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Drumsticks in hands, Minho goes over the chorus of this song one more time. They stopped rehearsing for a little while now, everyone lazing and hanging out in their studio — which, truly, is only Jisung’s garage — but Minho is still sitting in front of his drums. Humming the melody under his breath, he resumes since the beginning of the song despite the numbness in his wrists and the tension in his arms.
“Minho hyung stop before your arms fall off,” Seungmin drawls from the old leather couch where he’s sitting. “Your arms are very valuable to us.”
“How kind of you to care about me Minnie,” Minho snorts but doesn’t stop.
Seungmin only sends a glare his way because of the nickname — a nickname only Hyunjin seems to have the privilege to use without being threatened with death — and Minho smirks.
“You did great hyung,” Hyunjin adds. Minho’s drumsticks halts in mid-air this time. “Why don’t you stop and bring me something to drink?” He smiles.
It’s the sweet saccharine smile he uses to get what he wants. The smile he puts on for bar and concert hall owners, always paired with wide puppy eyes and the slow bat of his eyelashes, to convince them to allow their band to perform. He also uses it with their landlord when they struggle to pay the rent on time, or with the grumpy middle-aged neighbor whenever they plan on throwing a party. It always works. Their band gets gigs, they get to pay rent a little later, and throw parties without getting complaints. For as long as he has known Hyunjin, Minho has always been impressed — if not a little scared — by the way the younger can wrap other people around his finger with just the curve of his plump lips.
He is no better than any of them though. Jisung’s arrogant smirk would even say he’s worst, weaker. And as he stands up and goes to grab two cans of Coke from the mini fridge, Minho thinks maybe the younger isn’t so wrong.
Sure, he can’t resist Hyunjin but who can? Plus he’s tired from all the exertion of rehearsal and summer is starting to cover the city, the blooming heat messing up with his brain.
Sue me Han Jisung, he thinks as he pops open one of the cans before handing it to Hyunjin, sitting on the floor in front of the stacks of wooden pallets they use as a makeshift coffee table, and then opening the other one for himself.
“Thanks, hyung!” Hyunjin sing-songs and Jisung’s smirk grows wider.
Minho wonders for a minute if he could get away with throwing his drumsticks straight in the other’s face, sitting on the couch next to Seungmin. After all, he’s seen him play with his eyes closed and he would still be able to perform with only one eye. Or none at all. But the younger has been smart enough to not voice his snarky comments and keep them stored in the arrogant tilt of his lips, so Minho can’t do much. If karma is nice enough, Jeongin will eventually show up and bother Jisung with his nonsense.
For now, he sits next to Hyunjin and drifts his eyes away from Jisung’s filthy mouth to focus on the notebook the former has been writing in since they stopped rehearsing.
“What are you up to?” Minho asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the pages hidden behind Hyunjin’s hands.
“Not much,” the younger pouts. “Just writing some stuff down. Nothing really amazing though.”
His shoulders are hunched and Minho doesn’t miss the way he refers to what he writes as “stuff”, always has. As if it’s not worth the read, as if the words he writes down don’t deserve to be called as such. They’re not lyrics, quotes or ideas, only “stuff” jotted down on the corners of a worn-out notebook.
Jisung does most of the writing for their songs, along with Seungmin. It’s not something they’ve established, things just turned out this way. Minho naturally stepped aside, judging himself as not good with words and preferring to stick to his drums anyway. But he knows that’s not Hyunjin’s case. Living with the other gives him the privilege to witness Hyunjin’s “journaling time” every evening when he spreads all his pencils and pens all over their dining table and buries his face in his diary while Minho cooks. He has heard enough of Hyunjin’s little rants to know the younger likes writing and is talented at it.
Yet, the number of songs written by him remains zero.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that most believe the reason why Hyunjin is the frontman of their band is solely his beauty and not his talent. And maybe behind his charming smile, is hidden a crack of insecurities.
“Can I see?” Minho asks. “What you’re writing, can I see it?”
Hyunjin tilts his head and nibbles on his bottom lip, wariness evident in his eyes.
“Please?” Minho encourages with a soft smile.
Perhaps the view of a genuine smile gracing Minho’s lips or the word please leaving them is rare enough to baffle Hyunjin for a moment and make him bend under the older’s demand. He slides his notebook towards Minho and the latter snatches it before he can get the chance to change his mind and take it back.
On the pages of the notebook are various stray sentences, pieces of lyrics from songs that don’t exist yet, mixed up with words floating in between the printed lines. Minho turns a few pages, all similar. Quotes from books and movies are circled in the margins alongside random doodles. Minho is trying to note down in his mind all the pieces of stray lyrics he likes to not forget them, when he finally reaches the pages Hyunjin has been writing on since the end of rehearsal. There, lay on the paper a full verse and a chorus, as the annotations next to it indicate. At the top of the page is a single word, underlined frantically.
Blueming
Minho frowns. He may not be the best at English but he’s pretty sure he’s never seen that word before.
“What does that mean?” He points the word to Hyunjin.
“Oh, that’s just something I made up. A mix of the words “blue” and “blooming”. I mean, I looked it up and I found out it’s an actual word but it’s used to talk about how your depression gets worse but that’s not how I use it.”
“How do you use it then?”
