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“You know you can tell me anything,” Chan said. It was late 2017 or early 2018, Chan couldn’t quite remember, and debut was a looming force on the horizon. “I’ll be here for you. I’ll protect you.”
“I know that hyung,” Jisung said.
“It’s going to be hard. But it’ll all be okay.”
Jisung looked away, maybe out a window or maybe just at the blank wall above his bed. “Sure.”
“I promise.”
Alien
Even though we were in the same position, I was an alien, yeah
I flew and crash-landed from space, a loner full of scars
Volcano
The scars of the wounds that covered my heart
As if only you could notice them
2020, before God’s Menu
It had started just behind his eyes maybe two hours ago–a nagging pain that had started to travel to his temples and down his spine. A headache gaining traction and making his vision blur the more Chan stared at the screen. Six hours in the studio so far today and all they had to show for it was a couple of instrumental changes in the intro and half a melody for the pre-chorus.
“Play that part again?” Changbin said. He sat on the couch, feet up on a chair, while his restless fingers made a mess of his hair. Sigh, scratch his head just behind his left ear, point at the screen, repeat. “It feels empty, don’t you think?”
“It’s supposed to feel empty,” Jisung said. “Anticipation. Suspense.”
“Not, like, dead though,” Changbin said.
Jisung had his feet tucked up on the seat of the swivel chair beside Chan. He spun himself back and forth as he thought.
“I’ll add back the sub-bass and see...” Chan said. He was interrupted by a buzzing. A text popped up on Jisung’s phone, lying face-up on the desk beside them.
Jisung had been biting his nails on and off for the past hour at least, stealing looks at the clock on the wall and getting distracted by the texts that had been coming sporadically at first, but now more insistently. As this they lit up Jisung’s face in the dark studio one by one, his lips pinched into a small frown. They were starting to get on Chan’s nerves.
Changbin had been talking, but Chan realized he’d been distracted. “...and it’ll sound the same as in the drop.”
“Hm?” Chan said. “Yeah, sure, we can try that.”
Another text. Jisung looked up at the clock again.
“Just put it away, Ji’,” Chan said.
“Oh,” Jisung said, clutching the phone tighter. “But, um…”
“We need to focus. It’ll only take longer if we’re distracted,” Chan said. “Back to the intro. Changbin, can you do the first rap to see how it fits again?”
“How much—” Jisung said, his phone still in hand. “How much longer, you think? You said we’d be done by dinner when—”
“We’re done when we’re done,” Chan said, frustrated. It wasn’t right. The song he’d imagined in his head when he’d made the first draft of the track was slipping away, but Chan knew it could be a hit. Now, if he just could get it together enough to work. “We haven’t nearly done enough if they’re expecting a guide by next week.”
“Yeah,” Jisung said, quieter. “Yeah, okay.”
Chan turned back to his computer. One thing at a time. Every sleepless night and missed meal was for his team. His kids. He had gotten them this far, hadn’t he? Chan couldn’t let them down. Couldn’t fail this time. A few clicks got him back to the part of the song they were stuck on. He fiddled with the sound of the beat, trying the same with more reverb. More kick drum. Less. Put the high hat back in, take it out.
“Oh,” Changbin said to Jisung behind him. “Isn’t today the—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jisung said.
“But you’d been talking about it all week,” Changbin said. “You two were so excited to finally—”
“It’s fine,” Jisung said, barely a whisper.
Chan turned around. “Focus,” he said. Jisung put his head down immediately, studying the page of lyrics in front of him, but he caught how Changbin’s eyes met his. He read the disappointment there. The disconnect.
It was just this moment. It didn’t matter.
So, Changbin rapped. The beat fell into place. Jisung edited the lyrics into something that felt smoother and they were making progress. Chan felt the tension in his shoulders relax slightly and the pounding in his head subsided into a dull ache.
Another hour passed.
Another text. Jisung curled further in on himself.
“I have to take this,” Jisung said as his phone rang. “I’ll be right back.”
Chan lined up the last few bars they’d worked on and listened back again as the door to the studio clicked shut. He tried not to listen, but as Jisung’s voice rose and fell with the music, some of the words trickled in, filling the spaces around the song coming from the speakers.
