Chapter Text
The chatter of the crowd was loud in Jungsu’s ears as he set up his keyboard. He plugged the instrument in, swallowing thickly around the lump that had begun to form in his throat. The club was small, but it was filled with more people than Jungsu had seen there before. Even from the roped off ‘stage’ area, he could tell people were packed into every corner.
As much as he would have liked to imagine it, the crowds were not for them. In fact, no one seemed to be even paying attention to them yet. Another, much more popular band was set to play later in the evening. Unfortunately, their band ‘Born Boys’ was just the opener.
The name had been Seungmin’s idea. Jungsu wasn’t sure how he had come up with it, but he had pitched it so well, no one could disagree. It was the perfect name. Originally, they had been leaning towards something along the lines of ‘heroes’ - Jiseok had always been fascinated by the concept of ‘anyone can be a hero’ - but Jungsu had vetoed it. He wasn’t ready yet. The word ‘hero’ felt too close to the memories he tried so hard to forget.
Now, he stood with his friends on that cramped attempt of a stage in a small musky bar that stank of alcohol, he could almost forget. He could almost push the memories from the edges of his mind and focus on the keyboard propped up before him.
But, of course, Jungsu was never that lucky.
The memories had haunted him since the event took place over a decade ago. It was something he had done his best to leave in the past. He told everyone – his family, his doctors, the news – that he was completely over it. That he didn’t even dare. But it was hard not to care when you had nightmares every night, or when your hands shook at the sight of needles. Jungsu would never be rid of the memories, but he could take comfort in the sad truth that it was real. It had happened.
He wasn’t lying, or confused, or anything else adults had said about him.
Kim Jungsu was eleven years old when he went missing.
He had been walking home from school on a Friday when it happened. Usually, he walked with his younger sister, but she had been sick that day, at home with a stomach bug. He remembered walking across the road and turning right. He took a short cut through the park, pausing only briefly to look at the flower garden in bloom. Then, he crossed the road at the zebra crossing and started down his own street.
His family lived just around a bend in the road, so he couldn’t quite see his house, but he knew it was right there. He was humming to himself, a spring in his step that only came after a very good day.
Jungsu was happy, ready for a weekend.
And then everything went dark.
The next solid, sure memory he had was two years later, his legs shaking as he pushed them to run faster, faster, faster. He didn’t know what he was running away from at first, he just knew he had to get away. To escape.
He raced through bush, branches clawing at his skin and leaving ugly cuts in their wake. His cheeks were damp with tears and his body felt weak. The adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going.
As soon as he burst through the doors of the Police Station, Jungsu collapsed to the floor, his whole body failing. He blacked out again, but at least, for the first time in years, he felt safe.
His memories of those two years came back slowly, but they didn’t match the story the Police investigators told. They tracked his escape to a farmhouse just outside of town owned by an older man. The man was arrested for kidnapping after they determined that Jungsu had been kept in the barn.
But when Jungsu saw photos, he was confused. He had never seen that house or that barn in his life. But, of course, no one believed a thirteen-year-old who had spent two years being drugged daily.
They didn’t believe what he remembered seeing: the doctors in white scrubs and full-face masks. The blinding lights mounted above the examination tables and the needles of strange liquids.
But what stayed with Jungsu the most were the hallways. Every examination room and recovery room was linked by snaking hallways. They twisted out before Jungsu, tilting sideways the longer he stared. They were dark and unfriendly, and, according to everyone else in Jungsu’s life, completely made up.
But they felt so real it made Jungsu want to scream.
There were other patients too. Jungsu didn’t see them often, but he heard them talking. They wore the same white patient gown that he had, their eyes red-rimmed and never settling. Sometimes he wondered if they were still there. Had anyone else managed to escape?
The more he was told he was wrong, the more Jungsu began to lie. He told everyone he believed them, that he knew the hallways and the doctors and the patients were fake; his own brain making up an excuse. He stopped talking about it, telling everyone he wanted to ‘move on’. To actually live his life now. His parents were still fragile with him and his sister still looked at him like he was someone she didn’t know. He still had therapy appointments once a month and doctor check ups every six, but he was okay.
Kim Jungsu was okay.
He had his band and his friends. Gunil, Jiseok, Seungmin, Hyeongjun, and Jooyeon had been there for him since he met them in high school. They knew that something had happened – it was all over the news, everyone knew – but they didn’t ask questions, something Jungsu was eternally grateful for. As much as he loved his friends, he still wasn’t sure how they would react to the details of the case.
So, he kept it to himself, throwing himself into music. He learnt how to play the keyboard and how to sing. Slowly, he even learnt how to play songs. They were going to be playing one today that he and Gunil had written together. It was a sweet song, light and happy in the way Jungsu always tried to promote himself. He didn’t want to be known as ‘the guy who got kidnapped as a kid and is now depressed and anxious’.
No, he did his best to be a light for his friends and everyone else around him. He hoped that tonight someone in this overcrowded bar would hear his song, his lyrics, and find comfort in them. If that happened, Jungsu could consider the show a success.
Jungsu had worked hard to get to where he was today. To shake the ache of his memories and move forward with his own life. He did find himself to be shyer than he had been as a kid, but he had long since accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to remedy that.
What helped was that, despite everything, Jungsu didn’t have any physical scars on his body. If someone had, for whatever reason, not seen the news of his kidnapping, then they wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him. He was eternally grateful for that.
The only thing that had lingered wasn’t on his skin but rather resided inside his mind with his memories. Somehow, during those two years, Jungsu had learnt a new language. He had no idea what it was or where it came from – or if it was even real – but he could speak in it completely fluently. He kept a daily personal diary which he wrote in every night, and every entry was written in that strange, unrecognisable character system. He called the language ‘𝑀𝓎𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒽𝓎𝑜𝒽𝓈𝓈’, or ‘Words of Magic’.
Jungsu didn’t tell anyone about Mystahyohss, not after his first therapist had told him he might be going crazy. He kept it to himself, never daring to speak it out loud. It stayed in his notebooks, tucked under his bed like the rest of those two years. No one needed to see any of it.
Still, as he prepared for the concert, he took one final, steadying breath and said to himself, “𝑒𝒽 𝓀𝓊𝒽𝒶𝒽 𝓈𝓈𝑜𝑜 𝑒𝓁. 𝑅𝑒𝒽𝒾𝓎 𝓊𝓀𝓂𝒶𝒽 𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓉𝒶𝒽𝓂𝓊 𝑒𝓁. (*Take a breath. You can do this.)”
As he glanced over at his band - at his friends - Jungsu caught Hyeongjun’s eye for a moment. They shared a small smile. As the band’s shyest duo, they both often found it difficult to perform, but they were both ready tonight.
It was a strange comfort, the flutter that settled in the depths of Jungsu’s stomach whenever he looked at the group’s quiet guitarist. He knew what a crush was like in theory, but he had never experienced one before.
Honestly, Jungsu spent so much time in his own mind, he wasn’t even sure he was capable of a crush. He was content with the pleasure he got from standing near the guitarist, just basking in Hyeongjun’s presence. It was something he always looked forward to; his favourite ritual.
The bar patrons might not be there explicitly for their band, but the six of them were still going to knock their socks off. The Born Boys always delivered, it was their guarantee.
And so, Jooyeon stepped up to the mic before him, his lips parted into his signature dazzling smile. “What’s up, everyone? I know you’re here to listen to some music so I’ll keep this quick. We’re ‘Born Boys’, and this first song is called ‘ICU’. Let’s go!”
Gunil raised his drum sticks in the air, counting everyone in.
One, two, three-
But before they could even start, a scream cut through the bar, shrill and furious.