“Um well,” Hyunjin starts, taking a sip of Coke and hiding behind the brim of his can. “You know how sometimes right after the sun has set the sky doesn’t turn black yet but rather a deep shade of blue. And it’s almost like a filter covers everything then. The world just turns a muted blue. ”
He still sounds unsure, focused on the red can he’s twirling in his hand. So when he glances at Minho, the latter nods to prompt him to continue.
“Well, it’s at this moment that I feel the most… at peace,” he says with a shrug, the end of the sentence hanging like a question. “I just— I don’t know. My head gets clear and my thoughts get in order and I’m not confused or anxious or worried about anything. The world slows down for a bit and I get to breathe. That’s what the “blooming” part refers to, for me. For a moment, I get to escape from my tangled mind and bloom.”
Minho doesn’t answer right away. He takes the time to register what Hyunjin said like one should do whenever someone opens up to them, stumbling on their feelings yet unwittingly poetic.
He takes the time to read the half-written song again and only then, looks back at the younger.
“It’s really good Hyunjin-ah.”
“Really?” He asks with wide eyes.
“Yes,” Minho nods sincerely. “Keep working on it, I love it.”
And Hyunjin smiles. The one that reaches his eyes and turns them into little crescents. He is all soft cheeks and scrunched nose, beaming in the afternoon sun basking in the garage thanks to the opened garage door. Minho acknowledges he’s not breathing, his lungs put on hold, and the beat of his heart echoing in his chest. He wants to reach out. Hold the other’s face and smile as brightly as him. Maybe even press their foreheads together, just to get a little closer, just because his mind tells him somehow it’ll make things even better.
But all of a sudden, the little metallic fan resting on the table turns to blow air in their direction, abruptly turning the pages of Hyunjin’s notebook in a tearing noise and a loud voice exclaims, “Look who brought ice cream!”.
At the entrance of the garage, stands Chan and Jeongin. The oldest is holding up a white plastic bag from a convenience store while the other waves at them.
Minho’s attention is ripped away from Hyunjin. He wipes the drops of sweat tickling his neck and shakes away the silly image of his forehead pressed against his friend’s.
The heat is most likely starting to get to my head, he reasons.
“It’s me!” Chan yells in English, waving the plastic bag in the air — as if to prove a point — before dropping it on the coffee table.
Jeongin instantly gets in charge of handing out the ice creams. He gives the best flavors to Hyunjin and Minho because — with all the modesty Minho can muster — they are his favorite hyungs and when it comes to Jisung, he poorly throws the cone in his direction while shouting “catch!”. Minho doesn’t even try to suppress the snicker he lets out as Jisung nearly falls off of the couch when he goes to catch it.
Minho doesn’t know if karma is a bitch but he sure knows her name is Yang Jeongin.
“How have you been Hyunjinnie?” Chan asks as he unfolds the rusty foldable chair resting in a corner to take a seat.
“Really good hyung,” the younger answers, briefly glancing at Minho with a soft smile. He tries not to think of the beat his heart misses then. He certainly doesn’t have the time and money to go to a doctor and have a heart condition. “And you?”
“I’m fine.”
“I see you’re not interested in how I feel,” Minho fakes being hurt.
“I already saw you at lunch!” Chan defends himself in a shrill voice. “Why? Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
And all of the worry in Chan’s body dissipates as quickly as it appeared the moment he sees Minho’s smirk.
“I fucking hate you,” he says flatly before turning his chair around to face the rest of their friends.
A terrible choice in Minho’s opinion, as he now has to deal with Jisung and Jeongin.
The two boys are playing a game on their phones, Jeongin seems to be winning if Jisung’s complaining and whining about “only having one hand available” is anything to go by. Jeongin answers the complaints by bending over to put half of the ice cream Jisung is holding in his “unavailable hand” in his mouth and eat it. The deafening scream that follows is both terrifying and comical. The youngest’s only reaction is a side eye and to comment something that goes along the lines of “if there’s no ice cream then you’ll be able to play with both hands”.
“Oh my god stop!” Chan shouts, exasperated.
Hyunjin giggles. Minho is having the time of his life.
“He ate my ice cream hyung!” Jisung explains, like it’s a totally reasonable reason to let out such a murderous scream. Minho actually kind of agrees — food is sacred —, but you won’t catch him taking sides in this mess.
“Well he’s not eating it himself and wasting is not good,” Jeongin counters.
Chan looks like he’s on the verge of ending years of friendship while on the other side of the couch, Seungmin continues to eat his ice cream and scroll through his phone, completely unbothered.
“We’re lucky Hyunjin-ah,” Minho starts in a low voice, earning a questioning look from the younger. “We get to sit first row to this comedic masterpiece for free. And we even have free snacks,” he says before licking his own ice cream.
Hyunjin bursts into laughter, his head thrown back and his whole body shaking. Minho’s chest swells with pride but he joins in, the younger’s explosive laugh contagious. Though, he doesn’t hide his smugness once Hyunjin comes back to his senses, even if that earns him a weak hit to the shoulder.
“Ouch,” he says, putting a hand where he was hit for dramatic effect.
“You’re really not funny hyung.”
“You think I’m hilarious.”
“No, I simply pity you and laugh,” Hyunjin declares, his bratty tone making him sound like a child paired with his looks right now, his hair disheveled from his laughing fit.
He clumsily tries to push away the strands falling in his eyes, failing as the fan turns to blow air his way, making his hair fly around even more.
“Don’t you have something to tie it?” Minho asks, an amused smile on his lips.