“...I know I promised, I know but… I can’t be selfish and abandon… No. No that’s… alone? Hyung-ah don’t bother him about it, please. He won’t… do we even get to call it that? Anniversary?” A high-pitched imitation of a laugh. “What does that even mean for us…” The laughter cut short.
The silence that followed was heavy as the track ended.
“You’re an asshole, sometimes, you know,” Changbin said.
Chan turned from the computer to look at him. They still couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door.
Chan didn’t think he was too far up his own ass to realize when he made a mistake. It just felt like, sometimes, the other members didn’t understand just how tenuous their place in the industry really was. One bad comeback, one scandal, one executive just getting the idea they weren’t working hard enough and they’d just be forgotten as another irrelevant group. Debut, fizzle out, gone. Despite the years Chan had spent pre-debut clinging to the dream of walking onto that stage for the first time, from the other side, failing at it once here was an even worse fate than never debuting at all.
Chan was looking out for them. Chan was sometimes the only thing standing between them and the industry that would rip them apart. And sometimes, that was a lonely place to be.
When Jisung came back about ten minutes later, Changbin and Chan moved on to the second verse. Jisung’s eyes were slightly red, but he hid them with a duck of his head and a joke about needing some coffee. Did they want to order something from the cafe?
Alien
I don't seem to belong anywhere by myself
No matter how much I smile, I feel so lonely
Volcano
My falling days were sorrow
But after you appeared my lifted mouth corners won't come down
2020, Back Door promotions
Was this what success felt like? Music show wins and being called sunbaenim by younger idols who knew their dances. Chan’s phone blowing up with phone calls from producers asking for collaborations and interviews with English-language magazines. They weren’t being treated as a passing interest or curiosity but as real music-makers. Real artists.
If this was what it was like to make it, why didn’t his body let him relax? Why didn’t his mind stop spinning, keeping him up at night conjuring every way he could ruin this?
In the second week of promotions, they were stuck in yet another green room for yet another music show performance. Chan was trying to enjoy himself—take in the general good mood that the members have brought with them and look forward to another performance. This morning was particularly loud at the dorms, Seungmin shouting at Hyunjin to wake up, Felix and Jisung fighting over the shower, laughter rising up over the slowly growing pile of eggs that Minho had been making for himself, then himself and a puppy-eyed Changbin, then the rest of the members as they stumbled into the kitchen. Jisung, half-naked and hair dripping, had the privilege of stealing food straight from Minho’s plate. Jeongin rolled his eyes before taking some from the pan for himself.
These were the pieces of happiness that Chan gathered as he moved through his career. They were little moments of happiness that took out to stare at in the dead of the night when it felt like the rest of the world was against him. He cherished them, polishing each until they shone before placing each carefully back on the shelf in his mind.
Chan would think of this moment too, in some future darkness. Felix and Jeongin were playing video games on their phones while Hyunjin cheered them on. Seungmin was chatting with Changbin as he got his hair done. There were makeup noonas rushing from chair to chair, picking out brushes and eyeshadow, and laughing at a joke one of the managers was telling.
“They look so cute,” one of the hairstylists said to Chan offhand as she guided him into the next chair. She was glancing at the couch where Jisung and Minho were sitting, one of Minho’s legs slung over Jisung’s.
They were just chatting, as they always did. They fell into easy rhythms—quick banter, a face pulled, and a pinch to the bicep. Jisung yelped, Minho laughed, and Jisung buried his head into Minho’s side.
This was happiness, Chan reminded himself.
Jisung’s smile was wide as he emerged from how he was tucked into Minho’s neck. His hair brushed Minho’s face and Minho patted it down to meet Jisung’s eyes. They fit together so well, moving effortlessly with and around each other. Often, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“Ha, don’t they,” Chan joked back to the hairstylist. It was just supposed to be happiness, but something else twisted in his gut as he watched them together. The rush of anxiety, that awful poison, took hold of him. It bled into his vision and he tasted it at the back of his throat.
