can memorize everything.”
Iwol sighs at his words. Thanks, Choi Jeho, for stating the obvious. What else is he supposed to do other than practice? Does he want Iwol to just sit still and do nothing, like his other band members, instead of starting the rehearsal?
Choi Jeho speaks again before Iwol can even open his mouth and attempt to retort with a passive-aggressive comment wrapped in beautiful, polite words.
He asks Iwol, “can you play by ear?”
Iwol only represses a scream. Choi Jeho asks him like he's not allowed to even disagree, and requests him to play by ear like it's the easiest thing in the world. What is up with people expecting too much from him?
Sure, he can play by ear. He practiced so much that he can do that now. His perfect pitch comes handy but that doesn't mean it's less tricky and difficult to do, not when he is listening to this band's songs for the first time and he is going to play along with them.
“I can,” he tells Jeho, “but it's still difficult.”
Choi Jeho stares at him.
When he looks like that to him, Iwol feels his stomach turn around. Choi Jeho's eyes make him feel things and that is weird because they shouldn't—they shouldn't affect Iwol at all. They are strangers meeting for the first time today and Iwol doesn't want to be affected too much by a guy whom he only knows by name.
Maybe it's because he has a handsome face that Iwol's heart does gymnastics everytime Choi Jeho looks at him?
Iwol has never known someone as free willed as Choi Jeho. He speaks without care for others, for better and for worse. Iwol thinks the “no man is an island” saying probably doesn't apply to him.
But above all, it's his words that take him aback.
“Then just follow me.”
“... huh?”
He repeats himself, perhaps assuming that Iwol didn't hear him—except he clearly heard what Choi Jeho said and that is exactly why he reacted in that way.
“If it's difficult, then just follow me.”
By Choi Jeho's suggestion, Iwol is dragged to the stage where the instruments are placed. His sudden entrance interrupts the band's frontman who is busy stalling the time for soundcheck by accepting song requests so Iwol can memorize the bass lines.
“Uh, well, Choi Jeho is here…? Let's cheer for him!” The frontman sounds unsure but Choi Jeho just walks straight to the stage and takes his seat behind the drums.
No wonder his managers made Iwol move the drums to the center. It's all so Choi Jeho gets all the attention in tonight's gig. He's the protagonist that everyone came to see.
There are still cheers from the audience, and people calling out his name like he's a celebrity.
Suddenly, Choi Jeho turns his head to him.
“What are you still standing there for? Get over here quickly.”
Iwol has forgotten that he has to play the bass.
He smooths out the frown on his lips before walking to the stage. While he sets up the bass and amplifier, Choi Jeho just quietly watches him from behind. The way the instruments are arranged puts Iwol to his right, just slightly in front of him.
There's a call from the audience that made him look up while checking the sound of his bass. It's Chae Jun, one of the pub's regulars who often chats with him.
“Iwol, are you playing tonight?”
He returns an answer while slightly squatting toward the audience to talk to him. “Just a few songs.”
When Iwol is satisfied with his guitar, he looks back at Choi Jeho. Head tilting to the left, Iwol asks him. “Can we start now?”
Choi Jeho raises a drumstick, which slightly points toward his direction. “We'll do the first three songs. Did you memorize them?”
“Not really.”
“Then just fill in the spaces.”
Of the short conversations they held tonight for their first meeting, these are the only words that made sense to Iwol.
That's right. That's how the drums and bass work together.
His hands pull the guitar's strap to adjust it slightly lower, to where his fingers can comfortably reach the four strings.
Iwol throws a look back at Choi Jeho. “Start playing then.”
The drummer answers in the way a drummer would.
Choi Jeho twirls a stick in one hand before hitting the snare thrice—like a countdown and a signal for Iwol that he will start playing the song.
He throws a glance at Iwol, as if challenging him.
Can you follow?
Iwol answers with a flick of his wrist. He counts inwardly along Choi Jeho's beats while mapping the fretboard. He tries his best to follow, trying to double what Choi Jeho is doing. In his mind, there's a phantom speaker playing the backtrack of the song. The vocalist's voice is all mumbled; he's singing gibberish words and syllables Iwol cannot recognize. He hears the electric guitar but it's too soft that he can barely pick up the chords.
All Iwol hears is the drums.
It's different from the drums he listened to earlier in the room, through his earphones. This is more explosive, more expressive. The one he listened to is probably a different drummer.
The one he's hearing now is more Choi Jeho-like.
Iwol is hearing him play the drums for the first time. And he now understands why so many people came to watch him.
Even when he has to look at the strings and focus on playing the guitar, when Choi Jeho hits the drums, Iwol cannot help but turn his body toward the drummer—just to take a look at him, just to see him playing.
It's a pity his attention is split between the bass and Choi Jeho, that his mind has to remember he's playing and not just listening, because Choi Jeho is really an amazing drummer.
The bass lines Iwol can barely hear on the recording from when he was practicing earlier are appearing clearly in his mind.