“Oh right,” Hyunjin answers a bit sheepishly.
He digs in the back pocket of his jeans, struggling a little with one hand as he holds his ice cream in the other. What he fishes out of it is a white satin ribbon, glistening in the light as he holds it up. The sweet saccharine smile is back on his lips and Minho already knows what he’s about to ask.
“Can you tie my hair for me?”
Minho raises his brows unimpressed and Hyunjin tilts his head, the smile turning a little bigger.
And the older is glad Jisung is too busy on the other side of the room to witness the way he ends up sighing, puts his ice cream on the coffee table and grabs the ribbon from Hyunjin’s hand.
“Why don’t you just carry a hair tie around your wrist like everybody else?” He asks as the other turns around, his back now facing him.
“I always lose them, you know that.”
“And how come you don’t lose your ribbons?”
Minho cards his fingers through Hyunjin’s hair, the strands unbelievably soft against his calloused skin. When the fan blows through them, the sweet scent of vanilla and macadamia nut fills up his nose. Hyunjin turns his head slightly to look at him, and he ignores the urge to take in more of the smell.
“My ribbons are too pretty for me to lose them.”
Minho doesn’t respond. He only hums and gently makes Hyunjin turn his head back, gathering the upper half of his hair into a ponytail and tying it with the ribbon with dexterity after all the times he’s done it now.
“Thank you!” The younger exclaims and Minho goes back to his abandoned ice cream, almost completely melted now, the cone a little soggy.
Food is sacred huh? A mocking voice snickers in the back of his mind.
Hyunjin looks at Minho’s work with his phone, the pretty white bow contrasting nicely with the light brown of his hair.
“How do you do it hyung?” He smiles brightly at Minho. His eyes are wide and shining, a look of admiration gracing his features. “Whenever I try to do it the bow falls and it never looks half as pretty as when you do it.”
Minho softly smiles. He never wants Hyunjin to learn how to prettily tie the ribbons in his hair.
✸
“Maybe I’m homophobic,” is what Minho blurts out on a Sunday afternoon.
He is in a park on the banks of the Han River with Changbin and Felix. Lying down on a sheet they laid on the grass, he lets the arm covering his eyes fall to the side and turns his head towards his friends. They’re both already staring at him, a pure look of confusion distorting their features and seemingly frozen in place, Felix holding in the air the blueberry he was about to feed to Changbin.
Minho blinks, waiting for them to react and Changbin eventually sighs, bringing his mouth to Felix’s hand to eat the blueberry, snapping the younger boy out of his daze.
“Hyung,” he starts in a firm voice. “You’re gay.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t be homophobic.”
“Well, internalized homophobia is a thing, but can you have it if you’ve been openly gay for years and actively support the community?” Felix ponders, tilting his head to the side.
“Well, I’d say yes,” Minho answers.
“Why are you even asking that?” Changbin questions.
And Minho doesn’t even want to talk about it, something in the back of his mind telling him to just keep it to himself. He considers brushing it off with a dishonest “nothing, forget it” but ends up answering anyway.
“Remember our gig last night?” He starts and his friends both nod. “Well, when Hyunjin kissed that guy in the crowd, I thought it was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen. So like, isn’t finding two men kissing disgusting kind of homophobic?”
Minho is not stupid. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows something’s wrong, that he said too much, that he doesn’t make any sense but still…
Still, he remembers last night.
He remembers the suffocating hot and heavy air the mingled bodies shared in the small venue. The harsh light of the projectors warmed his skin even more, the back of his tee shirt stuck to his back, and a sharp pain was starting to form at the front of his head. At the front of the stage, Hyunjin sang passionately in the mic. His hair, wet with sweat, stuck to his jaw and dripped along his neck. Yet, he was beautiful, the rhinestones in the corner of his eyes shining in the light. He got closer to the edge of the stage, crouching down to touch the hands reaching out for him. He stopped in front of a young man, taller than most of the people around him, with a sharp nose and cat-like eyes. The guy said something and then Hyunjin leaned in, kissing him. Minho faltered, hitting the drums a little too hard. It was only a touch of the lips that ended as fast as it started but Minho’s guts twisted in a way he could only compare to disgust. It was wrong. There was a heavy weight, ugly and venomous, lodged in his chest, making it hard for his lungs to fill with air. It was so wrong.
He’s sure that even now, his face must be distorted in disgust, the same sickening feeling churning in the pit of his stomach.
“I don’t think your problem is gay people,” jokes Changbin.
Next to him, Felix giggles, deep yet light.
“What do you mean?” Minho puzzles, sitting up on his forearms.
They both look back at him, and Minho recognizes amusement and sadness — or is it pity? It’s a weird mix painting their smiles, the corner of their eyes, and the shape of their brows. A weird, unsettling mix that makes him feel a little uncomfortable. They exchange glances before Changbin leans in to kiss Felix’s lips. It’s a quick peck that makes the younger’s nose scrunch, his freckles wrinkling, and earns Changbin a light hit on the arm — which Minho suspects is only an excuse for Felix to grab his boyfriend’s bicep. They eventually look back at him again, this time expectantly.
“What?” Minho arcs a brow. “Is your sole existence meant to remind me of how single I am?”
“No, we’re just trying to prove a point,” Changbin answers.
“What point?”
“Oh poor hyung,” Felix laughs, throwing a blueberry at Minho.