As the stylist brushed out his hair, Chan’s eyes swept around the room, seeing if the others were noting how Minho and Jisung were acting as well. Seungmin was talking about his dinner with the makeup noona, Changbin had joined Hyunjin in watching the games, and one of the managers had just passed his phone to Minho to show him some video. Jisung leaned over too, chin on Minho’s shoulder, to watch. There were no talker videos being filmed, and no music show staff in the room, but Chan still felt like it was too open. The manager laughed as Jisung copied whatever was in the video, eyes scrunched up, mouth wide. Minho passed the phone back to the manager without taking his eyes off Jisung. His expression was soft and open, so plainly and painfully in love.
Chan took a breath. It was supposed to be happiness but it was something else entirely. The sharp claws of fear dug into his chest.
When his hair was done, Chan walked over to the couch and tapped Minho on the shoulder. “Your turn,” he said.
Minho nodded and rose, giving a last gentle squeeze to Jisung’s shoulder. Chan took his place on the couch.
“You need to be careful,” Chan said.
“Careful?” Jisung said, distracted by something on his phone. “Of what?”
“Minho,” Chan said.
Jisung looked up from his phone, attention now fully on Chan. “Why would I need to be careful of Minho?” Jisung said. “Hyung, I thought we already went through the whole dad speech—”
“What others can see,” Chan said. “What they may think.”
Jisung froze. “What they—”
“The way you two act sometimes,” Chan said, trying his best to be light. “It’s a little… obvious, ha.”
“Oh,” Jisung said. His fingers knotted together. “But it’s not like…” Jisung tilted his head, looking for the right words. “...it’s just us back here. People we know?”
“Anyone could walk in, you know that,” Chan said. He was trying to keep his voice down, face casual. The members still chatted around them, the JYPE staff bustling around. Lunch was starting to arrive and the smell of bento boxes started to fill the room. “People who’ll make assumptions. Rumors could spread.”
“Rumors…” Jisung echoed.
Flashes filled Chan’s head. Headlines, sales falling. Hashtags and disappointed comments coming in waves. Meetings with executives and their voices stolen away. “I want to protect us.”
“You want to protect the group from me and Minho?” Jisung said. His voice wavered and it hurt.
“No! I want to protect you, don’t you see?” Chan said. He was starting to ramble, he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t express the vast and complicated web of traps that awaited them if they stepped the wrong way. “I care about you. About how we’re seen in public. I want to make sure we can keep this success, you know? And I can’t control what other people think—”
“I know that,” Jisung said.
“—so just be careful, yeah?” Chan said.
“‘Sungie, you want chicken or pork?” Minho said, carrying a couple of lunch boxes back to the couch.
“Oh, uh…”
“Here, you can have your seat back.” Chan got up, leaving the two of them behind to grab his own lunch.
As he sat in the corner, unpacking his food and nibbling at the rice, Chan scanned the room again. He was still searching for that feeling of satisfaction he should have. He had made it, hadn’t he? Music show wins and a top charting song, the sound of laughter ringing through the room. But something still swam in his gut, making him more nauseous than hungry.
He watched Jisung and Minho, eating their boxes side by side. Despite asking for the chicken, Jisung stole a piece of pork from Minho’s box. Instead of retaliating, Minho shrugged, poking Jisung’s cheek in affection. Jisung now, though, leaned away from the touch, putting a couple of inches between him and them. Minho startled, as if suddenly off balance by Jisung’s dodge.
Their small touches and casual physicality were a dance they learned well, but suddenly, they were off-beat. The music skipped and they didn’t know the steps anymore.
Jisung was quick to replace the awkward moment with forced laughter. He stood, making a joke about pork and Changbin, and started to reenact a day a few weeks ago in the dorms. A few others turned to look at them, including Changbin who shouted, “that’s not how it went!” back.
When Minho tried to reach out again as Jisung sat down, Jisung avoided his searching hands. It was a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Minho noticed. It looked like it hurt. In that passing moment, Jisung met Chan’s gaze, and his face was still plastered with a wavering smile. Dramatic and wide and happy for anyone who was watching.
Jisung kept that smile for the rest of the week, doing his best to be the jester everyone expected him to be. He laughed loud so everyone could hear, teasing others and bursting out into song in quiet moments. Chan wanted it to be real. No, Chan wanted to make himself believe it was real.
God, how long did he think he could lie to himself?