Choi Jeho hits the beats precisely and creates the song's foundation that Iwol knows when and how he should play the bass. He creates a path for Iwol to follow and just like what he said earlier, he leaves spaces for him to fill in.
He plays loudly—but not ear-grating, which is what Iwol really finds amazing—and has an amazing sense of control. He plays like a dictator who decides the band's tempo and changes the whole atmosphere with just a beat. And if they're not careful, then the performance would just turn into a one-man band centered on Choi Jeho and his drums, with the frontman and everyone else pushed to the side.
That includes Iwol.
He isn't one to put himself in the center of attention but he never plays with half-assed intentions. They put him on stage, they gave him a bass guitar, they gave him the spotlight—he has to do well.
(Although Manager Yeo's promised double pay is certainly the main reason why he wants to do well. She said she'll pay him a separate performance fee so he will make sure to put his all.)
The drums gradually slow down as they reach the song's climax, where the drums completely come to a stop for the guitar solo.
Since it's just the two of them playing together, Iwol wonders if he should still play it. He cannot really say that he learned the whole solo, and more than that, he doesn't have the confidence to pull it off.
He looks at Choi Jeho who, surprisingly, is already staring at him. His hands are still moving, steadily hitting the tom at a slower pace.
Iwol has no idea how to tell him not to continue the solo. While Choi Jeho is still watching him, he simply mouths to him.
“Should we stop?”
And Choi Jeho answers him. If they aren't separated by only a few steps, Iwol would not have heard his voice, overpowered by his playing.
“Why should we?”
His hands almost freeze but under Choi Jeho's watch, Iwol just couldn't stop playing suddenly. He leaves Iwol without a choice but to brace himself for the solo.
In a few beats, the drums will come to a stop and there's a guitar solo he has to play for about twenty seconds, and Iwol barely remembers how it goes, but this drummer just doesn't want to stop.
However, silence doesn't come. Choi Jeho's steady beats continue.
Two beats pass by before Iwol picks himself back together and begins the solo.
It's a groovy bass line that has Iwol's fingers running all over the fretboard, perhaps with the intention of breaking his bones. And if he isn't careful, it will sound muddy—the way some people describe what the bass sounds like. Some can't even hear the bass among all the instruments so Iwol believes it should be felt instead.
But in cases where he is given the spotlight, where they make him play a solo like in their band club, Iwol takes the opportunity to show the bass properly, to make them hear it clearly.
Choi Jeho is doing a good job as his human metronome, guiding him through the verse, and he is also staying faithful to his role. It's all up to Iwol to snatch the spotlight, which he would do if he actually remembers the whole thing.
He plays along the chords he remembers, and improvises on what he can't through slapping until the solo ends, and Choi Jeho is back on being the centerpiece again.
He looks even more eager, Iwol notices, with his hits being even louder. He can't help but glance at the drummer.
Does he like being the center of attraction so much that Iwol doing a 20-second solo pissed him off?
With the remaining parts being a repeat of the first verse, the pressure Iwol has been feeling decreased slightly. And he'd rather not admit it out loud, but Choi Jeho's playing is influencing him.
There is something in the way he plays the drums that makes Iwol's bass sound more clear. Somehow, the loudness of Choi Jeho's drums are making Iwol's bass lines stand out.
Iwol feels that he is being felt and heard while playing with Choi Jeho.
At some point of the song, he just immerses himself in the song playing in his mind. At some point, he just ignores it and follows Choi Jeho's beats. He can't really tell if Choi Jeho is still playing along with the song's original notes because he doesn't remember the whole thing. It's unfamiliar to him as well, because Choi Jeho's playing is different, better, than the studio version he listened to.
It doesn't matter to Iwol, really.
He just has to follow Choi Jeho and play the bass along with him. That is all that matters to them at that moment.
Iwol sneaks another glance at Choi Jeho. His hand over the strings has slowed down as the song comes to an end. Choi Jeho is still basking in adrenaline from how he's hitting the toms in one hand while twirling a stick in another, a satisfied grin plastered on his face.
Underneath the intense spotlight that focused on them, making Iwol forget about the crowd watching them in the shadows, his eyes could only see Choi Jeho.
As he hits the last beat, Choi Jeho immediately lays his sight on Iwol, reminiscent of a predator finding its target. Iwol simply grips the fretboard even tighter and turns away. The spotlight in front of him is more bearable to look at despite the brightness that pricks his eyes.
It's better than the surging unexplainable feeling inside him that burned when he saw Choi Jeho, looking all blissed out. His hand hangs limply on his thigh, with the drumsticks gently swaying in between his fingers. His other hand, empty, pushes back his sweat-drenched hair.
Iwol doesn't want to look at him for longer.
As always, things never go his way.
“Hey.”
Amidst the loud, neverending cheers and chatters of the audience, some even calling for Choi Jeho's name and requesting for another jam session, Choi Jeho's voice permeates in the proximity only the two of them shared.
It takes everything for Iwol to look back and ask. “What?”
“Play with me again.”