And it’s a little too smug, it sounds a little too much like he knows something Minho doesn’t and Minho hates not knowing things.
“Whatever,” the older sighs, lying back down again.
The sun filtering through the bright green leaves of the tree above blinds him and Minho covers his eyes with his arm, once again.
Summer has fully settled down now, ready to stay for a few months. Minho doesn’t really like summer, too much always happens in summer and he is always left confused. The wind blows but the air it carries is warm and heavy. The smell of freshly-cut grass tingles Minho’s nose and he feels the sun reddening the top of his cheeks. His muscles are soft but his limbs are heavy. Felix and Changbin continue to talk, children shout in the playground a little further away, and the river flows endlessly.
Too much always happens in summer, and the scorching sun always turns Minho’s brain into a confused mush.
Yeah. Changbin’s probably right, he thinks. My problem isn’t gay people, it’s the damn summertime.
✸
If there is one thing that Minho likes even less than summer, it is rainy summer days.
He can hear the rain hitting the windows of the lecture hall, threatening dark clouds hovering over the city. The air is moist and heavy in the poorly ventilated room and Minho can’t concentrate.
Next to him, Hyunjin keeps glancing between his computer — on which he’s been mindlessly scrolling through Pinterest — and Minho. And in response, the older’s fingers remain incapable of moving on the keyboards.
He knows Hyunjin wants to say something and considering how the looks he keeps sending Minho’s way are increasing, it’s only a matter of time before he actually talks. In fact, Minho is pretty surprised that he hasn’t already. He knows what’s coming. He knows the words the younger has been keeping in his mouth, carefully crafting on his tongue before he hits Minho with them.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
There it is.
Hyunjin’s now fully turned toward him, Pinterest boards forgotten.
The thing is, Minho hasn’t been avoiding him. Or at least not intentionally. They almost don’t share any classes together, most of the classes that they have are actually in different buildings so that’s not his fault. And okay, they usually eat together when they can but Minho has exams coming up so he spent his lunch break in the library this week but that’s only because he really can’t afford to fail these exams. Sure they live together and Minho has been coming home late lately, so late that when he comes home Hyunjin has already eaten. But that’s only because he decided to go practice at Jisung’s house on Monday, and on Tuesday Chan took him to that cheap but nice ramen place, and then, he was invited to take a drink with his classmates at a bar on Wednesday.
And yes, maybe ever since Saturday he’s been having flashbacks of Hyunjin kissing that guy every time their eyes meet, the same gut-wrenching feeling taking over his insides. Not seeing Hyunjin that much for the past week meant not feeling nauseous and sick every hour of the day, so maybe he didn’t mind all the reasons that kept him away from the younger. But whatever, he didn’t do it on purpose.
If he had been avoiding Hyunjin then he wouldn’t be here, sitting next to him in this terribly humid room on this awfully rainy day. No. He would have skipped the only class he shares with Hyunjin to stay in the comfort of his soft and dry bed. But he’s here.
“I’m not avoiding you,” Minho answers, earning a scoff from Hyunjin.
“Hyung, we don’t eat together anymore and I barely see you even though we live together. You even spent your Sunday third-wheeling Felix and Changbin! And you hate doing that!”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Minho affirms, keeping his eyes on his computer, and Hyunjin sags back in his chair. Minho tries to blur from his peripheral vision the way his jean shorts ride up a little to expose a glimmer of smooth skin. “Now let me concentrate on the class.”
“You’re not even listening. You’ve stopped taking any notes twenty minutes into the class,” Hyunjin protests in a blank tone.
Minho opens his mouth, ready to poorly counter the younger’s words but the latter cuts him short before he can even utter a sound.
“And even if you haven’t been avoiding me, you’ve still been acting weird ever since our gig on Saturday.”
The sigh which leaves Hyunjin after that sounds too dejected for Minho to ignore, so he slightly turns his head to the side to take a look at his friend. He is back to scrolling through pretty pictures on his computer with a pout, his head resting heavily in his hand making his cheek all pressed up against his palm. Cute. Minho suppresses the tiny smile coming up to his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he says, softly.
Hyunjin looks back at him, and there’s a sparkle of sadness bright in his beady eyes that makes Minho’s heart twinge. He realizes his absence and detachment affected the younger more than he thought it would, and guilt crawls up to his throat.
“I didn’t mean to avoid you. I truly didn’t. I had things to deal with, I’m sorry.”
At the sound of that, Hyunjin straightens up and furrows his eyebrows.
“Why didn't you talk to me? You know you always can,” he scolds, almost offended. “I’ve already told you to not keep everything locked up in your messy mind.”
He emphasizes his words by pressing an accusing finger against Minho’s temple and the older responds with a flick to his forehead.
“What a way to talk to your hyung.”
“Ouch!” Hyunjin whisper-shouts, bringing a hand up to his head. “What happened to apologizing?!”
“Well, I’m done.”
“Well, I’m not satisfied.”
“And what would satisfy you?” Minho asks, tilting his head to the side. “Would glazed donuts be enough for you?”
They sit at his feet next to his bag, in a little pastry box. He had settled on keeping them to himself or giving them to somebody else, reluctant to even look Hyunjin’s way, but now it’s stupid. They should go to the person they were meant for. The person who’s looking back at him with big expectant eyes.
“Here,” he says while handing the box to Hyunjin.
“Thank you hyung!” Hyunjin answers as he snatches the box away.