It took days for the facade to break. They were doing some variety show or another—they’d been doing these back to back and Chan’s memories of one would blend with another until cameras and bright lights became one endless sleepless dream those weeks—and the day was dragging on and on. They’d already woken up before dawn for hair and makeup before being shuttled to the studio for a morning of shoots. There were games and questions and a joke of a lunch break before they started again. They were all flagging, but Jisung was taking it the hardest. He became quieter and quieter, more distant, and more distracted. He blinked as the host asked him a question, taking a few seconds to reorient himself before coming up with an answer. A forced smile appeared on his lips, but to Chan, it looked much more like a grimace.
As the questioning moved on, Jisung deflated, boneless. Without thinking, Jisung leaned to the side, seeking Minho’s comfort beside him, but as soon as their shoulders touched, it was as if Jisung had startled out of sleep, sitting bolt upright and glancing at the producers.
Chan watched as Jisung tried to smile and he couldn’t do it. He couldn't find the energy anymore.
Within a shuffle, a glance, and a movement hidden by the reactions of the members to Jeongin’s clever answer to a question, Minho held Jisung’s hand under the table, beyond the view of the cameras, and gave a small squeeze. He let go before Jisung could steal another glance at the producers behind the cameras, all without even twitching his brow. To the cameras, nothing happened. To the viewers, there was nothing at all to see. It was a small comfort in a secret corner, finding a place for just the two of them where privacy didn’t exist. But Chan could see Minho look between him and the producers, barely contained anger in his eyes.
Alien
Because my confidence can also be hated
I've lived like I was dead, and suddenly, I'm all alone and far away
Volcano
Your arms, my home, my breath, my God
You grabbed me when I was falling fly again
2021, after All In
It had never surprised Chan that Minho and Jisung fell together the way they did. Jisung had changed when Minho joined the company. His shallow bravado had matured into confidence and his insecurities into introspection. Minho needed Jisung’s attention and Jisung needed Minho’s unconditional affection.
To be honest, Chan wasn’t sure exactly when they became more than friends. Or, if they ever had been anything but partners. They called themselves many things over the years—soulmates, best friends, lovers—but nothing specific enough to satisfy a timeline. Did they kiss sometime pre-debut and just know? Or, were the pressures around them enough to keep them fighting the edge of the inevitable for another year? “Together,” was all Jisung had told Chan late one night in the studio right after they had finished the last edits to Miroh.
“We’re together,” Jisung had said with his cheeks blushing pink. He couldn’t meet Chan’s eyes. “Like romantically or whatever.”
“Nice.”
“Shut up.”
“Is this a new development?” Chan had asked. “Or did I miss something?”
Jisung shrugged. “Nothing to miss,” he said. “But I wouldn’t call it new.”
Chan had turned the computer off, faced Jisung, and tried his best to make the next words he said as genuine as he could. He fought off everything else—the nerves bubbling up in his throat and the pinch of anger that he didn’t recognize—and put forward his fondness. “I’m happy for you,” he said.
The first time he’d listened to a demo of Alien was before that conversation. Now, Chan was in the studio again, Jisung next to him, listening to the song with new ears.
“Is this really how you feel?” Chan said. The lyrics were more hopeless in places than he had ever remembered Jisung expressing recently. It felt out of place in this moment. The two of them had gone to the gym earlier and were now mostly just chatting in Chan’s room, take out boxes forgotten on the couch and ice coffees sweating circles onto the desk.
“Felt,” Jisung said. “As a trainee especially. You heard it before, I wrote most of it back then.”
“But you want to release it now?”
“I think it’s hard to shake some of those feelings, even if you’re sure you’re past it, don’t you think?” Jisung said. “Sometimes, it’s all you can feel. Your body can’t tell what’s now and what was then, and even if it doesn’t make sense, you feel the same way you did years ago.”
Jisung is staring at him with a sharp look that Chan had had to get used to over the years. More and more, Jisung looked at him like he knew exactly what Chan was thinking. It made Chan forget who was older for a moment.
“Are you trying to tell me to get over myself, too?” Chan said.
Jisung laughed. “You have to figure out what you’re feeling first, hyung.”
“Excuse me,” Chan said. “Are you saying I’m not in touch with my inner angst?”