He doesn’t ask why Minho didn’t give him the donuts at the beginning of the class like he usually would, and the older is thankful for that. He doesn’t really want to explain that he hadn’t even meant to buy them but he did anyway. Because Hyunjin starts early on Thursdays and he can’t eat or drink anything too early in the morning but he always ends up craving breakfast around the time of their shared class. And since it’s Minho’s first class of the day, he buys breakfast for them at the little café right next to their apartment building. Today, Minho hadn’t meant to buy anything though, but he still thought of how much Hyunjin likes donuts when he passed by the shop window.
So as he watches him open the box and place it in between their computers, grabbing a donut and putting it on a napkin for Minho before taking one for himself, he feels so stupid for all the time he spent away since Saturday.
The professor is talking but it’s a distant noise, unable to properly reach Minho’s ears. The donut is sweet and he tries not to think of how aware he is of the sugar gathered on Hyunjin’s lips or the way his tongue licks it away.
But then, he thinks of how hyper-aware he also is of the sweat pearling on his hairline, of the clicking noise of the computer keyboards, of the pouring rain hitting the windows, of the way his socks are the slightest bit wet in his shoes, and it’s okay.
It’s just summer.
It’s okay.
✸
After their little confrontation — if one can call it that —, things fall back to the way they were.
They eat lunch together, Minho gets home and they have dinner, and on Thursdays, he brings breakfast for them to share during the class they have in common. It all comes back to normal, to the way things were before spring slowly turned into summer, before Hyunjin kissed the tall guy in the crowd. Before anything happened.
They act as if nothing ever happened.
And it’s easy for Minho to blame the chill air of the air conditioning for the shivers trailing on his skin whenever Hyunjin’s warm skin touches his, or to associate his frantic heartbeat and sweaty hands with the overbearing heat, or to even believe that the hyperfixation he’s been having on everything that touches the younger’s lips is no different than the way he is hyper-aware of the sweat pearling on his nape.
Everything is normal.
Their next gig happens on a Friday, at the cheap bar where Chan works on the weekends. It was the first part-time job he got once he entered college and even as his schedule got more packed and his studies got harder — making it impossible for him to keep working there during the week — he still decided to work at the bar on the weekends. Mostly because it pays well, but also because he grew attached to the owner. A lively but lonely old man with a bright smile and wise eyes, named Sang-chul, who loves telling his incredible life stories around a glass of good liquor.
All of their friends grew attached to him.
Located near campus and being Chan’s workplace, it naturally became their favorite spot to go for a casual night out on the weekends. Throughout the years, from when it was only Chan and Minho to this day, as friends slowly added up to the group, Sang-chul always welcomed them with open arms and a few free beers, treating them like the sons he never had. One night, as they were talking about the band Hyunjin, Jisung, Seungmin, and Minho had just formed, he heard and offered them a corner of his bar for them to play. He argued that it would attract more customers and would be the opportunity for their band to get some exposure.
And just like that, the hole-in-the-wall bar two streets away from campus became their first stage.
Tonight, the place is packed with college students as it usually is. Some, like their friend group, are regulars enjoying the warm atmosphere and delicious snacks of the closest bar to campus, others are here to see their band perform — their audience growing faster than they could’ve ever imagined.
Minho is still unable to truly realize that some people now know them for the music they make, that they actually listen to it and appreciate it. In fact, they love it so much that they are willing to go to places they would have never gone to, only to see them play. He is still bewildered by the crowd, by the hands reaching out to them. He is still stuck in the haze he was drowned in the first time he heard one of their songs coming from a random person’s headphones.
He hits the drums over and over again, and he only knows he’s not in a dream because of the uncomfortable way his drenched shirt sticks to his back and the tightness he’s starting to feel in his arms.
Tonight, Hyunjin doesn’t get really close to the crowd.
He never does when they perform at the bar, so Minho shouldn’t be paying it much mind. Yet, he does, flashes of a tall guy under spotlights getting too close to Hyunjin’s face.
But tonight, Hyunjin doesn’t get too close to the crowd and chooses to play around with his bandmates instead, always adamant about putting on a show. He takes the mic off its stand, gets closer to Seungmin until there are three hands playing on the keyboard and then, he moves towards Jisung, leaning on the bassist and throwing his head back on his shoulder. When he peels himself off of Jisung’s side, Minho knows he is next.
Maybe Hyunjin can feel the eagerness brewing in Minho’s stomach. Maybe they’re all so attuned to each other that he can feel even the lightest touch of the butterfly wings grazing the older’s insides. Maybe they all feel the same exhilaration from the stage. Or maybe he is aware of the butterflies because he put them there himself, a voice whispers but Minho’s drums suddenly get louder.
Maybe Hyunjin can feel the eagerness brewing in Minho’s stomach because when it comes to the drummer he takes his time. Twirling the microphone cord in his fingers, tilting his head to the side, he leisurely walks up to Minho like a sly cat seducing its prey to better pounce on it. Minho counts each measured step taken towards him, letting the dread of an upcoming threat fill his chest until Hyunjin’s feet disappear behind him. And suddenly, there’s a hand brushing his back, making his shoulder blades roll back. The warm touch slowly goes from his left shoulder to the right only to vanish all too fast as Hyunjin takes back his place at the front of the stage.
It doesn’t stop shivers from lingering on Minho’s skin even as their performance ends.
The people crowding the bar are all clapping as Minho tries to make his way to the table where the rest of his friends are sitting. He elbows some sweating bodies blocking his path here and there, muttering quick apologies under his breath, desperate to finally get something to drink.
As soon as he reaches the table, he seizes a random glass from the tray Chan is bringing, and he gulps half of it down before loudly slamming the glass on the table.
“That was my drink!” Changbin shrieks in indignation.
Minho only exhales as loud as he can, pleased by the feeling of the cold liquid soothing his dry throat, and looks back at his friend with an innocent smile.
“Thank you for ordering iced tea, Binnie! I’m sure you knew I wouldn’t be able to handle alcohol right away. You’re so kind!” He praises in a tone too sweet to ever be sincere.
Changbin scoffs but ends up nodding with a wave of his hand. “Yeah yeah, whatever. You owe me a drink now.”
Minho agrees and takes a seat on one of the stools, putting his drumsticks down on the table.
“You guys were awesome tonight!” Chan beams as he hands out all of their drinks. “So many people came. I think I’ve never seen Sang-chul-ssi so happy.”
“Thank you hyung!” Jisung suddenly appears from behind and wraps his arm around Chan’s shoulders.
Next to Minho, Seungmin takes a seat. He cracks his knuckles, stretches his arms above his head, and scans the table with a stoic face.
“Aren’t you gonna praise us too?” He asks the rest of the group. “My fingers and feet are numb, I think I deserve a compliment or two.”
“Why don’t you just sit down?” Jeongin counters, taking a sip of his beer. “You’re the one who chooses to stand during the whole show, blame yourself.”
“Yah. We’re dedicated to our art,” Jisung defends his fellow bandmate. “We can’t let our fans down.”
“Your fans?!” The youngest exclaims. “I knew one day you would let fame get to your head but I honestly didn’t think it would be so soon.”
“Innie,” Felix chuckles. He’s already a little tipsy, the tip of his ears red under his blond hair. “Don’t be mean and praise our talented friends. They’ve been performing for a little less than an hour while we were just sitting here, enjoying our drinks.”
“Yeah, you brat,” Minho adds.
Felix nods and continues. “Look around,” he says with a vague hand gesture, “this place is crowded because of them. We need to admit that the time when it was only the eight of us playing around in Jisung’s garage is over. Our friends have fans now.”
His drunken words were only meant to fuel the friendly banter and counter Jeongin’s teasing, but they still settle in the air around them with a certain sense of nostalgia. Minho is still not fully able to understand what it all means, what is changing.
He is not one to know how to deal with change, or how to face it. It’s all too confusing. He prefers to turn his eyes away from the crowd for now and keep his focus on his friends sitting around their usual table in their little comfort bar. He prefers to act like nothing is changing for now, even if he can feel the haze he’s stuck in.
Something tells him that lately, the growing recognition their band is getting is not the only thing he's been turning a blind eye to, but Changbin’s loud voice stops him from dwelling more on that thought.
“Come on baby,” he says as he brings a pouting Felix closer to him. “Let’s not sour the mood with our nostalgia.”
“Yeah, don’t worry Lix. We’ll mention your names in our speech when we win an award,” Seungmin adds solemnly.
“That’s wonderful but while you guys fantasize about the future, some people gotta work,” Chan sighs as he puts his tray close to his chest and weaves his way between the tables.
“Bye, hyung!” Jisung waves him off and finally sits with them.
“By the way, where’s Hyunjin hyung? If I have to praise someone tonight, it’ll be him,” Jeongin teases while putting in his mouth one of the toasts that Chan brought earlier.
They resume their banter where they left it off but at the mention of the frontman’s name, Minho is not listening anymore. He stretches his neck and takes a look around in search of the other. They all joined the table for quite some time now but Hyunjin is still not drinking and laughing with them. So Minho scans the crowd and the other tables. The people standing at the bar, a couple flirting in a corner, groups busy with conversation. He examines all the smiley faces, drunken laughter, and cheerful voices until the sound of someone timidly clearing their throat echoes in the bar.
“Hi again everyone,” Hyunjin smiles against the mic and the chatter dies down. “There’s one more song I’d like to share with you tonight.”
Minho glances at Jisung with a frown. He’s pretty sure they haven’t planned that or else he’d still be on stage with Hyunjin right now, but Jisung dismisses his confusion with a shake of his head.
“We’re always working on making more music. We’re trying to take things to the next step and our goals seem more and more achievable thanks to your support. So thank you!” A wave of applause erupts in the bar and Hyunjin's smile gets bigger. It brings a smile to Minho’s own lips but the sincerity and shyness underlying Hyunjin’s features leaves him to believe that this is more than a grateful speech. He is proven right once the younger resumes to speak, hesitant. “But um, I’ve been working on a song in particular lately. It’s special to me in many ways, I’ll only tell you that it’s special because it's the first time I’m writing our lyrics. I think that’s all you need to know anyway. So, um, I’d like to share that song with you all tonight.”
Minho thinks back to the notebook he had his hands on a few weeks ago. He thinks about the scribbled pages and the half-written lyrics. Hyunjin never spoke about it afterward. He didn’t tell him he had been working on it — even though Minho could have guessed, he didn’t tell him he had finished it, and he definitely didn’t tell him he was planning on singing it tonight.