Jisung simply raised an eyebrow.
“You’re the one putting out a song four years after you wrote it,” Chan said.
Jisung tapped the edge of his coffee cup. There were only a few sips left, but Jisung seemed to be making them last. “Seventeen-year-old Jisung wrote it, but do you really think seventeen-year-old Jisung could have released it?” Jisung finally said. “The point is that adult me can say it out loud.”
“Because it’s about the opposite?” Chan said. “It’s about keeping things quiet.”
“It’s easier to think you’re alone when you don’t know others are struggling,” Jisung said. “You have to hear others say it first, sometimes. Then, once it’s out there, you can think, oh, maybe I don’t have to be this lonely.”
“You’re saying it for Stay?” Chan asked.
“Yes and no,” Jisung said. “I think it can help Stay. I think it will help me more.”
“But someone else had to say it to you first,” Chan said. “You said so, right? The loneliness thing.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Jisung stared at him, unblinking. “Who do you think?”
Minho. Chan didn’t have to say it. “It isn’t about him, though.”
“No,” Jisung said. “Maybe it’s about how I could be, with him. But… no, it’s just about me.”
Chan was tired. Did he have the balls to say any of the songs he wrote were just about him? No, they were stories. Suggestions. Nothing so vulnerable as this.
Chan wished he didn’t finish his coffee. He thought about suggesting taking another walk down to the cafes, and getting another snack, too. It was one of those days, one possibility after another without real direction. But something about the air in his room right now, the way Jisung was looking at him, made him think it was better to just stay where he was.
“I really do think it will help Stay,” Chan said.
“I hope so,” Jisung said. “Maybe it will even help you.”
Alien
I'm gonna make it happen, among those stars
I'm just lonely, somebody reach out and hold me
Volcano
You were so warm when you hugged me tight
I guess I teared up for a moment, because it was the first time
2022, after Maniac
The problem with working with collaborators—if Chan could really call it a problem, god was he really that guy—was the coordination. They worked in opposite time zones, on different deadlines, with separate managers breathing down their necks. Chan would receive a track at 2:00 am and he couldn’t just ignore the message. It would be there, in the back of his mind, until he reviewed it. The world didn’t rest. He couldn’t rest.
Even if the people he worked with never cared about exactly when they received a reply, and even if the collaborators themselves didn’t always keep on schedule, Chan felt he had to be different. He was lucky, he kept reminding himself, that he was in this position. He shouldn’t fuck it up. He would be on deadline, with his best work, every single time.
So, when some editorial notes popped up in his email, he messaged Jisung and Changbin to meet up to go over them.
30 minutes later, Changbin arrived in the studio, grumbling about how he was planning on going to the gym later. An hour later, Jisung still hadn’t responded. When Chan tried calling him for a fourth time, pacing the few steps from wall to wall, Changbin groaned.
“It’s fine,” Changbin said. “It’s just small edits. He was here all day with us yesterday.”
“It’s our song,” Chan said. The call had gone to voicemail again. “Some of these edits are his lyrics, he should be here.”
“We didn’t know we’d be working on it today,” Changbin said. “I’m only here because apparently, I have no life, but you can’t expect Jisung to just drop everything whenever you say so.”
“I’m not,” Chan said.
“You are,” Changbin said. “This was supposed to be an afternoon off, so he planned for an afternoon off. Just drop it.”
Chan frowned at his phone again. “They’re expecting a reply by tomorrow.”
“And we’re both here. So, can we just get to work?” Changbin said.
Chan sunk back into his seat.
“You know where he is, don’t you?”
Chan stared at Changbin. Changbin stared back.
“He’s on a date,” Changbin said.
“Seriously?” Chan said. “It’s 4 o’clock on a Tuesday, what are they doing?”
Changbin stared at him again. “Dude, you wrote Drive with Minho-hyung,” he said. “What the fuck did you think you were writing about?”
And suddenly, Chan wished he hadn’t brought it up. He turned his chair around, powering on the computer and getting his headphones out. Changbin started laughing.
“But actually, I think it’s more like, cafe, bookstore,” Changbin said. “Something, something, ingredients for dinner, maybe? I stopped listening when Minho-hyung started going over the details because, honestly, it sounded boring. But hey, who am I to judge?”
“They do that all the time,” Chan said. “Doesn’t seem like something Jisung would have to skip out on this for.”
“You really need to learn how to be more of a romantic,” Changbin said. He stretched, grabbed his phone, and pulled up the email. “This is why we wrote Ex. Want to start with the chorus?”
They were done fairly quickly, all things considered. It required a few discussions between the two of them, though. Some back and forth that, if Jisung were here, he’d break up with a well-placed comment that would appease them both. In the end, they were able to leave the studio and head back to the dorm around 8 pm.
What annoyed him wasn’t that Jisung didn’t show up, not really. It was that he never replied. He never apologized for being absent and never even gave an excuse. Maybe it was just Chan wanting control—his ever-present need to count his kids heads at the airport and reply to midnight emails and put out fires before they start. Maybe it was more than Chan wanted recognition for the way he made sure everything went well.
Chan texted Jisung right before they got back, finished up btw but have a couple things i want you to look at. Still no reply.
When they opened the door to the dorm, takeout in hand, Chan heard soft voices drifting into the entryway. So, Jisung was alive. Chan kicked off his shoes and made his way to the kitchen to grab some drinks, but slowed as he caught a glimpse of the scene inside.
Jisung had his back to the counter, surrounded by Minho’s arms to either side. There was a pile of dishes on the table and a couple of dirty pans in the sink. Soft music played from portable speakers set up next to the stove, a ballad with piano runs rising and falling, obscuring whatever discussion Minho and Jisung were having.
On the counter, Jisung’s phone lit up with a notification. Likely Chan’s own text, left unanswered, attempting again to let itself be known. Before Jisung could notice, Minho deftly swiped the notification away, silencing the phone before turning his attention back to Jisung. He didn’t want Jisung to know, Chan realized. Minho didn’t want to make Jisung worry.
Jisung, whose mouth was twisted sideways anyway, was holding something back until Minho brought him close. Jisung, who then hooked his fingers around Minho’s neck, was bracing himself against something unseen.
This wasn’t the same couple that Chan thought he knew. He’d seen them together so often that he’d assumed he understood every aspect of their relationship. Or, well, obviously not all… but he’d seen the way they could make each other laugh and calm each other down a hundred times, or the way they caused trouble together, little gremlins planning entire pranks with a single glance. It was Chan’s job to know his kids, every one. Is that why it felt like a betrayal that this intimate moment felt foreign?
It wasn’t just a kiss or a touch, but it felt more voyeuristic than any PDA Chan had witnessed before.
Minho leaned forward, taking Jisung’s head in his hand and kissing his forehead. “...let me see, ‘sungie…”
He stayed there, eyes closed, connected for a breath. When Minho pulled away, he paused for a moment to whisper something in Jisung’s ear. Jisung softened, lowering his hands to Minho’s waist, and leaning his head back. As Jisung blinked, eyes to the ceiling, Chan thought he saw a glint of moisture on his cheeks.
“Cute,” Minho breathed.
Jisung let out a little wet chuckle.
“Hyung,” Changbin whispered, putting a hand on his elbow. “We should go.”
“But–”
“I swear,” Changbin said. “You cannot be that much of an idiot. I have diet coke in my fridge.”
“Fine, fine,” Chan said, backing out into the hall and into Changbin’s room.
Later, after they finished their dinners and scrolled social media on opposite sides of the room, Chan started thinking.
“Do you think Jisung is trying to hide from us?”
“Hide what?” Changbin said.
“Himself?” Chan said. “He’s said things like that before and I… I don’t know, it felt like he doesn’t want us to see…”
“A private moment?” Changbin said. “Dude–”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Chan said. “It’s like he doesn’t want us to see how much he needs Minho? Not needs, I guess, but… I think he downplays it.”
“Look,” Changbin said. “Jisung is very aware of how he’s perceived. He, more than most of us, reflects outwardly what he thinks people want to see in him.”
“That’s our job, isn’t it?” Chan said. “But at home…”
“No, see, we all have some sort of versions of ourselves we bring out when we need to,” Changbin said. “At least I do. It’s still me, obviously, but stage-me, or producer-me, or dorms-me are all different. It’s all true, but separate. You… well, you want your work to reflect what people think about you. If someone disagrees, you just try harder to prove them wrong. You close off, and let the music speak for you. You get a bit scary, actually.”