Minho glances at Jisung again, and then at Seungmin in search of a shared puzzlement but they’re both looking at Hyunjin, expressions neutral apart from the soft smiles gracing their lips. It seems he is the only one who was not aware of anything.
“The last song of the night is called Blueming,” Hyunjin says before he swings his guitar around his shoulder and starts to play.
Standing alone on the tiny stage under the warm yellowish lights of the bar, there’s nothing left of the Hyunjin who put on a show to make the crowd scream. He strums his guitar, a soft and enchanting melody, and whispers the first lyrics of the song against the mic.
Everyone is staring now, completely bewitched by the tall boy serenading the crowd, but his eyes remain closed. He is unmoving — if not for the fingers playing the guitar on their own and the soft rocking of his body —, but his presence still takes up all of the space. There, in his baggy jeans and his cropped distressed sweater, he glows hauntingly.
Minho was right. Hyunjin knows how to write. He writes the same way he thinks, the same way he feels, the same way he sings, impossibly honest and raw. He spreads himself open and lets his insides out for everyone to see, unashamed of his blood, his tears, and his sweat shining under the spotlights. It’s almost obscene how intimate it is, it makes you feel like you shouldn’t even look, shouldn’t even listen but you do. You’re entranced, there’s nothing else you can do. So Hyunjin sings about his frenzied thoughts and his tight chest, the words leaving his lips like a confession made in the dark. He sings about drowning and longing for an escape with an edge to his fragile voice. He sings about blue lights and night skies soothing his troubled mind. And he sings it all for himself yet everyone’s listening.
When the song reaches its last verse, Minho is struck by Hyunjin’s gaze suddenly locking with his.
When the beauty of the night
Allows me to take flight
There are things I still don’t know
It’ll stay blank ‘till I hear it from your mouth
Each word is sung with a vulnerability so sincere that it throws Minho off for a second. Hyunjin’s eyes keep him rooted to his stool and he thinks for a moment that all the air is being sucked out of his body, leaving his lungs empty and his chest constricted.
So I’ll wait for you to whisper
In the stillness of eventide
The words floating
In your own tangled mind
“So,” Seungmin nudges Minho’s side, tearing him away from the hold of Hyunjin’s voice. “I guess he doesn’t know. When are you going to tell him?”
“Tell him what?” Minho answers with furrowed brows, looking back at Hyunjin.
“Wait, don’t tell me you don’t even know yourself?” Seungmin whisper-shouts in disbelief but Minho doesn’t pay him any mind.
The silky bow in Hyunjin’s hair glistens under the light, and the memory of Minho’s hands braiding it in the soft strands makes his hands tingle. And Minho can blame this unbearably hot summer as he wishes, he can pretend like nothing’s changing all he wants but he is not stupid.
He softly smiles at the tall boy singing his heart out in a corner of a cheap bar, drowned in his oversized clothes and his racing thoughts. The boy smiles back at him as he whispers the outro into the mic. And he sings only for them, not caring for everyone who’s listening.
Only then, under the blue moon
We’ll be able to bloom
✸
In the deep of summer, days stretch in an endless daze. The heat brings with it a laziness that settles in your bones.
Too much always happens in summer and Minho’s mind stays troubled and tangled, but he knows his clouded brain is only fog now. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the fog gets blown away.
He finds himself in Jisung’s garage, walking the busy streets of Seoul at night, sitting at the dining table watching Hyunjin write, lying in the grass somewhere in a park, laughing under yellow lights in a tiny bar. Days mix with each other until he can’t tell them apart. Until he loses complete track of time.
Summer makes your muscles turn soft and your limbs heavy. Minho wiggles his toes after spending what seems like hours not moving. He wiggles his toes, remembers reading somewhere that it was a good way to check whether you’re paralyzed or not, and the thought makes him snort.
“What’s funny?” A soft voice comes to his ears from far away.
His fingers curl and his heart twitches.
“Nothing,” he answers, his lips curling just slightly.
He can feel his heartbeat pulsing just under his eyelids, the unusual feeling uncomfortable enough to make him pry his sleepy eyes open. Slowly, he blinks the blurriness of the world away and looks straight ahead at the ceiling. The wall is painted blue and Minho’s ears ring a little. It feels like being underwater and the sparkly surface of the Han River pops into his mind. It would be great to dive right now, to wash himself of the sweat and escape the moist air.
He notes the soft breeze caressing his bare feet, hanging from the armrest of their couch, and props himself up on his forearms.
Lying down on the carpet, a pink pillow under his head, Hyunjin plays the guitar. It’s a calm lullaby Minho doesn’t recognize, the rhythm too slow from the younger’s fingers stroking the cords in a bored, disinterested manner.
The sliding glass door that leads to their balcony is wide open and Minho only now notices that the sun has completely set. Outside, the sky turned a muted dark blue — not yet letting black tint its coat, and the city twinkles in thousands of orange stars. Inside, the upcoming night fills their apartment in the same blue hue. It paints the white walls and casts shadows on their furniture, softening the sharp edges, and soothing the mind.
The lullaby Hyunjin has been playing turns into recognizable notes and he starts to hum a familiar melody.
A gust of wind, warm but light for a summer night, engulfs the living room and makes the curtains fly. It cools Minho’s body and blows away the fog obscuring his thoughts in a single breath.