“Hey,” Chan said.
“Jisung though?,” Changbin said. “He molds himself under pressure. He smiles because he thinks we need it, not always because he wants to.”
“He shouldn’t have to do that with me,” Chan said.
“Why not?” Changbin said. “You’re the person who expects the most out of everyone. Sometimes, the person you need to be makes Jisung feel small. He does what you want him to do so often, I think you’ve both stopped realizing that’s what’s happening. It’s no surprise he can’t be every part of himself in front of you.”
Chan felt a flash of anger, quickly smothered by sadness. It felt like a loss of something he’d never had–something like emptiness.
Changbin reached out as Chan started to stand.
“Hyung, I didn’t mean—”
Chan ignored him and chugged the last of the diet coke before leaving for his own room.
Alien
If it collapses, everything will be ruined, even our dreams
It will be ruined, even our dreams
Volcano
To me, you're already a sin
I can't refuse because you're sweeter than evil
2023, before The Sound
“You’re really going to release this?” Chan said.
Jisung removed the headphones, putting them around his neck as he cleared his throat. “Yes.”
They were in Chan’s room, recording. Just them. They’d been at it all afternoon, both of them with their idiosyncrasies and obsessions in terms of sound, clarity, and balance. Jisung was flourishing in his songwriting, as well as his singing, Chan knew. Which also, to Chan’s frustration, came with pushback against Chan’s own opinions. It made him proud. It also made him want to scream. But this was Jisung’s song, so really all that mattered was Jisung’s final say, though…
“You’re sure?”
“The fuck, hyung?” Jisung said. “Did we not just spend hours recording? Why—”
“You know why,” Chan said.
Jisung pulled the headphones off completely, throwing them on the couch before sitting heavily beside them.
“I thought we went over this,” Jisung said.
Chan sighed. “I just bought those headphones–”
“Too bad,” Jisung said. “Hyung, why are you asking me this now?”
“Because I don’t want you to regret anything you say,” he said. “I want you to be sure. Once it’s out there, you can’t take it back… explain it away…”
“Jesus, I’m not waxing poetic on how much I like dick,” Jisung said. “This is—”
“More revealing than that,” Chan said. He looked again at the lyrics in front of him. “In a way.”
Jisung laughed. “Because it’s a love song? How many times have we all told each other we love each other? How many times has Felix tried to kiss me in the last, say, week?”
“Jisung,” Chan said. “Be serious. If you’re going to argue for releasing it, you’re going to have to tell me you understand what it is.”
Jisung scowled. “I know what it is,” he said. “Do you?”
Chan opened his mouth but found the words weren’t there. He had thought he knew what he was going to say, or argue. It was what he had said many times before. He was going to make Jisung understand the precarious position they were always in, the eyes of the people who gave them their freedoms or took them away. But somehow, he couldn’t find the right way to say it.
“I worked hard for this song,” Jisung said. Unlike the confusion in Chan’s mind, Jisung’s words were simple and unwavering. “It doesn’t matter how people read into it. I know where my heart was when I wrote it, and that’s what matters.”
“Even if the response isn’t what you want it to be?”
“I think you’re scared of what the response will be,” Jisung said. “Really, how convenient for you. Just toss the ideas away that don’t audience test well, because it doesn’t matter. It’s too ambiguous, it’s too provocative. What will they think?”
“That’s not what I said,” Chan said, but even in his ears it feels hollow.
“Of course, it is,” Jisung said. He shook his head. “You’re always so fucking scared. Of what? What now? What can they take away from us that you’re not already beating yourself over?”
“A lot.”
“No,” Jisung said. “No, you don’t get it. What it’s like to love so much but make it a joke every time you say it out loud. To lie so many times you have to keep reminding yourself what’s real.”
The arguments are there, Chan knows. How to be reasonable, and safe. How to protect what they have. He just needs to find the words. “Ji’—”
“No, let me finish,” Jisung said. “I’ve listened to you. I’ve heard what you’ve been telling me for years, don’t you understand? I don’t get to stop being this way and I’m fine with that. I want to be myself, not explain myself. I’m happy! Hyung, I’m happy. That’s what this song’s about.” He stood, one hand gripping his shirt above his heart. “Let them talk. I want them to, don’t you see? Why the hell would I write this if I didn’t want them to see me like this?”
Chan swallowed, eyes on Jisung. He was still, hand still playing with the fabric of his shirt, waiting for Chan to respond.
“You’re happy?” Chan said.
Jisung nodded. “Aren’t you?”
Chan looked at the computer, the track was almost finished. He could hear it in his head, sweet clear melodies that he was so proud of Jisung for writing. Why did he keep pushing that away?
“Where did you learn to be such a brat?”
Jisung smiled. “From you, of course.”
“I’m not.”
“Let’s do another take, that was trash,” Jisung said, mocking. “Again! Do it again! Argh, those headphones are expensive~”
“They were expensive!” Chan said.
He relaxed back into this chair and closed his eyes. Flashes of light played behind his lids, echoes of the hours he’d spent staring at the computer screen. He didn’t have anything else to say because he found he didn’t believe in the same refrain he’d been repeating for years.
“You’re right,” Chan finally said. “I’m sorry. We should release it. I mean, you should.”
“We,” Jisung said.
Chan looked sideways at Jisung. “We good?”
“Yeah,” Jisung said. “We’re good.”
Alien
As time went by, I became an adult
And even though I'm not perfect, I'm proud of myself
Volcano
I'm the drought, you're rain, I'm paper, you're a poem
Your attention changes the brightness of my empty heart, you're light
2023, after The Sound
Chan shut off the camera and leaned back into the seat, still grinning. Minho stuck his tongue out and Jisung, to Chan’s left, burst out into a new peal of laughter.
Husband, Chan had heard himself say, straight into the camera. Instead of shrinking away from it during the live, he just let it happen. It felt like what it normally did in the dorms, in their homes. It felt nice. Natural. Not like the camera wasn’t there, maybe, but more like they had invited Stay in. Chan liked that.
What he liked better was when beside him, Jisung radiated happiness.
Chan peeled each layer of armor he’d plastered over himself, one by one, to make it to this moment. It hadn’t happened all at once, but slowly, deliberately. It didn’t make him weaker, as he was afraid it would. He had to keep reminding himself that it didn’t prevent him from protecting his kids. He would become a different kind of refuge. He was still working on it.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Jisung was saying, climbing out of his seat to grab Minho around the middle. He pinched the skin just above his waistband.
“Ow!” Minho said.
“Deserve it,” Jisung said.
“Hmm, yep,” he said. “Do it again.”
Jisung slapped his arm instead.
“Close enough,” Minho said.
“Weirdo.”
“Oh! The snacks!"
"Snacks?" Jisung asked.
"I bought snacks earlier,” Minho said. “Don’t know what they are. I couldn’t read the label, but it was purple. I liked the color… want to try some?”
Jisung chuckled. “Weirdo,” he said again, softer, with so much warmth that it made Chan’s cheeks burn.
They looked at each other, relaxed, in love. Minho had always been able to lean into this feeling. He could pause in the light that Jisung radiated and bask in it, even in the smallest moments. Jisung though had often caught himself, self-conscious and too self-aware. Except now, he didn’t. His grin widened and his nose wrinkled and he looked as if he’d only ever known carefree joy.
“My god,” Chan said, picking up a pillow that had fallen off the bed and throwing it at the two of them. “Go back to your room.”
“Why would we need to?” Jisung said, a smirk playing on his lips.
Minho’s face reflected the same conspiratorial smile. “Right, there’s a perfectly suitable bed right here.”
Chan threw another pillow at them. “Get out!”
“Jealous, Channie-hyung?” Minho said with a wink.
“You’re not inviting him,” Jisung said.
“Why not?” Minho said. “We could—”
“Bye,” Jisung said, dragging Minho away.
Chan still had Volcano stuck in his head–Jisung’s unfiltered and messy version of the melody ringing in his ears as he closed the door behind his friends. He could hear Jisung’s high notes mix with the sound of whispered giggles fading down the hall.
Chan let out a deep and steady breath.