There’s vanilla and macadamia nut in the air and he slides down from the couch to get closer to the scent. He sits down on the carpet — the shag rug soft under him — and replaces the pillow under Hyunjin’s head with his lap. The younger doesn’t stop playing, doesn’t even look back at him, only a small smile graces his lips. The silver stars on his guitar strap glitter and the slope of his nose looks softer than ever. For a moment, Minho is so humbled by Hyunjin’s beauty that he does not dare touch him. Only when a strand of hair falls in his left eye, does Minho gently combs it to the side, letting the pads of his fingers brush Hyunjin’s skin before they move to stroke his hair.
“Are you going to tie my hair for me?” the younger asks, a teasing tilt to his tone.
“Depends,” Minho answers and he can hear how his voice lacks its usual playfulness.
Hyunjin must notice too. He must mistake his sudden grave tone for annoyance because the smile fades from his mouth and the next words he whispers makes Minho’s hand abruptly halt in his hair.
“Sorry. You should teach me how to make pretty bows so I won’t have to ask you anymore.”
And the bitter laugh he lets out, shaky and sad, makes Minho’s blood run cold.
“No,” he blurts out.
His sharp answer makes Hyunjin jump. “What?” He questions, sitting up to properly face Minho and putting his guitar to the side.
“I don’t want you to learn.”
The night has fallen and the sky turned black, but in the darkness the moon is bright. The orange of the sunset lamp in the corner of their living room replaced the blue hue painting the room a few moments ago. If Hyunjin was beautiful in blue, he is breathtaking basked in warmth. His round eyes sparkle, confused but expectant, and Minho can’t deceive him. So, he speaks.
“I never want you to learn how to tie the ribbons in your hair because I never want you to stop asking me to do it for you,” he lets out in a single breath. He lets out like he wants to expel the heavy weight lodged in his chest. “I bend under the smallest glimpse of your smile and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing, wherever I am, anytime you’ll ask me to. I’ll run to come home in time to have dinner with you. I’ll always stop by the café down the street to grab breakfast for you, even if I swore to avoid you, even if they close the place down, even if you come to hate me and never want to speak or see me ever again.”
“Hyung…,” Hyunjin interrupts in a trembling voice.
But the words roll off Minho’s tongue like they’ve been resting there forever, waiting. Because they have. They fill up the air like the dam keeping them buried has been broken.
“No, wait. I can’t bear to see you kiss anyone else because I want to be the one you kiss. I’m jealous and I’m envious and I’m not sure how to deal with it. I’m not sure I know how to deal with the depth of all that I am feeling. But I know I’ll trade everything I have just to hear you sing for me again. Only for me,” he finishes with a shaky breath.
“Minho.”
And his name has never sounded better. No one has ever pronounced his name as such, like they hold each letter close to their heart, like their tongue was made to utter each syllable with care, like a prayer. Like it’s theirs.
Minho remembers a song about blue skies and clouded minds and he knows what he has to say.
“My head has never been clearer than it is now and I know you need me to say it. You need to hear it from my mouth. I know you’ve been waiting and I’ve been needing time to untangle my mind,” he says, bringing his hand up to cup Hyunjin’s face. His palm perfectly slotting against the curve of the younger’s cheek. “I can tell you now. I—,” he starts in a stutter, air failing him. “I— I love you,” he finally succeeds in confessing. “I love you,” he repeats, clearer and firmer.
There’s a beat of silence, all things suspended as Minho awaits an answer, a reaction. It manifests itself in the way Hyunjin blinks slowly at first and then, leans into his touch. He presses his own cheek even closer to the palm against his skin and Minho can only watch, his breath getting stuck in his throat as Hyunjin starts to smile. It stretches his lips gracefully, so wide it digs a dimple in his soft flesh and reaches his eyes, turning them into crescents.
“I love you too,” he whispers against Minho’s hand. “Of course I do.”
Minho guides Hyunjin’s face closer until their foreheads are pressed together. Maybe because he’s been longing to do that for a while and he finally can. Perhaps because it is the only way he knows how to answer, but their skins are warm and damp so maybe it is not the best.
It makes him laugh. Hyunjin laughs too, without knowing why — or maybe they don’t need to speak for them to understand each other. They probably don’t.
They don’t.
Because one moment they’re laughing at their sweaty foreheads and the next, Hyunjin is kissing the corner of Minho’s smiling mouth. It makes his smile fall and his grip on the younger’s jaw a little tighter. He closes the space between their faces with a single kiss, a simple press of the lips, and stares back into Hyunjin’s eyes.
You kissed me, I kissed you, now what?
“I love you,” Hyunjin whispers, his hot breath against Minho’s lips soon replaced by his mouth.
They kiss and kiss, so hard, so deep, they lose their balance and then, as Hyunjin’s back hits the carpet and Minho ends up above him, they laugh. Still, they don’t stop, not when Minho notices the shivers rising on the younger’s skin as he chuckles against his collarbones. So Minho trails kisses up his neck, he mouths at the skin behind his ear, he slides his tongue between his open lips and sweet sounds escape Hyunjin’s throat in a delightful song he sings for Minho. Only for him.
And maybe, Minho still isn’t really sure how to deal with change but his mind is clear and free of any fog or tangled thoughts. He can learn how to get acquainted with the new way Hyunjin loves. He already knows how their lips fit, slot, and brush against each other.
And when Hyunjin stretches his neck to place a gentle kiss on his nose, the chimes of his giggles filling up Minho’s chest, it feels a lot like blooming.